Ibrahim, F'kan, Rielle


Drinks in the Kitten, unwanted company, and a wingleader on the hunt, just a pleasant evening at Southern Weyr.


It is evening of the tenth day of the tenth month of the thirteenth turn of the 12th pass.


The Tipsy Kitten, Southern Weyr

OOC Date 21 Apr 2018 04:00


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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.

Oh, the days are long, and the nights so, so quiet: what alien feel is this, when Ibrahim's end goal is not the weyr of a certain lovely goldrider, but his own tent, so unfamilar, so opposite of that dainty, feminine space? The obvious answer is, of course, avoidance; avoidance of things he's in no mood to stare at. Instead, he drops by the Tipsy Kitten for a drink, a rare enough sight that he gets several sidelong glances ere he's dne ordering and collecting his drink. These he ignores as he settles himself into a table, eyeing th smoky liquid in his glass almost suspiciously.

Spring has found its way into a certain Lynx wingrider's step as F'kan saunters in from the Weyr entrance. His skin is already bronzed from the warm Spring sun, sandy blond hair tousled haphazardly as bright blue eyes wander the space as he wanders towards the bar. With a lopsided grin at the barmaid there, friendly, not lecherous. "I'll have a pint of ale please." he rumbles with a twinkle in his eyes. While she gets his drink, he turns to survey the room and his eyes land on a certain wildling man, a brow hiking up at the way the man is eyeing his drink suspiciously. So much so that when he gets his own drink, he feels compelled to wander over to Ibrahim's table. "Are you going to drink that, or just look at it as if it owes you marks?" he inquires jovially.

Ibrahim will turn that squint on F'kan if the dragonrider owes him marks; an unfortunate turn of events, perhaps, for F'kan owes nothing of the sort. But still, he's a polite wildling, if nothing else, and chooses to study F'kan for a long moment before replying, "That depends." His tone is dry, very very. 'Why do you ask?"

F'kan shrugs his shoulders in the most casual way as he brings his pint to his lips to take a small sip, his other hand slipping into his trouser pocket as he slumps forward. "Well, if you're gonna drink it, then I might ask to sit and we could maybe share a civil drink as a way to move past the first time we met." he says with a raise of his brow, "If you're just going to stare at it, I might leave you to your thoughts because obviously you've got a lot on your mind if you can't even manage to put your glass to your lips." he quips in a friendly manner, looking down at the wildling man. There may be an ulterior motive for the brownrider in seeking a drink with this wildling man.

Well this, Ibrahim has got to see! Ulterior motives are usually suspect, howeber, who doesn't have tjose these days. "Well. This I want to see." His tone is still dry and even, his voice as silken as can be. "Sit, then, and we shall see." For this might be an interesting twist to his day.

F'kan takes a seat and leans back to take anout sip from his ale as he looks the wildling man over once. "So how are things ibrahim?" the sandy blonde haired man asks casually enough. Better to start with the innocuous questions, something conversational without being too personal, to test the waters as it were. The brownrider's body is relaxed, lounging back in the chair as he lays his pint glass on the table in front of him, his fingers tracing abstract designs in the condensation on the glass.

Another brownrider enters the Kitten, but not with any sort of discretion. No, Rielle enters tonight as a woman clearly on the hunt for someone, the door swinging almost wildly in her wake as the wingleader strides inside. She pauses about three steps in, teal eyes snapping as they cast about in search of something - someone, really, because the only things to really find here are glasses of booze and dragon poker decks. She looks vaguely puzzled after a few good long moments of peering around, apparently not finding who she's after. Some tension leaves her as she gives a resigned sigh, and she resolutely turns to the bar to order a drink. Glancing back again, she notes two familiar faces at a nearby table. "F'kan, Ibrahim," she greets with a nod, a corner of her mouth turning up faintly at the memory of where she last saw the other brownrider.

