Who

Z'ok, Myziri

What

Very backdated scene.

Lots of use of the "F" word.

When

It is evening of the fourth day of the fifth month of the seventh turn of the 12th pass.

Where

A Random Bar, Somewhere in Boll

OOC Date 10 Mar 2016 08:00

 

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"If it was just sex, I could find a whore that looked like her and get it out of my system."


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A Random Bar

Just a bar, somewhere in Boll, with lots of rough customers. There's gambling, booze, and probably some fighting.


Southern Boll is not, on a good day, a hold known for the high quality of its residents. There are many questionable activities to be found for anyone enterprising enough to seek them out. Some of them are even legal. Like gambling. Which is probably how Z'ok was talked into the position he's in now, drinking and gambling in a dark, smelly dive of a bar hidden in a cave technically outside the walls of the hold. It's the sort of place where 'questionable' is their stock and trade. The brownrider currently crouches over the dicing pit, slowly shaking his fist and grinning at the answering rattle from within. Around him, three unhappy-looking gentlemen watch his actions with a predatory glare. Probably because of the pile of marks that sits in front of him. "Last throw, gentlemen," he announces, no merriment in his voice despite the wide smile on his face. "Then I really must get back to my friend."

Trips home always leave Myziri in a strange mood; on the one hand, she enjoys seeing all of the family, including the new ones (there seem to be new babies every time she comes home). However, after a while the conversation, which all centers around crops, babies, and household type things, begins to pall. No one really wants to hear about whose dragon got threadscored, or who died protecting Pern from thread, or anything of that sort. Her family are simple folk; hardworking, loving, and thoroughly boring to someone who faces life and death challenges on a daily basis. So Myz doesn't have much in common with them and, while she loves seeing them, there's a certain melancholy that results from knowing she will never be a part of that family in the way she was before Sahizath. And, of course, that melancholy pisses her off so she has to drink it off - and one of her favorite places to do that (other than her own Weyr) is in this dive, which she was sure only she knew about. So, imagine her surprise to find Z'ok, fellow wingmate, there before her. And gambling. She arrives, gathers up a drink, and makes her way to see what all the fuss is about (those winnings of Z'ok's have drawn quite a crowd).

In the moment after Z'ok throws the dice and they tumble to a stop, there's a very real sense that the brownrider might be in some very real danger. Dark looks circulate between his three gambling partners, and one of the men fingers his belt knife thoughtfully. Then he looks at Z'ok and snorts, beginning to push a small stack of marks in his direction. "Cheating bastard." Z'ok barks a humorless laugh as he collects his winnings, slipping them into his belt pouch. "It's not my fault you've fat fingers, Coryn," he says with a shrug. "Maybe you should spend less time twiddling a fork and more honing your skills." Coryn responds with a silent yet time-honored gesture, which gets another bark from Z'ok before the brownrider turns, almost colliding with Myziri in the process. "Hey!" he says, eyebrows hiking into his hairline. "What are you doing here?"

Lucky for Z'ok, Myziri has two knives and knows how to use both; but in this instance, she's got something even sharper to use in his service; she's got his back, even if she doesn't approve of the gambling - but then, she has her own secret vices, so who is she to judge? Instead, when he runs in to her she looks past him to the one who grumbles, but doesn't finger his knife or have fat fingers "Uncle Hamrish, does aunt Verilee know you're in a place like this? For shame. And gambling? With all those mouths to feed?" The man's utter horror at being caught out, and by his dragonriding niece no less, has him sputtering out an excuse, but she just waves it away. "No, no. No excuses. You and your 'friends'," and the knife wielder and fat-fingered one get a look from gimlet eyes "had best get on home to your womenfolk and children. I'd hate to have to tell them the real reason you aren't able to keep them in food this seven." She waves them away, ignoring them completely as the men scramble (well, the fat one waddles) toward the exit. Only then does she grin at Z'ok "Didn't you know I'm Bollian?" And she's got family everywhere here, even if some of it isn't as industrious as other branches. "How much of my uncle's marks did you get, anyway? Hopefully you left him some. I wasn't kidding about the mouths. Last I heard, the man had sired seven children on my poor aunt." She shakes a head "Question is, what the fuck are you doing so far from Southern?"

If Z'ok is surprised by the reaction Myziri's chiding gets from his compatriots, he doesn't let it show. Instead, he offers a hard, unsympathetic grin as they vacate the premises, He wrinkles his nose at the question about her uncle, and lifts a shoulder laconically. "They may be eating runner meat this sevenday, but they won't starve." He closes one eye in a wink as he leans in conspiratorally, and wraps an arm around Myziri's waist to direct her towards the bar. The contact drops when she asks her second question, and Z'ok shakes his head. "Just needed to get out of the Weyr," he says. "My dad used to talk about this place before he got nicked."

