Who

Arvo, Alyna

What

Arvo is drinking for fun with his men in the Tipsy Kitten when he runs into Alyna who is drinking to forget a catastrophic Fall that claimed one of her wingmates.

Some creative profanity

When

It is sunset of the thirteenth day of the seventh month of the thirteenth turn of the 12th pass.

Where

The Tipsy Kitten, Southern Weyr

OOC Date 23 Mar 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.


Storm clouds roiling outside paint the perfect backdrop for a rousing night of drinking and storytelling amongst some of the sailors who habitually haunt Southern's shores. Dingy light comes in through the windows - unlikely to last much longer, as the sun continues to set - illuminating all within in a ghoulish light. Here, in the middle of the Tipsy Kitten, the Azov Foam's captain holds court. He is at ease tonight in the company of other seamen and seacrafters alike, nestled at a table in the corner, where their bawdy tales and betting games are less likely to be overheard. Dingy light comes in through the windows - unlikely to last much longer, as the sun continues to set - illuminating all within in a ghoulish light. "Another round?" Arvo asks of his tablemates, to a resounding cheer of "aye, aye captain!", and sets off to the bar, his short glass full of ice and aged scotch.

Well at least some people are in a good mood, unfortunately Alyna is not one of them. Sitting at the far end of the bar, away from the ruckus, the greenrider has a bottle of whiskey in front of her, well over a third empty. Her movements are automatic as she lifts it to pour herself a couple of fingers into the empty glass in front of her. She's dressed in a sky blue peasant top, sleeves swept off her shoulders, and a pair of dark brown wherhide pants that hug her legs like a second skin. Her hair is damp from a late bath, and along her jaw a fine line of threadscore, almost a finger-length worth, but angry red and obviously from the Fall that happened earlier that day over the Feline Plains. Stormy blue eyes stare off into nothing as she slams back her drink easily before moving to once again to refill it

With the bartenders busying tending other patrons lined up at the smooth marble top, even a well-respected captain has to wait his turn. It happens that Arvo's beeline to the bar sent him towards Alyna, and it's the greenrider that his dark eyes keenly assess. He stands back from the bar, not quite in line with the seats and their occupants, and rolls his glass around so the contents slosh back and forth like the pitch of the sea. "Rough day?" His scratchy baritone is rich and cheerful, despite both her situation and his, the former of which appears to be direr.

At the man's query, Alyna merely smirks and chuckles sardonically before she once again downs her refilled drink, "You can say that. Thread was especially unforgiving today." she finally replies in a bitterly sarcastic tone before flicking her gaze in Arvo's direction. One fine eyebrow hikes up her forehead as she tilts her head to one side as she gives him a thorough, and maybe a little blatant since the greenrider is well on her way to being quite intoxicated, once over from top to bottom. "You're the captain of the Azov Foam aren't you?" She asks as she goes to refill her glass, sloshing only slightly, but she doesn't seem to be bothered.

"Thread," the seacrafter muses aloud, "a dragonrider and sailor's common enemy." Little does she have to say about the menace and its unforgiving traits, though of late it has been the weather's penchant for kicking him in that gut that has him fussed. "I am," Arvo states, flashing fingers in the air when the bartender's eyes rove to him, "captain of that fine vessel." He steps forwards and places his order of many, many pitchers of beer, to be sent posthaste by pretty, plump waitress to the already drunken seamen guffawing many tables away. "Arvo," he says, after he's stepped back from the bar, giving a tip of his head in her direction, "in the flesh."

Nodding in agreement with the man's words, Alyna takes a sip of her current drink, maybe belatedly trying to pace herself. "Well met Captain Arvo." Turning on her stool to face him, the petite woman's legs swing idly. "Me and my green, Haquith, were there, the day of the storm. We were part of the group that tried to slow your ship. I'm Alyna." she says and with that she will offer her hand in the man's direction by way of greeting before flicking her gaze to the group of boisterous sailors. "But don't let me keep you from your men and a good time."

Soon there is a barmaid bearing a armload of pitchers towards the sailors, and soon after that she looks extremely harried from the attempted tush-pats and promises about their sea legs that they fling her way. Merely amused, Arvo allows his gaze to naturally stray from the boisterous men back towards the greenrider. "Alyna? We are well met, indeed. My gratitude to you, and your fellow dragonriders, for assisting us in getting off the ship in time." He takes another moment to silently slosh his drink, perhaps allowing the events of that day to come back to mind. "The wind is a lot like politics. They are both unpredictable," he amuses aloud. "I don't believe this miss me." And with their glasses recently refreshed, a bounty of lovely ladies at arm's reach, they are duly distracted.

