Prineline, Ravene, and cameo by Sioneva


Prineline discusses wine with Jharlodar, Ravene half dozes, and Sioneva tries to take a break from chores/lessons. All while surrounded by a cacophony of talking in the Cantina.


It is afternoon of the first day of the first month of the second turn of the 12th pass.
In Igen: It is the sixty-first day of Winter and 32 degrees. It is a bright, sunny day with a gentle wind.


Dustbowl Cantina, Igen Weyr

OOC Date


Dustbowl Cantina

To enter the Dustbowl Cantina is to descend: the heart of the ancient tavern lies half underground, at the foot of ancient steps, insulated from summer heat and winter cold by the volcanic rock surrounding it. A windowless place well-lit by glows, it is homey, even cozy, with a certain bijou charm - but for the deep gouges worn in wooden table and solid stone, some clearly lingering evidence of boisterous brawling. The wall behind the well-polished bar, though, remains free from scars or graffiti, as does the door into the small kitchen, and the stairwell up into the owner's quarters: the barkeep and his staff reign, and they guard their territory well. After all, only a fool angers the source of the booze.

OOC Note: the Dustbowl's owner (currently: Jharlodar) functions as an NPC when not logged in. Don't do anything too drastic with him, but he and his staff may be referenced in poses.
Lurking in the ancient rafters are Rum, Glimmer, New Orleans, Cat, Savasana, Scout, Mr. Plumpers, Pelokas, and Lincoln.
You see Dartboard here.

Prineline steps through the threshold, shedding some sunlight as she does so. The Headwoman is talking to someone as she moves into the tavern, calling back into the bazaar a few numbers and some words that sound a bit like 'tithe' 'Ista' and 'grubby-pawed assholes' before she closes the door on the outside and abruptly cuts off the conversation. Jharlodar is smiling that smile he saves only for Prineline as she moves to the bar in a flurry of layered fabric. He slides her special cushion over the stool at the end, a special practice he's only too happy to perform. The Headwoman seats herself, unwinding from a pile of scarves as she smiles gratefully at the barkeep and a glass of Benden red is slid before her, bottle nearby. "Jharlodar, have you had any of that new grape strains come through yet? Some of my old friends back home say Benden is currently playing with some of their newer varietals; apparently some young Master is causing a stir." And so their softly murmured conversation on the state of Benden vintners begins over sips and swirls of lush red.

Ravene has been seated in the swirling cacophony of the Dustbowl for a while. Oddly enough, the buzzing hum of conversation serve as a soothing antidine to the near constantly jangled nerves that the baker has been dealing with for the last too long. As such, she's more asleep than she is awake so when the soft coo from the basket that is on the chair next to her jolts her widely awake in her corner of the cantina, "Huh?" bleary blink at the basket before the content is carefully scooped up and given a gentle pat on the back until a tiny belch erupts. Who knew?

The escape has been made, a twenty-year-old refugee from the edges of life; perhaps, here and now, she can become more than a subsistence farmer in the deserts of Igen. And so, quietly, Sioneva makes her way into the Cantina with a care to cling to the wall behind her, squinting beneath her windblown bangs at the groupings of people. So many! And all in one place! How does one breathe in such conditions, the girl may never know; her furrowed brow might even indicate some consernation over the horrible evidence her eyes present her with. And still, she stands stubborn, an intent observer of all that goes on.

Prineline does not notice the young woman scoping out the bar, to intent on the discussion at hand. However, when a tiny belch draws both her and Jharlodar's attentions, she pauses to peer closer at the little lump and—"Are you kidding me? When in the hell… Ravene? Do you have a baby?" Prineline does not seem to be siding either with general discomfort or motherly camaraderie; she's neutral, still attempting to peer at the swaddled bundle in order to confirm these suspicions.

