W'rin, G'tan, Cha'el


A couple of Whirlies get together after work for a few drinks and some bonding. Awkward questions are given glib answers.


It is the nineteenth day of Winter and 34 degrees. It is a bright, sunny day with a gentle breeze.


Igen Weyr, The WhirlieBird Lounge

OOC Date


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The Whirliebird Lounge

High in the center bowl, there is a broad ledge with a large cavern, big enough for a dragon or two to land at once. In the back of that cavern there is a door, which opens into a narrow and rather dank looking hallway. A fork in the tunnel offers two directions. The left leads to a storage room packed full of Whirlwind items. Leather, padding, tools, everything the wing might need. The right fork is the one most traveled, and opening that door leads into the lounge.

The room can accommodate the entire wing, it might be a cozy fit, but it's comfy. Mis-matched furniture giving it a rather casual and thrown-together air. Fireplace and hearth are made of blocks of sandstone, with a large wing banner hanging above. Tapestries are draped over the other walls, covering the patchy limestone. There is of course a fully stocked bar, complete with glass shotglasses with Whirlwind's logo etched onto the side. A rather small alcove provides an office, though the pile of miscellaneous paperwork gives the impression it is rarely used. If it isn't time for drills one could be sure to find a Whirlie or two here, hanging out, day or night.

It is late on a winter evening at Igen Weyr, the chill outside of Whirlwind's secret lair is intensified by the roaring winds. W'rin doesn't take much time to hustle from his dragon on the ledge and into the 'abandoned' weyr. Small cabinet by the fire is popped open, whiskey poured and the hefty weyrleader plops down onto an empty couch with a grunt. Sweet sweet freedom, a rare night off with no responsibilities, or meetings. Sienna may gripe about him not coming home later. But for now all he wants is a draw on his liquid friend.

For the passed seven or so, Igen’s Weyrsecond hasn’t been seen outside of duties always going straight back to his weyr as soon as he can. Rumors abound of his having been seen once or twice in the company of an exotic looking woman with gossip referring to her as his cousin from the South. There are also vague whispers about having seen the crazy woman dangling from some sort of rope over the lip of his ledge, of hidework being thrown off of it another time and of RAGING arguments. This evening however, for whatever reason, he’s chosen to show his face and ambles into the weyr discreetly allocated to those elite that fly with Whirlwind. Or perhaps he merely seeks to escape the harpy. “W’rin.” Said escapee is looking rather cheerful and entirely pleased with himself. “Long day, eh?”

COLD. Yet another thing G'tan is going to have to get used to if he's staying here. Zinakoth doesn't like it either, but doesn't complain about it nearly as much. The Istan-born bronzerider is quickly seeking out the warmth within after dismounting, his entrance to the Whirlwind lounge rather of the barging variety as he rubs down his arms and shivers, cursing under his breath. He straightens quickly upon seeing who's inside, however. "Evenin', gentlemen," he greets with a salute sketched for W'rin and Cha'el both, and he's looking around as he steps further in, nodding approval. "Nice little place," he comments, eyes homing in on the alcohol but not going for it yet.

No need for G'tan to fret, since apparently both Weyrleader and second are rather sheepishly escaping the women that they are - whatever they are doing with these women. Of course W'rin doesn't know that. Only the rumors of some passionate woman occassionally glimpsed on the man's ledge. "Aye, Cha'el. A happy man? So it's true then, you've found yourself a crazy woman? No matter, as long as she's as …. frisky…. in bed." The rider gets a grunt and a lifted glass of whiskey, "Join us, man, won't you?"

At the sound of incoming steps, Cha’el turns and offers an old friend now wingmate a grin. “G’tan. Come to melt the ice off your balls?” As for W’rin’s comment, the brownrider about swallows his tongue and then offers a snort and a nonchalant looking shrug as cover. “So you heard. About my…cousin. She’s insane. Keeps trying to escape.” Not weird at all!!! The Weyrsecond forgoes the whiskey and goes straight for the rum and pours himself a measure then holds the bottle out to G’tan with an enticing waggle.

G'tan snorts and saunters over to a seat near the other two men, dropping down heavily. "Got that right," he answers, grinning his thanks to Cha'el as he accepts the bottle. "Got the good stuff here, at least. Nice." He pours for himself as well, raising a brow a bit at Cha'el's answer to W'rin. "Escape…from your weyr?" That would be the source of all the rumors, right?