Alyna looks over at the sailors and rolls her eyes at their antics with the poor barmaid before shakign her head and looking back at the captain. "All in a day's work Sir." she says with a hint of dry humor and a small smirk curling her lips before she finishes off her current glass. Cheeks are rosy with inebriation and her eyes bright as she reaches for her half-full bottle of whiskey and pours herself another large drink. "I'm only sorry we weren't able to save your boat as well. Any word on if you will be able to raise it?" She asks curiously as her blue eyes once again travel over the sailor's form, slower this time, consideringly.

"We owe our lives," Arvo retorts, and finally lifts the glass to have a sip of liquor. "It is not often you might hear that from a sailor. We are a prideful lot." Ever the cheerful captain, turning a solemn moment into something more frivolous, with a display of teeth behind wiry mustache. He watches the way she handles the bottle, good-humor lingering in the lines of his face, and utters a noise of fake exasperation. "I am working on getting it raised, but with everything happening at Black Rock, my plans have been put on hold. Azov Foam does not take priority by comparison," he answers in a matter-of-fact fashion, with an underlying touch of sadness for his love that rests at the bottom of Southern's sea.

"I haven't actually known a lot of sailors. I'm from Telgar Hold originally, and then Igen where I impressed." Alyna offers with a shrug as she lifts her glass to her mouth and takes another hearty swig before smiling semi-drunkenly in Arvo's direction, her previous brooding lifting the more tipsy she gets with the help of the distraction of the Captain himself. "Yeah, Black Rock, they seem to like taking priority over others." her tone is biting as she downs the rest of her drink, she is obviously numbing herself against something the way she is drinking.

"Igen has a number of ships that ply her coastal waters. It is a pity if you have never experienced it yourself," Arvo tells the greenrider, and finishes off the rest of his drink in a single shot that leaves him grimacing from the liquor burn. As he sets the empty glass on the marble countertop, he nods his head, gaze unmoved from the bartender. "You have something against the Warder?" It's only after he's secure another drink that he allows his eyes to focus in on Alyna again, his thoughts concealed by a well-worn poker face.

Oh dear, maybe Alyna should have gone somewhere a little more private to mourn the loss of a wingmate, but here she is well-lubricated with whiskey, and he is asking her opinion of the current state of things. This has a high probability of not ending well. The greenrider does take a moment to consider pouring herself another drink, but after a brief pause, she decides to cut out the middle man and takes a swig directly from the bottle, throwing her head back with the motion. When she turns her attention back to Arvo, she shakes her head, which causes her to sway just a little bit, "Nope! I have nothing against the Warder at all. I have a problem with those wherry-headed sons of goat fuckers who decide to risk a boatload of women and children in a fool stunt that could have gotten them all killed." Another swig is taken to soothe the biting bitter tone in the woman's voice as her eyes grow stormy again.

Arvo stares wistfully at his shipmates when the conversation between him and Alyna takes a turn - no doubt thinking about the simpler ways of beer and dirty jokes - before he settles his bulk resolutely on the stool beside hers. He tugs at the collar of his shirt, and states, "You don't feel sorry for their situation? Refugees who had to leave their home for the Weyr's security." His tone is level and does not reveal much by way of his inner machinations, and neither does his expression, for its still mildly amused and contemplative.

Not missing that look, Alyna turns back to put her elbows on the bar top with a heavy sigh. "I felt sorry for them up to the point where they sabotaged their own boat to ensure we would have to let them stay at the Weyr instead of heading to Southern Barrier where they were being welcomed and could be accomodated." Her tone drops dangerously then, "That was the line they crossed that lost them my pity." Another full swig and she wipes at her mouth with the back of her hand, charming isn't she? "But you shouldn't be listening to my sour ass right now, I'm not good company, you should be having a fun time with your men." She says, nodding in the direction of the sailors.

Idle fingers begin to drum against the walls of his glass, and yet his expression does not waver in its uniformity. "Men will do many things when their survival is on the line," Arvo answers Alyna, and shoots her an unabashed grin. "I should get back to them. I can never promise what mischief they will think up, and you have a lot on your mind." He rises from the stool, and if the greenrider allows, a hand is briefly laid upon her shoulder in a comforting gesture. "Calm winds are coming, rider Alyna." Of that, there is no doubt, even if the tempest must take them first - and this seacrafter intends to enjoy what time they have left before the culmination of the storm, amongst his men, enjoying southern's finest drink.

"That they do." is the only answer Alyna gives to Arvo's talk of men and survival, her tone is strangely steady, thoughtful even, as her ice blue eyes look at him again. When he rises, she bobs her head in his direction but before she can say anything, his hand is on her shoulder and it makes her tilt her head to one side considerately as she takes in his rather poetic words that bring a curious smile to her face. "Thank you Captain, they can't come soon enough." When he moves back to his group, she slips her riding jacket on, and grabs the bottle before swaying her way out the door and into the night so that no one else falls victim to her morose mood.

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