Who

Rhydian, Sh'ro

What

A post-storm drink becomes something unexpectedly more.

When

It is late night of the twenty-fifth day of the third month of the first turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Southern Weyr, The Tipsy Kitten

OOC Date

 

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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.


It's /wet/ outside. The aftermath of the storm continues to make itself known in the rain that persistently falls, turning the sodden ground into something even more soupy. Mud soup. Delicious. While there's at least shelter from the rain here in the Kitten, the mud's a much harder thing to get rid of, with no amount of scrubbing against the mats by the door helping to get the muck off - as Rhydian is currently discovering. He's not even managed to take his weatherproof gear off yet, as he tries to do the /polite/ thing by ridding himself of as much muck as possible, to cut down on some poor other's cleaning duties.

Where Rhydian is being all polite and considerate, Sh'ro comes in complaining to no one in particular about the mud and the weather and his hair. He does a very preliminary shuffle of his feet near the door but then he's clomping his way on through with a brief pat in the general direction of Rhydian's shoulder as he says, "Excuse me," and heads on toward the bar without bothering with his jacket or anything. The man clearly needs a drink! His hair.

Rhydian's waterproof gear is serious stuff, so while he's probably like to not bother with it, that's just not practical. He startles and blinks wide-eyed at Sh'ro's touch to his shoulder, stiffening up to turn and look at the taller rider… who's bringing half the storm into the bar with him. "Oh, um - you're fine," he says, stepping aside. "But, er… do you not think, I mean, it might be best if you, um… y'know?" Scrubbed your feet on the mats, like Rhydian's demonstrating.

The greenrider turns back from his few steps away to look back at Rhydian like he's horribly confused. "What are you talking about? Someone will clean it up." Someone that is most definitely not him. "If they cared that much, they'd close the bar or something, right?" He gives the other man a look as he gestures to the bar at large that seems to suggest, 'But it's open.' "Take off your… that," he adds as his gesture comes around to encompass Rhydian himself. "And I'll buy you a drink if you meet me at the bar." Sh'ro flashes a charming, possibly flirty smile, then turns back to finish his trek to said bar, still dripping.

Man's got a point! "Well, yes, but… ok." And Rhydian can't think of how to argue with it. He peels off the layers of his oiled waterproofs, hanging them up by the door and giving his feet one more scrape for good measure before trotting along in Sh'ro's wake. When they're at the bar, Rhydian leans up against it, all smiles - /big/ smiles, too, accompanied by a certain buzz of excitement. He's practically oozing adrenaline! "Did you /see/ the storm? It was /epic/. And right here! On our doorstep! /So/ perfect." So perfect, in fact, that the journeyman seems almost overwhelmed by it.

The other man's enthusiasm is difficult to ignore. And Sh'ro isn't really the sort to ignore things anyway. The greenrider seems a bit taken by it, smiling back at the journeyman even if he has noooo idea why the storm is so exciting. "I saw a bit of it, sure." Which might be an understatement, considering his state of not being dry. "I'm going to take a wild guess here that you like storms. Am I close?" He's grinning, then gesturing at the tender that comes to see to them. "What'll you have? Whiskey for me, thanks."

"Whisky's good for me," Rhydian gets in his order, giving the server a huge smile before he returns his attention to Sh'ro. "I'm a storm specialist." Which possibly explains all the waterproof gear. "I've travelled /all over/ Pern in the last 6 months or so, studying them - and then we get /that/ one right here, right on top of us! I've been on the Star Stones all day - it was /spectacular/." And he seems to have the potential to gush about it a whole lot more, too. "Didn't you find it /fascinating/? The density of lightning was remarkable…"

"I found it wet. And loud. Zaryth isn't the biggest fan of rain in general so now she's moping in our weyr." He rolls his eyes. Women. "But it was pretty spectacular. I'll give you that. I'd probably've enjoyed it more if we hadn't had to fly back through it." And also if he was a Pernese stormchaser. But Sh'ro definitely isn't trying to knock Rhydian's gushing. "Aren't you worried about getting zapped up there? It'd be a shame to fry such a nice face."

Rhydian blushes, biting down on his lip in an awkward grin in response to the compliment. "Oh, well, see, the chances of being struck are quite low - it's certainly a possibility, but being surrounded by the higher Star Stones reduces the chances of it being /me/ that's struck. But that's all part of the thrill, isn't it? The not knowing? The danger of it? It makes me… makes me… um…" He holds up his hands, circling them in air as he tries to find the words to properly express his sentiments. He gives up eventually, shrugging his shoulders as he looks up at Sh'ro. Then the explanation hits him: "It's like a first kiss. Electric. Tingles all through you."

Sh'ro might look a little pleased with himself, earning a bitten lip like he does. And he can't really be blamed for looking at it. Fortunately for the journeyman, he gets distracted by his drink, saying to the server, "I might need another one of these in a few." Always good to be prepared. "Well, now," he says, returning to Rhydian, "That does sound fascinating. And a lot to live up to in the sack. I'm not sure even I'm quite as amazing as a storm." At least not to someone like this. Not that anyone but him has mentioned anything like that. Preoccupation, obviously.

And cue /more/ blushing. Rhydian's glad for the drink distraction, though, nervous and adrenaline-pumped as he is, he picks his up and knocks it back in one. The burn of it makes him cough, turning his head aside as he covers his mouth. After some serious blinking and throat-clearing, he looks coyly back at Sh'ro. "I, er… well, I mean… y'know… storms and… a-and sex, they er…" He holds his hands up, linking them together. "Hand in hand?" Raising a finger, he signals to the tender that he needs a refill already. "I /like/ storms. A /lot/. I, um… wouldn't want to, ah, presume you're, um… that is, I'm sure you're quite… er—" He doesn't know where he's intending on going with that, and Rhydian's left floundering, just a little.