Myziri allows herself to be led away, chuckling "Well, maybe I'll still drop a word in Aunt Verilee's ear. She's one of my favorite aunts. A shame she married such an ass." She shakes her head, but then regards Z'ok curiously "Nicked? What'd he do?" is wondered, before glancing around "I have to say, it's a pretty interesting use for a cave. Can't say I'm impressed with the patrons, but they carry good whiskey, which is why I'm here. I just came from home, and it always makes me a little bit sad, you know? I mean, I can go home, and that's great. But, I just don't fit in there anymore." Sad. "So how come you needed to get out of the Weyr?" is wondered, before she tosses back her whiskey, then tilts her head to the bartender with a grin "So you won, which means you're buying, right?" Teasing, of course. Or maybe not?

"It happens," Z'ok says, of unfortunate marriages. "My mother was deeply in love with my dad, and he…" he shrugs, choosing to skip to answering Myziri's other question. "He stole runners. We lived in Keroon, and he worked as part of a ring." He jerks a thumb in a southerly direction. "He's in the mines, now." He's in agreement about the whiskey, and even who'll pay, ordering two as they come up to the bar. He listens to Myziri's story, nodding tightly. "I know what you mean. You're still you, but you're different, too." The question about getting out of the Weyr gets a long silence following before the brownrider exhales slowly, and leans against the bar. "Nursing my wounded ego," he says, offering a sheepish smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Unfortunately."

"I didn't know my own parents," Myziri confides. "My brothers and sisters raised me. So I don't know if they were in love or not, but with fifteen kids, you'd expect them to have at least liked each other." She takes the whiskey when it comes, raising it to him "Thanks…I'll get the next round." She tosses that one back to - yeah, someone's a serious drinker, so sue her! "And that's exactly what I mean. I've changed, but they're the same. If I had to hear one more story tonight about Bozana's new tooth, or Zuberk smiling for the first time, or of whether the crops are going to be good this Turn, I was going to scream. And that makes me sad, because I do love them all." So, she drinks. Speaking of which - she calls for another round with the simple expedience of raising a hand, with two fingers showing. "Anyway. Sorry to hear about your father. Can't be fun, having a convict for a dad. You keep it pretty secret, though." Myz? Totally had no idea. "So who went and wounded your ego?" She too leans on the bar, waiting for that whiskey.

"It's not exactly the best conversation starter," Z'ok says with a grimace for the contents of his glass before he tosses it back. "But I don't really make a secret of it. I just…don't mention it." His lips curl into a smile as he holds up his empty glass for the bartender's notice. "Different priorities," he says sympathetically. "You'd probably care more if you weren't responsible for protecting the world." The confusion of rounds means that now there are four glasses in front of the duo, one of which is killed by Z'ok almost immediately. "Ione," is his answer for the last question, coupled with a bitter pull of his mouth. "Well. Me, I guess."

The whiskies she order come, and Myziri takes one for herself, nudges the other toward Z'ok "Yeah, you're right. Doesn't mean I have to like it." Hence, the whiskey. She tosses this one back too, savoring the burn and then the warmth pooling in her belly. At mention of the goldrider, she grimaces. "Ah. Ione." Yes, she knows all about it, then. "You're still hung up on her, huh? So what'd you do to yourself?" In relation to Ione, that is. She studies him as she waits for an answer, raises her fingers for two more whiskies - looks like he's gonna need them.

Every whiskey that gets placed in front of him, Z'ok drinks, tossing them back mechanically. "I got hung up on her," he says in answer to Myziri's question. Which isn't really an answer, and another shot of whiskey jostles the real story loose. "I asked her out, and she turned me down." He rolls a shoulder, and taps his glass at the bartender for yet another round. "I know how that sounds. I mean…she turned me down." Still not right, and the brownrider closes his eyes as he wags a finger in the air as he pieces it together. "She doesn't want to date me, even if her boyfriend lived." Which gets a closed-eye consideration, and is deemed worthy of submission. Because it's kind of true. All the right elements are there, at least.

Myziri will match him whiskey for whiskey, too. Hell, she probably ends up buying the whole bottle. "Oh." She says to the first bit of the story. The second bit? "Ah, man. That fucking sucks, Z'ok. Maybe, though, your timing is bad?" she suggests - until he finishes off the rest of the tale. "That fucking sucks, Z'ok. Not even after….that's just.." Wow. This would be where Myz buys the bottle, which is plunked down next to them - she pours two more shots. "I know how you feel, you know. Sa'mael's turned me down flat more times than I can count." Of course, she's a masochist, so she goes back for more. "What're you gonna do now?" is wondered, eyeing her wingmate with sympathy "Forget about her? Or try again later? Maybe Varaeth could win her flight…." Just possibilities, there!

