Who

K'vre, Karysha

What

Stranded by a storm, things get a little prickly in the Tea Room.

When

It is afternoon of the seventh day of the tenth month of the sixteenth turn of the 12th pass.

Where

The Tea Room

OOC Date 15 Apr 2019 04:00

 

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"Does it amuse you to treat the hired help poorly, then?"


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The Tea Room

This shop is easy to miss from the street. It bears the same striped awning that most shops have, this one in shades of lilac and sand, but it has no sign save for a plaque of sandstone hung beside the door, on which a teacup has been carved. When open, the heavy curtain that covers the doorway is pulled aside to allow entry. After stepping through, one will find themselves in a tiny space decorated with classic desert touches.

The walls are whitewashed to increase the sense of light within but the floor is tiled in hues of blue and green, with each tile bearing in its center a brilliant red lotus. There are only five small tables, all of them of dark, heavily carved wood set low to the ground. To sit at one requires reclining on the plethora of pillows and cushions and layered rugs provided for that purpose; each seat is provided with a carved wooden back-prop to rest the pillows against, for those who want spinal support. Tea is served from the service at the rear of the room, where a tiny smokeless hearth keeps water heated, and a row of trays are kept loaded with teapots, tiny cups, and containers for sweetener. There is a small selection of fruits, breads and cheeses also available for those looking for a snack but this is not a place for heavy meals.


Occasionally, one finds themselves trapped within an area, when one is in Igen, because of the frequent and surprise sand-storms. For example: K'vre isn't a typical face to be found in the tea room, despite having served Igen for the last several turns of his life as a dragonrider. His regular patrol takes him frequently past the pretty awning, however, and for the moment, he's subject to the prissy interior and the other inhabitants of the tea room. There's nothing quite as comic as a big man sitting at a tea table, ill-at-ease over the entire concept. He's been badgered into buying a cup of tea, see, while he shelters out the storm; and so they've put him at the farthest table, where he may rest his back against the wall, and serve as gossip and laughter fodder for the inhabitants of the other four tables. As he sits, one of the workers brings him a steaming porcelain cup. The scruffy-faced brownrider stares down at the thing as if it might bite him.

It's hard to make out any distinguishing features on the next person to push aside the curtain that holds back the worse of the sand storm. Dressed in scarlet from head to toe, one hand reaches up to pulls away a sand covered scarf that covered most of their head and face. As the fabric is pulled away, there's a shake of golden waves with a sound of disgust that is most feminine in sound. Straightening, Karysha's face is visible now, a furrow of on her brow over blue eyes as she combs her fingers through her long hair shaking it out. "Ugh! They had better be here, dragging me out on weather like this," she mutters under her breath before looking around. Her face falls as she doesn't see who she's looking for, and the pretty, and probably practised, pout on her face makes clear the disapointment. Without paying much attention, she finds herself a seat at one of the table, coincidentally near to the rider stuck in the back, and settles herself primly onto the pillows near the low table with a withering sigh.

Karysha's arrival certainly is better entertainment than K'vre's tentative and careful lift of the steaming teacup to his lips for a brief, rote sip of the liquid within. The man's own grey-blue eyes follow the blonde's huffy progression through the room, with the remote expression of a Parhelion rider on duty: he collects details with a guard's practiced eye, noting the richness of her clothes, the self-importance of her sigh. A quiet man on the best of days, he's happy to stay here (uncomfortably) on these (damned) pillows and gaze at the rest of the room, returning laughing looks with even, silent regard.

When a server finally makes her way to Karysha's table, the Steen girl turns a haughty gaze towards her. "I suppose my cousin Midra isn't here today?" she asks curtly and the server just shakes her head a little wearily. "Of course she isn't. Fine. Just get me a cup of the Zingari green then and let it actually steep so I can taste it…" She replies with a dismissive flick of her fingers as she sends the girl skittering off. Finally Kary takes the time to look around and her eyes land on K'vre with a faint blink of surprise as her hand twitches over her headscarf, the urge to cover herself in unfamiliar male company strong. But stubbornly, she just runs some fingers through her golden lock, fluffing them up a bit. "Good day," she greets in a clipped manner, dropping her gaze in a practiced move of demure deference.

Very little of K'vre's thoughts make it to any visible expressiveness; his hard-chiseled features stay more or less impassive during the Steen girl's interaction with the server. He's looked past her to consider a poncey kind of fellow toward the door, his brow furrowing slightly when looking at that fine gentleman's dagged sleeves and slashed sisal pantaloons. All the rage in Southern Boll fashion this season, but it doesn't quite translate to the guard-trained brownrider. His attention returns to Karysha when he's spoken to, and he inclines his chin with genteel manner. "It's kind of shitty, actually, but I appreciate the sentiment." His voice is a rough burr of a baritone, lowly amused rather than corrective.