"Things are as they always are. Sometimes deadly dull, other times much too exciting." Ibrahim, it seems, is not the world's best conversationalist! But look, that drink has passed muster, for he takes a sip before setting it down precisely where it had been before, leaning back in his own chair to study the brownrider carefully. Are there questions in the back of his head? Oh, naturally there are, but he keeps them well under wraps for now. "And how fare you?" He, too, can ask innocuous questions. And when Rielle ventures into the Kitten and greets them both, he will incline his head

F'kan nodsa long amiably to the other man's answer, a little smirk of his lips at the way Ibrahim rmains vague with his words. When finally the other man takes a drink, he raises his glass again to his won lips, considering how he is going to answer Ibrahim's question in return. "I fare better than I have in a long time actually. I seem to be fully embracing the season." he answers a little cryptically, because really that could mean anything. When he hears his name, he raises his eyes to spy the Serval Wingleader and he offers a casual salute in her direction, although remaining in his slouched position. At that moment, this brownrider also remember the last time he had seen her, and his cheeks pink just faintly as he brings pint glass to his lips once more, ducking his head.

For F'kan's seeming bashfulness, Rielle only has an amused smirk, which turns into an amiable little smile as her eyes flick to Ibrahim. She'll wait for words to end before offering up her own. "I don't suppose either of you noticed a tall, sort of lanky bluerider with salt-and-pepper hair and green eyes here earlier?" she ventures hopefully…though with a rather irritable edge to her tone that indicates said bluerider is in trouble. "Scar through his right eyebrow, Serval patch on his arm?" Yes, one of hers. The guy is really in trouble.

Oh now this could be very amusing, indeed! Ibrahim's gaze sparkles with surpressd mirth, and one elbow leans on the table, that drink back in hand, half-hiding his face as he takes in F'kan's deliberate vagueness, and that blush. He'd noted the mating flight overhead — he's still new enough to the Weyr for the things to attract his attention, however briefly. They affect him somewhat, and he's still learning how to ignore the sensations they send coursing through him. "Oh, really." He needles gently, smirking almost playfully. Wait, what? "Huh. Hadn't seen anyone by that desciption here, but I've only just arrived."

"Spring is just such a great season don't you think? All the flowers, the sun shining again after all that rain." F'kan waxes poetic briefly as he gets an almost goofy look to his handsome face. If this were a certain animated movie about woodland creatures, one might call the man twitterpated, but as it is, his blue eyes are dancing when Rielle's description of a serval wingrider takes the brownrider's attention and he furrows his brow for a long moment before shaking his head apologetically, "Sorry Ma'am. Haven't seen 'em." is all he can offer before observing needlessly, "Although I'm betting I wouldn't want to be in his shoes at this moment."

Rielle, while amused at F'kan's somewhat over-romantic descriptors of spring, is enough so that she's distracted from her current task. Her drink arrives, and after paying for it, she slaps down the requisite marks and sets her back to the bar, downing a good quarter of what's in her rocks glass. "Bugger," she mutters in the wake of Ibrahim's reply, the smile she fits F'kan with looking sharp enough to cut a finger. "You be hanging upside down from the Star Stones by your big toes right now if you were," she informs him far too cheerfully, and knocks back another good amount of her drink. "Anyway, sorry to interrupt, gentlemen. I'll go prowl a bit more and see what I can find. Clear skies." With that, she tips her glass off her brow to them in casual salute and makes her way back through the tavern to continue her search for her erring wingrider.

"Clear skies, Wingleader." This, to Rielle's fleeing back — possibly she's fleeing F'kan's exceedingly sugary… descriptors. Ibrahim's thick eyebrows fly upward, and he stares, disbelieving, at the brownrider. Whaaaaat did this dude buy to drink. Perhaps the wildling had been right to be suspicious! "Um. Okay." What else is one to say about such a weird description of the oncoming spring?