Downing the drink in one, a look of sheer horror over the brim at his weyrsecond. "Cha'el. Your cousin? Are you mad?" His voice slowly raising as he stands, rocking slowly back on his heels. "Your cousin? Your children will have two heads, and an extra wanker." Nevermind the bit about the woman trying to escape, that'll sink in later. "Bloody shard'n crazy riders." W'rin raises his hands in the air in defeat and then lets them fall unceremoniciously to his side. "Your freak children aren't going to stand for any clutches if they have ball sacs growing out of their heads. I'll tell you that." A finger is jabbed in Cha'el's direction before the man stomps back out of the lounge, so much for relaxing.

W'rin heads on out, drills again, damn you Whirlwind!

“Like I said, wherryshit insane.” Cha’el reiterates making a circular motion with his finger near his temple. “Threw my hides over the ledge because she was bored.” And sank her teeth into another before shredding a third. Is it any wonder he’s been caught not quite up to speed at one or two meetings lately? Exasperation is spun through something else quickly hidden behind the lift of glass to lips and then he sprawls into an old overstuff armchair with a small tear along its lumpy lower edge. And then W’rin is making assumptions that cause the brownrider to almost choke on his drink. “The fuck you think I am? I’m not one of them inbreeding Reachian hillbillies.” He grumbles. “Besides. I guaran-damn-tee you the Weyrs will be lining up to Search MY kids one day.” One day. “They’re gonna be solid stuff.” And out stomps W’rin. Eyes slide sideways to G’tan with a knowing look. “Guess Sienna has him on a shorter leash these days than he’d like.” Smirk.

G'tan does choke on his drink. A little. He wasn't quite done swallowing. A slightly watery gaze follows the Weyrleader out, and the bronzerider clears his throat, smirking back at Cha'el. "Hard to think of 'im on a leash," he observes, sprawling a little in his chair. "Sienna must be some woman then, if he stays on it." Another sip, and G'tan turns an amused look on the Weyrsecond. "So…why do you have your cousin in your weyr?"

Snorting into his glass when his hand drops, Cha’el is wearing a devilish grin. “Maybe he likes it and a studded collar to go with it.” Yes, W’rin they are discussing your sex life!! “I reckon Sienna could crack a whip with the best of them.” Another tilt of glass and eyes of ocean’s blue narrow slightly onto G’tan. Taking his time because he’s savoring his drink, he exhales through the burn. “Her father had to go away on business and she’s a bit of a handful so he sent her up here for a bit.” The explanation gliding as smoothly off his tongue as the rum does down his throat. Thankfully, not many know much about his family history although G’tan might have a better idea than most given that he too is Istan born.

With a bark of laughter, G'tan swiftly knocks the rest of his rum back and sits with the pleasant burn for a moment, letting it warm him. "Wouldn't be surprising," he says, though to which thing, he doesn't make clear. He likely means both. He wrinkles his nose a bit at Cha'el's answer. "Sounds like a kid more than a woman," he notes, scoffing a bit. "Hope you don't have to keep 'er too much longer. Need a hand in the meantime?" It's asked with a straight face as he pours himself some more rum, but there's a rakish glint in his eye nonethless.

Cha’el fits the good-looking bronzer with a stiff look, snorts and then waggles his fingers for the rum bottle. Slosh. A GOODLY portion gets poured into his glass and knocked back in one. What? He’s thirsty! “She’s already with someone, mate.” He drawls bland as can be. “And from what I hear, this guy doesn’t take too kindly to poaching. Or so she says.” More rum goes into his glass, nursed more slowly this time as the brownrider stretches his legs out in front of him. “You managed to hook up with ‘Rissa yet?” Yup, the conversation has been TURNED, G’tan.

G'tan chuckles and gives a dismissive shake of his head as he hands the bottle back over. "Thought you might say that," he says, shrugging a little. "Not lookin' to make enemies already." There's a ready nod for the next question - though also a wry snort for the wording - and the bronzerider props an ankle on one knee. "Ran into 'er in the kitchen when I got here, pulled her out for a drink afterward," he replies, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. "She alright? Seems to be havin' a few issues lately."

Cha’el side-eyes his wingmate but doesn’t add anything more to his story and instead stays firmly to the new topic. One that draws a fond smile into place for whatever their history, Erissa is and always will be, counted as a dear friend. “Don’t fuck her over, G’tan, or you’ll have me to answer to.” Friendly warning handed over and then the Weyrsecond frowns. “I dunno. She seems okay on the surface at drills but…something’s…off. I can’t put my finger on it. Been meaning to drop in and check on her but…” He’s sort of had his hands full lately. “She said something to you?”