"My timing sucks," Z'ok says cheerfully, lifting his latest glass and toasting the empty air before tossing it back. When the bottle thumps down between them, he eyes it, and the shots being poured. There's a muscle that jumps in his cheek when S'amael's name comes up, and his eyes harden just the tiniest bit before it slips away under the swallowing of another shot. He chokes a bit on the whiskey when Myziri mentions Varaeth winning that particular mating flight, and he shakes his head. "I hope not," sounds as earnest as it is. "I could take anything but the look on Ione's face the next morning when it was me and not S — someone else." He shakes his head again, pouring another two shots. "I think it's probably best if I just give it as a bad job and three turns learning a hard lesson." He lifts his glass to his wingmate with a crooked grin. "Here's to us, and our stupid hearts."

"Sa'mael. You were going to say Sa'mael, weren't you? Something between those two, no doubt." Myziri's tone is glum even as Z'ok's is cheerful. She takes the shot he poured, but doesn't drink it as yet. She just stares at the amber liquid. "Thing is, we're friends now, y'know? And I'm pretty sure I told her that I loved him." She grimaces. "I was drunk at the time, so my memory's not too clear. Possible she said it. But there was that Sven guy too." She sighs, looks at Z'ok "The thing is, you're a nice guy. And Ione…she seems to like the bad boys." Like Myz. "Of course, in Ione's case, she's got a better chance of getting them. No guy's actually look at me and say 'oh, look. She's pretty. I'd screw her." She shakes her head "Nope. I could probably dance around naked and not get a second look." She raises her glass then, and grins "So yeah. Here's to us, and our stupid hearts." And back goes the whiskey. Yum.

"I was hoping it was just drudge gossip," Z'ok admits, after Myziri's confession. "But I guess they know what they're talking about." He sighs, and leans against the bar, looking at his wingmate for a long moment. He barks a laugh at Myziri's comment, and shakes his head. "You want to know what's fucked up?" he asks, motioning at himself. "I cleaned up my act to try and impress her." He snorts softly at the irony, tipping his glass back and draining it before he sets it back on the bar. "You /are/ pretty," he assures Myziri. "I mean…" he trails off, his eyebrows knitting firmly as he considers his next, slow words. "You're really pretty. And pretty okay with most stuff. Except, y'know, blood and junk." He lifts a shoulder. "I wouldn't be unhappy if Varaeth were to win one of Sahizath's flights." His eyes unfocus for a minute in unseen communication, and he blushes deeply as he returns to the conversation. "I mean…" He wrinkles his nose, opting to fill his glass again. "You know."

"Alas, the drudges do always seem to know what's what." Myziri agrees, draining her next shot of whiskey and setting it firmly on the bar, sighing. And shakes her head "She doesn't appreciate you, man." She agrees. "You're a good guy, Z'ok. And a good-looking guy. Ione's crazy not to want a guy like you, who actually cares about her. She'd rather get her neck wrung by Sam, I guess." It's a craycray world, what? She smiles as he looks her over, laughs. "Silly. I'm not the right kind of pretty. Just like you're not a bad boy. What we need to do, see, is make you look…dangerous." She starts to pour two shots, then pauses, blinking at him. "You…well. Huh." Myz isn't quite sure what to say to that. "Um. Thank you? I guess. I mean, at this point who knows if Sahizath's ever going to go up, but…I guess I wouldn't mind if Varaeth won either. Better'n Keelie or Rielle or Loe, definitely. And it's not like I have a chance at who I want, right? I imagine Varaeth would have a shot at it. Just…might be kind of awkward, after." She rubs her nose, flushes a bit herself - but that could be all the whiskey! She nudges his glass over to him, tosses back her own.

Z'ok laughs at the mention of changing his image, and strokes his chin. "What, you mean like a mustache, or a beard?" He's probably a few turns out from being able to grow a decent beard, but he strokes his chin as if considering the idea. "Maybe some kind of sexy scar?" He's just drunk enough to find that funny, and he laughs into his empty (!) glass. He tries to follow Myziri's response to his compliment, furrowing his brow in an attempt to flatten it out. "There's always a chance," he says, eyebrows lifting helpfully. "He does ride bronze, after all." Okay, maybe that's not so helpful. "And I don't know that it'd be awkward," he says slowly, picking at the label on the bottle and decidedly NOT making eye contact. "I think 'awkward' is one of those things you have to let go of when you're a dragonrider. It'd just be…" he wrinkles his nose, looking at the shelves behind the bar thoughtfully. "Okay. Maybe 'awkward' is the right word."