Ravene gives Prineline's question a self deprecating shrug, "Blame K'dor," she answers, sounding like she could use more sleep than she's getting. Though it won't be too much longer, and the babe will be sleeping through the night, "She's a bit over a month," the child's been fed, and now that she's belched she seems content to go back to sleep. Jharlodar's look draws a sigh, "I never said I couldn't have children. Just that I shouldn't, and shardit all, quit looking so shocked," this is snarked at one of the baker apprentices that seems only to have just noticed.

Prineline snorts, sharing a meaningful look to Jharlodar before she sidles off her stool, wine in hand, and moves to inspect the tiny bundle of sleepless-needy-often-damp-joy. "I didn't even know you were pregnant. Has it really been that long since I've seen you?" Prineline is a busy woman, but according to her (questionable) memory she swears she bumps into Ravene fairly regularly in her Bazaar dealings. "What's her name?" The Headwoman takes another sip of wine as she leans in further. "Healthy?"

"Tanise, for my mother," Ravene answers, "No one in my family ever shows," must be genetic, "Had K'dor listened this little bundle and her brother would never have been," though sadly, "He didn't make it though," poor thing, and maybe not so shockingly, Ravene doesn't sound too terribly broken up about it.

Prineline moves closer, eyes softening slightly as she props her arms in the 'baby arrival' position and smiles lightly at Ravene. "Yes, well, they're never well timed are they. May I?" Give. Baby. Must. Hold.

Ravene chuckles as she hands the baby over to Prineline, "No, and with all that's going on," a shrug as she looks at the tiny, slighly less sickly looking babe, "She's had a rough go this first month or so. Touch and go," many long hours in the infirmary.

You hand Tanise to Prineline.

Prineline just looked at baby Tanise.

A baby should be chubby, with lots of dimples. Tanise is decidedly not chubby, though she has gained enough weight that the healers have declared her healthy. Dark brown eyes sit in a round face one to either side of a small upturned nose with wispy ash blonde hair starting to grow into a less wispy mass on the top of the girl's head. Arms, legs, and torso are still thin but at least they aren't painfully so anymore. Tanise hardly looks frail at all, what with the drool of teething starting to show at the corners of her mouth and all. Tanise is dressed in a tiny version of her mother's outfit. Complete with startched pinafore.
Tanise is 2 months and 13 days old.

Prineline takes the baby carefully and begins bouncing, slowly rolling from heel to toe as she coos. A quiet melody is hummed as her fingers trace the girl's forehead and she inspects the minute features. "Yeah, she's skinny, but there's some color to those cheeks." If there's one thing Prineline knows outside of running the caverns of a Weyr, it's babies. A mother twice over, the hefty woman dips and bobs, allowing the little girl to burble sleepily before she turns a stern look to Ravene. "Wish I could say you could have some of my old baby clothes, unfortunately, I only ever had boys." Her look melts a little as she cocks her head and mumbles some nonsense at the baby. Tanise raises one little hand towards Prineline's nose before falling back into her bouncy sleep. "If you need someone to watch her from time to time, come by the office in the evenings. I trust my creche but you and I go back a few turns, I wouldn't mind."

Ravene nods as she half nods where she sits, "Zisiene's been a wonder with her," and then, "There's also the apprentices I've been working with," because who doesn't love a baby? "Tanise isn't that fussy," which is a blessing really. Ravene watches the baby, "Too soon she'll be grown up, and wanting things or apprenticeship," there is a lot left unsaid. A hiccup from the baby gets a small chuckle, "she's only ever fussy during storms."

Prineline is clearly attached, but, sadly, she must finish that glass of wine and get back to badmouthing Ista. "Here you are," she says, handing back Tanise to her mother as she sweeps up her wine glass and tips a nod to the baker. "Yes, it happens fast. Not to sound like every other generic parent, but, enjoy it while it lasts." She tips a salute to the barkeep as she places her empty glass down. "Take care of yourself, mama." She says by way of departure as she steps towards the door, cracking her neck and stretching out her shoulders in preparation for the rest of her day.

Ravene nods, "Thanks," is offered in return. Really, there's not much else to say.

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