F'kan whistles low at Rielle's description of what is waiting for the errant wingrider, as he offers a casual salute back with a jovial, "Happy hunting." as he watches her make her way out of the Kitten. Turning his gaze back to Ibrahim, he considers the man with a long stare before he leans in closer, elbows resting on the tabletop as his voice drops to conspiratorial level. "So…I've been seeing this wildling woman…" he begins while running his hand through his messy blond locks.

Ibrahim is not even sure what's going on, here: why would F'kan be telling him about this wildling woman? He doesn't even know the man! And their sole meeting had not precisely been amicable. But how does one go about ascertaining the whys and wherefores of this kind of thing? "F'kan — why would I be the recipient of this information?" He asks, his tone bemused. "It's not like we're bosom buddies, you understand, so the volunteering of such infomation — let's just say, it confuses me."

"Because… you are yourself a wildling." F'kan oh-so-astutely observes as if there is nothing more obvious as to why he might decide to share this information with Ibrahim. But his next might give a clearer hint as to what the brownrider's ulterior motives may be. "What do wildling guys do if they're…y'know…trying to woo a wildling girl?" And next F'kan is going to ask for makeup tips and offering to do Ibrahim's nails.

Ibrahim is being punked, right? He's totally being punked. The wildling will look around, trying to see if there are people hiding behind various items of furniture, just waiting to leap out and shout, "PSYCH!" at him. When that doesn't happen, he turns his attention back to F'kan with a steady, almost annoyed stare. "You do realize I barely know you? And what I know of you isn't good? Why would I want to unleash you on another woman?" His stare hardens. "Did it cross your mind that I might not want to help you?"

F'kan blinks his eyes innocently in Ibrahim's direction, looking a little sheepish as he is getting an annoyed stare back at him. "Yes, what you knew about me was awful. I will be the first to admit that." Yep, he can admit this now with little more than a shrug of his shoulders. "And feel free to tell me to fuck right off man, I would probably deserve it." He drops his bright blue eyes then as he rests his fingertips over the glass. "But this isn't about conquest, I really like this girl and I think for some unknown reason she might like me back. How do I tell her I want things to get more serious?"

"First tell me why I should help you," Ibrahim asks, drumming long fingers on the table impatiently, "and not find this girl and warn her off you." Because while others might have seen progress in the man, Ibrahim has pretty much not even seen F'kan since that first and only meeting. "You shrug dismissively and say, 'That's the old me' — what evidence do I have of that?"

F'kan shakes his head a little bit. "Y'know what man? Forget about it. I shouldn't have asked. It's not a big deal." he brings his glass of ale again to his lips for a long swig before he smacks his lips. "It was a spur of the moment kind of thing. It just looked like you could use some company that's all." At the idea of Ibrahim warning off Devana though, that will get a chuckle, "And warn off if you want, but Devana is a strong-minded woman, she makes up her own mind," he remarks astutely.

"And you thought you would make excellent company." Ibrahim is frankly scoffing at the very idea — he'll need to see several letters of reference as to F'kan's new and improved character, apparently, to shift his view of the brownrider. As to the girl in question, he cants his head to one side, consideringly. "A strong minded woman gathers information regarding a man before making up her mind. What she does with the information is entirely up to her, not me." Finishing off his drink, Ibrahim will rise, eyeing F'kan expressionlessly for a long moment. "It seems you have yet to learn how to see beyond yourself, whatever else you might have changed about yourself. Perhaps I am not in need of your company after all."

F'kan isn't really going to argue with anything Ibrahim has to say, barely furrowing his brow at the other man's words. "Ok, so I was wrong. Sorry bout that. No harm done I hope." He remarks as he watches Ibrahim get to his feet with a lazy lift of his head. "You have a great rest of the evening Ibrahim." he nods his head in the wildling's direction as he raises his glass in farewell from his lounging position.

Ibrahim's departure is as typically wildling as everything else about him: he simply vanishes through the door, perhaps to seek the usual remedies for stress: a swim, a run, whatever. Whether there's harm done or nah, F'kan will just have to wonder, it seems.

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