"Sure, a beard might make you look older, but a scar….a scar could be sexy, depending on where it is." Myziri grins at him. "Next threadfall, just have Varaeth hover under a clump until you've got some decent wounds that'll never heal properly." She suggests, but she's totally kidding because she snickers afterwards, between one drink and the next, pouring another for them both. "And I don't mean that it would be awkward after because we're riders. I mean it'd be awkward because it'd be like sleeping with my brother. Or my nephew." Just…ew. "You know I think of you like that, don't you?" She's not apologetic, either. "We've always been pals. I've just never….thought of you that way. I don't think you really think of me that way either. I guess we'll have to leave it up to the dragons, if it were to happen, yeah? Then deal with it." Probably by getting shitfaced. She tosses back her next shot of whiskey, or at least half of it, gesturing with the other half. "Sure, he rides bronze - but said bronze is good pals with Niat….Niatski- ah, fuck it. I can never say that dragon's name right. He's pals with Ione's dragon. He and Sahizath barely speak." She goes thoughtful "'Course, Sahizath doesn't really 'talk' to most dragons. Mostly Yerenath. She's a listener."

"Like Varaeth would let that happen," Z'ok says of getting scarred. His brown isn't exactly known for his recklessness. "Maybe I'll get lucky and get into a knife fight or something." There's no energy in the suggestion, though. Maybe he's not as interested in the idea as he thought. Maybe the whiskey is starting to catch up with him. "We're totally pals," he says with a nod. "So I know what you mean." He furrows his brow. "Kind of. I don't have any relatives to compare you to." He rolls a shoulder in a shrug, and drops his full weight against the bar heavily. "fuck Sam," he announces suddenly. "And fuck Ione." He pours another shot, which he downs just as quickly. "And fuck K'ane and his stupid puppets." Because they sure as shit didn't cover this particular situation.

"Yeah….Varaeth might take issue with you getting eaten by thread, even for the sake of sexy scars." Myziri agrees, but with a 'gee, stupid dragon,' kind of tone. "But a knife fight for the sake of it's no good either. You need to have had purpose. Like…I know! Maybe T'ral'll will send you on a mission. One of those undercover types. One that's dangerous. One that will bring you a scar or two, but no glory - glory's not sexy. Mystery is sexy. You know…'I could tell you how I got these scars, Ione, but then I'd have to kill you." Myziri bursts into laughter again, almost spilling her newly poured shot, but recovers in time to hear him say 'fuck Sam,' at which point she raises her glass and says "I wish." When he says 'fuck Ione,' she says "You wish," and when he says 'fuck K'ane' she tosses her drink back and slams the glass on the bar, nodding agreement "Fucking hand puppets were no help at all!" At least, not regarding incestual relations, or even pseudoincestuous ones.

Z'ok wrinkles his nose. "You think I'd be any good at mission work?" he asks, lifting his eyebrows. "I mean, I've got a lot with my studies in the Infirmary, but I'm starting to get the idea that people aren't keen on my not getting any assignments outside of it." He's a bit slower with this glass, sipping at it slowly. When Myziri announce his wish, he snorts. "I wish it was that easy," he says. "If it was just sex, I could find a whore that looked like her and get it out of my system." He drains his glass suddenly, turning it upside down on the bar. "What kind of mission would you send me on?"

"Well, no one says you have to do missions. I just thought…maybe you'd like to get away from the Weyr a bit, take a break from studying. Totally up to you." Myziri isn't slowing down to a sip, but there's a bit more time between shots now. Her look is commiserating "I know. Heart wants what it wants. Doesn't have a lot to do with sex, does it?" At his question, she looks thoughtful. "Something that would be geared towards your skills, I'd imagine. Tell me what those are, and I'll see what I can do, yeah? I mean, other than the dragonhealing thing. And by the way?" she finishes off her shot, pours another, but doesn't drink it yet. "I'm just fine with human blood - it's that gross green stuff that makes me puke." Just so they're clear on the issue. "I swear, Sahizath doesn't get injured just to keep me from hurling all over her."

"I'm all for getting out of the Weyr right now," Z'ok says, drumming his hands on the bar. "Varaeth hates it because it cuts into the schedule, but now that the restriction is lifted, I plan on spending a lot more time away from the Weyr. At least for a while." He nods at Myziri's sympathetic words, and pushes off the bar as she finishes talking. "Let's take a walk," he says, looking around the bar. "This isn't exactly the place I want to go around giving up my strengths and weaknesses. Particularly after I just cleaned them out." He jerks a thumb at the door of the tavern. "There's a stall that sells meatrolls and wherry legs a little ways down. Let's get some food and talk."

"Might be good for gaining some perspective, at the very least." Myziri agrees, "So Varaeth will just have to deal. Explain to him that you'll take a big boring tome on healing with you or something." She grabs her bottle and stands, suprisingly steady, too! "I'm game. Probably could use some food in my belly to settle the booze." She waves a hand for him to lead the way, and follows behind after tossing some coin at the 'tender. "Don't s'pose they'd have pie, too?" is opined as they head out the door; she'll wait to discuss the rest until they're settled somewhere less likely to be unconducive to their health, where they to start talking about more business-like things.

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