The greenrider is a little more careful with his drink, but only just. He's not downing it, but he's not exactly sipping, either. Sh'ro listens quite attentively, like this is a very serious conversation. Except for the hint of a grin forcing its way through the facade. "Oh, please. By all means. Presume away." If only because he's so curious about what the journeyman might say. But doesn't make it more awkward, for the other man anyway, by just waiting for presumptions. "I like sex. A lot. Storms can be sexy, I guess. But I always figured the hardons were from not dying in them."

It's just as well that second whisky turns up just in time for Sh'ro to say /hardons/, because Rhydian clearly needs it - he practically snatches the glass away from the barkeep, knocks the drink back, and slides it away with a signal for one more. "Storms are… they're just…" Up come his hands, whirling in an airy pattern to suggest something way bigger, way beyond what he can even attempt to explain. "It's the /power/ of them. The unfocused, uncaring brutality of them - and the beauty. They're so contradictory, beautiful but potentially deadly, like the one person you know you shouldn't sleep with, and yet…" He looks up, biting his lip again as he shrugs his shoulders. "Yet you know it'll happen, because you can't stop it. Because you don't want to stop /yourself/."

Sh'ro was probably supposed to get more about storms out of all that but instead he, being himself, focuses a bit more on the sex part. "And who is that? They sound like someone I'd love to meet." Of course he assumes this is not only a real person, but also a man, rather than some idea that Rhydian might have been trying to get across. He gestures for the server to bring him another drink, too, polishing his off expertly. "I wish storms did that much for me," he notes with an almost wistful sigh.

Rhydian sighs wistfully too, echoing the greenrider. "I'd kinda love to meet them, too… but I've never met a storm in a person, before." Which is said so softly that it may even suggest he's been /disappointed/ with whatever he's had in that sort of department. "If it were possible, to, ah, shape a storm into a person, I would… um… I mean, without wanting to sound too, ahaha, perverse, of course, I'd absolutely, you know…" His smile is shy and embarrassed, and he has to turn away from Sh'ro to face the bar, his stance becoming a little… well, /awkward/, as he leans up against the counter, cheeks flushed crimson.

The greenrider seems somewhat disappointed to learn that this is not an actual person. But, lucky Rhydian, it lets him refocus his attention on the man at hand. "Listening to you say perverse things might just make my night," says Sh'ro, leaning back to give the journeyman a proper once over now that he's been out of his rainwear. Subtle isn't a thing that he does very well and there's everything to suggest he likes what he's seeing. "Not sure if I can live up to some storm, but I would sure love to try."

Cough. Splutter. Rhydian wasn't expecting /that/, and even without a drink in his mouth he manages to choke. He holds up his hand in a desperate wave attempt to make the bartender hurry over with the fresh drinks, because if ever there was a time for Dutch courage… His tongue runs nervously across his lips, though, if the greenrider's sharp-eyed enough to notice, there's also a glimmer of something akin to excitement in his blue eyes. Though it could just be the whisky kicking in, of course. The drinks come, and Rhydian wordlessly takes hold of Sh'ro's to hold it out to him, while he readies his own for drinking. He's still pressed up against the bar, still looking utterly awkward and flushed with embarrassment… but Rhydian's at least able to manage a coy smile as he waits for the rider to take his whisky.

Clearly that only means that Rhydian doesn't know Sh'ro very well yet, because he's rather predictable in this regard. The journeyman is likely to learn that quickly if he spends any time around the greenrider. His grin makes it seem like he already thinks he's got this in his pocket. In his pants? Rhydian isn't running off screaming or trying to punch him in the nose, after all. Sh'ro takes his drink from the other man and lifts it slightly in a silent toast.

That silence means Rhydian can't stumble over his words for a blissful moment, as he raises his glass in a nervous toast, then presses it to his lips. Down the hatch the whisky goes - only half this time, not the full measure - and he settles the tumbler onto the counter, turning his torso around to face Sh'ro. Some of that booze is kicking in already, and he smiles nervously at the greenrider. "What do you think a storm's like to bed?"

Sh'ro, too, takes a drink, but he keeps the glass in hand for now, watching the shorter man with open curiosity. The question requires at least a few seconds of thought before he offers casually, "Hard. Intense. Like the sort of intense where your legs barely work afterwards and all you can do is collapse on each other and try to catch your breath." He considers that for a second, then muses, "Sounds a little like a flight, I guess."

"I wouldn't know about flights," Rhydian says quietly, with breath that's just slightly quickened as a result of the description Sh'ro just gave. He tugs at the hem of his tunic as he turns around, trying to get it to lay in a, er, /certain/ way over the front of him as he turns to face his newly-met drinking buddy. Hiding something. "Like a hurricane. Uncontrollable. Wild. Take your breath away, then breathe heat through you once it's passed…"

Maybe not hiding it as well as he thinks. That or Sh'ro is just good at picking up on this particular dance. He probably did it all the time at one point in his life, too. Now, not so much. "Mmm," is the sound the greenrider makes as he looks at Rhydian like he's not wearing a damned thing. "I like the way that sounds." He finishes off the rest of his drink and stands up a little straighter, like he's getting ready to go. Which he apparently is. "You want to get out of here?"

Whatever was left in Rhydian's glass is gone in one rapid gulp. "I like the way it sounds, too," he murmurs shyly, the corner of his lips tweaking up into a coy part-smile. The suggestion of leaving takes a moment to think through; he looks from Sh'ro to the door, then to the barkeep and back to the rider, before he nods. Too shy to voice it. He waits for Sh'ro to lead the way, grabbing at his waterproofs as he passes.

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