That warning, even if it's a friendly one, has G'tan fixing Cha'el with a steady gaze. "I won't. By Zin's egg, I promise," he assures the brownrider, and he taps a finger on his glass, looking into it. "Shouldn't've ever been a cocky shit to 'er back at Ista either, and I told 'er so. Meant it. And I'm not lookin' to poach off you, either, so you don't need to worry there, either." To Cha'el's last, G'tan shakes his head. "Nothin' beyond that she was just dealing with some stuff. Which could mean any number of things." Another shrug as he gives Cha'el a humorless smirk. Do either of them know how to decipher woman-speak yet?

Long Cha’el holds that look and then finally he gives a short nod. He knows where G’tan lives. What follows next finds the Weyrsecond cocking a brow and then with a chuckle rubbing his brows with his thumb and forefinger, hand shading his eyes until it falls away again. “I don’t know what she and I, we’re not together like that any more. Not since I left Ista.” A soft snort echoes into his glass at the next and he lifts it in toast at what Erissa having ‘stuff’ to deal with could mean. “I’ll drink to that.”

At that little revelation, G'tan's eyebrows arch high above the second glass he's currently draining. "I, uh…don't think she knows that," he points out with a slight drawl. "But I let you handle that little detail. Not touchin' it." Because that would go over so well. Moving on, the bronzerider sets his glass aside with a light thunk on a nearby side table. "So other than the crazy woman," crazy women? "things been good for you here? Seems like you're handlin' Weyrsecond just fine."

Drawing his legs in, Cha’el leans forward in the overstuffed armchair and with hands curled about the glass and dipped between the splay of knees, sets G’tan with an intent look. “If you’re interested her. I mean seriously interested in her, you won’t let that get in the way. I think…” And he could be wrong here because what do men know about the way a women’s mind works? “She holds onto what we had in Ista like a security blanket. She knows me. I’m safe. So she feels safe.” That having been said, the Weyrsecond starting to feel MORE than a little light-headed – has eaten today? – stands with only a slight sway as he unfurls to his full height. “Its not Ista,” which is probably a good thing, “and there isn’t any ocean nearby,” once a sailor always a sailor, “but Igen has a charm about it. A certain…” his hand lifts and fingers waggle in the air as he grapples for the right descriptor, “flair for life that gets under your skin as surely as the sand will get in your buttcrack.”

"Oh, no, no, man, I'm not…" G'tan trails off, scratching the back of his head vigorously for a moment and chuckling. Is he? He doesn't know. "Practically just got here and all." Though what that has to do with anything is anyone's guess. The bronzerider watches Cha'el rise, noting his sway with a smirk. "Ocean of sand maybe," he snorts, "and who woulda though it gets this fucking cold out here? Zin loves it, though. I'm sure I'll get used to it. You takin' off?" G'tan isn't in a hurry to just yet. There's still rum unfinished, after all. "Hey, you mind a visit sometime? I managed to sneak off with something from home you'll probably like."

“Mmm.” Is the somewhat dubious sound that comes from Cha’el at the bronzerider’s hasty backpeddle with regards to his intentions towards their blueriding wingmate. “Just remember. You hook up with her, you’re out of Whirlwind.” Funny how he threatens to displace G’tan and not Erissa. Now that he’s on his feet, that rum suddenly starts to have a whoooole ‘nother level of efficacy and the brownrider squints down at the man still seated. “You tell me you took that bastard’s damned metal toe capped boots,” that bastard being a certain bronzerider that had caused Cha’el a whole world of hurt and humiliation, “and I’ll personally ensure you get a raise.” Smirk. Said twist of lips drops right off when G’tan mentions dropping by. Cue the wherry in dragonsights moment. To say ‘No’ would cast suspicion. But to say ‘Yes’…. “Sure! Just give us a shout and uh…I can organize,” for Ksenia not to be there? “dinner or something.”

"Uh. Yeah. Noted." G'tan clears his throat sits forward, reaching for the remainder of the rum. To Cha'el's next pronouncement, the bronzerider just laughs. "Wish I'd been thinkin' that far ahead," he says, then looks up at the Weyrsecond, arching a brow at his expression. "I…could just drop the damn thing off, too, if you'd rather. Don't wanna get in the middle of your space if you're not set up for it or anything."

Now Cha’el just looks like a prat and so, swaying a little on his feet – had he been drinking before hitting up the Whirlies haven? – he offers G’tan an easygoing grin. “Nah. I’m set up for it. Drop on by any time.” He’s probably going to regret that. With a lift of hand a sloppy salute is given and the brownrider ambles on out again. This a bit of shuffling and a curse that comes from the ledge when he almost falls on his ass trying to mount Sikorth but soon the Weyrsecond is astride and the brown pair skip the short distance to their weyr.

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