Fidgeting slightly as she corrects her seat in the pillows, Karysha sweeps her long hair over one shoulder as she subtly tries to get more comfortable. Blinking a bit in response to his words, she searches for the right words, "Well…" she muses, thrown off a little bit by the man's bluntness, "Then I hope it gets better for you." It's a polite response, if a little contrite. Her eyes are then drawn back to the server as she comes up and puts a steaming mug of tea in front of Karysha, looking at the girl a little wearily. She takes up the mug for a test sip, considering it a long moment before she nods curtly, "It's satisfactory, thank you." And looking much relieved, the girl scurries off.

Ever the son of a steward, K'vre glances between the tea room worker and the Steen lass, an eyebrow raising at the tone and interaction. "Does it amuse you to treat the hired help poorly, then?" he asks, shifting his broad shoulders against the wall in vain attempt to find a more comfortable position. These tables aren't made for people of K'vre's stature and disposition; with taller sorts encouraged to splay themselves along the pillows, something absolutely not happening with this particular man.

Karysha was just about to raise her tea once more to her lips when K'vre speaks and she just pauses, cup frozen in transit before she slowly lowers it to the table with the barest clink of china on the surface. "Excuse me? I don't believe we've made proper aquaintance. Karysha Steen, my family owns this establishment," extended family anyway, "I'm just making sure the customers are gettting the best quality service and product" She gives the man a sidelong look out of the corner of her eye, "And you are?" she asks cooly.

The sense of the weight of the world is never far from K'vre — it shows in the tired set of his shoulders, the lines at the inner corners of his eyes rather than outer. It's a familiar wearing, and it returns to him as is his due when Karysha… is Karysha. He lifts his tea to again gingerly sip at the liquid within. He refutes her statement without much excess emotion about his opinion of her so-called quality control measures: "No, you aren't. You're being a spoiled brat." His calm regard passes over her and then, with a half-jaded cant of his lips that could potentially be construed as a smile. "Brown Rhovvth's K'vre at your service. Of wing Parhelion. The weyr's regards to the Steens," he says, his voice as tired as the rest of him.

When the man reveals his opinion of her, Karysha turns more fully towards him with an angry flash of her sapphire eyes, "Of course you're a rider, decorum was never the strong point of dragonfolk. But thank you for your name and wing. I will pass it on to my father, who will surely be in contact with your Wingleader for harassing a young lady as she was just enjoying her cup of tea." The threat doesn't seem to be empty either as she presses normally lush lips together in a thin line.

"Yes, please, do that. I'd love to hear Eala's opinion. Or better, H'rik's. He's a relative of yours, isn't he?" K'vre settles his cup down and gazes directly at Karysha, unflinching. "I'm sure he would be interested to hear in a Steen maiden's lack of grace in her dealings with both hired hands that she doesn't manage, and her lack of respect to a rider of the weyr." He doesn't appear upset - or even perturbed, really. Doubtless he's heard his fair share of bullshit from his patrolling of the bazaar.

"H'rik is my first cousin, and I have little doubt he would take my side on this," Karysha replies cooly before taking up her cup to sip at the hot drink within before continuing, "And I gave you all the respect due until you started name calling sir. And Jemmi over there knows I'm particular in my tastes for tea, don't you?" she calls out to the girl who looks like she'd rather be doing anything else than being pulled into this argument. "I do, miss, it's fine really, you're not even more most particular customer," she answers quickly, going with the answer that is least likely to mess with her livelihood no doubt. "See?" Karysha turns back on K'vre with a frosty smile.

K'vre laughs. It's even a hearty thing, though weariness still lingers around him like a shroud — it comes after Karysha pulls in the poor girl for her opinion. "And you really think this girl, who owes her paycheck and her livelihood to people who are in your family, would tell you the truth if she felt differently?" The steward's son looks askance to Karysha and shakes his head, as if baffled by the delusions of young women. "But surely, please, yes. Call upon your cousin. I beseech you." There's something bored in his voice, in the way his expression slips past Karysha, back to the dapper gentlemen with the crazy clothes.

"I'm not telling her to lie am I?" Karysha replies with a sharp stare at the rider, "She makes those decisions for herself." The teen looks down at her cup of barely touched tea and she sighs, "Suddenly, this place is feeling a little claustrophobic. Jemmi, put it on my tab will you?" she calls after the girl as she sweeps to her feet and replaces the scarf carefully over her head. With one final curt bob of her head in the man's direction, she plasters on a fake smile. "I do hope your day does improve, sir, and your mood with it," she says with a bit of a bite to her seemingly cordial words as she turns on her heel and flounces out of the small establishment without a further word.

And K'vre is left to shake his head over the current course of his afternoon, shifting uncomfortably in the pillows and doomed to the rest of the hour's time drinking tea he's not quite sure of, and trying to figure out why the man at the front of the room is dressed in seven different (and very discordant) colors.

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