Who

N'tael, Beris, Atticus

What

N'tael's weird enough to be out in a dust storm.

When

It is noon of the sixteenth day of the sixth month of the tenth turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Cantina Back Alley

OOC Date 19 Mar 2017 06:00

 

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ALL THE JUDGEMENT.


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Cantina Back Alley

A little too quiet, a little too dim. The alleyway behind the Dustbowl is not… unpleasant, exactly: the tavern staff have a little raised garden, and the brickwork of the ancient buildings all around offers a subtle beauty, with raised arches leading into little courtyards. And yet. There's something uncomfortable about the way the shadows linger here. Something distressing about the stink of the place, quite unrelated to the midden that lies at its end. Whatever else this alley might be, one thing is as certain as the goosebumps it gives: it's not a place for good little girls and boys.


Most people are like 'ugh, dust storm' stay inside, but Igen's second weyrsecond N'tael is just a little strange. Despite the gritty wind blowing across the land the man is outside and settled against the stone wall. It keeps most of the dust out of his face and it looks a little bit like he's meditating with his eyes closed against the dust that settles against him as it gets caught up in the strange currents that sweep up the alleyway. The storm is already settling down but by the layer of dirt all around him it's likely that N'tael spent most of the storm here in this sheltered corner rather then seek refuge in the Dustbowl Cantina itself.

Beris probably shouldn't be here, in this notoriously dodgy place, but since when has she ever listened to people who tell her what not to do? She also isn't hugely bothered by the dust storms that are infamous in the Igen area, and as she emerges from the cantina with a mug, she tugs her scarf up around her mouth and nose to protect them from the sand and dust being blown around in the alley. She spots N'tael leaning against the wall, his eyes closed, and steps closer, sandalled feet making a distinct tapping noise on the stone as she gets closer, frowning curiously at the still figure.

Dust literally flakes off N'tael when the sound of footstep nearby breaks into his concentration and he moves. It's hard to tell exactly what color he is in all the dust, but that's okay. The problem is his eyes. Blowing air out of his lips before he attempts to talk N'tael inquires, "Don't suppose ye would be havin' somethin' what would be gettin' 'e dust out've m' eyes?" His accent is thick with dryness and not just his normal hard-to-understand.

The statue is alive, reverse, reverse!! Beris takes a few steps - almost a stumble - back, when the figure comes to live, shaking some of his dusty coating off. The thick voice throws her off for a moment, but once the meaning of his words finally clicks, Beris tugs her linen scarf down and off her face, holding it out towards the man. "Try this. I thought you were a lost statue or something." She sounds completely confused, staring at the man, still slightly frowning.

Reaching towards the sound of her voice it'll take some adjustments on her part to get that scarf into his hands so he can start mopping at his face with it. Sweat has created a thin layer of mud so it wipes off in streaks. Only once N'tael is satisfied that none of the dirt will actually get into his eyes does he open them carefully, first just a small slit and then all the way. He squints into the light that is brighter than the shadows behind his eyes. "Be a li'l strange f'r some'un to be puttin' a statue here, aye? Ain't lots of people what appreciate that lingerin' 'ere." A glance down at the scarf, "Thanke f'r that. Mine blew off 'bout half way 'm thinkin."

When she realises the man can't see the scarf properly, Beris shifts her hand to try and thrust it into his reaching hands. She takes a sip from her drink as she watches him work, eyes flicking over his face as he wipes away the dirt and his features become clearer. There's no recognition on her face, though - she's got no idea who this guy is. "Could've been stolen," she retorts to his logic, then, as if it's an afterthought, holds out her drink for him to wet his no doubt dry throat. "Half way from where?" The offer comes with a blunt question, however.

"Much obliged miss," N'tael takes the cup and uses the first sip to rinse out his mouth, spitting it onto the ground next to him, then actually takes a longer drink for his thoat. "Stolen?" An eyebrow quirks upwards and a smile that would probably be charming if he wasn't so dirty creases onto his features. "Nah. Igenites ain't so foolish as to be lookin' f'r stealin' durin' a sandstorm. Be too easy t' be gettin' hurt 'n 'e get-a-way. Nah, thing just went 'e way of 'e wind." A hand flaps in the general direction of down the alleyway.

Beris takes another little step back to avoid being splashed when she realises N'tael's about to spit. At least she's made him smile, and he doesn't seem to be the sort of person that people tell her not to talk to. Anyway, if he wanted to hurt her, he'd have done so by now, right? So she's probably safe. "Eh, maybe you're right. Not that the sand storms stop everybody from doing stuff." His vague answer to her question gets a deeper frown. "Uh huh. Got caught in the storm, right?"

N'tael's as harmless as a vtol. When he stands she might be even more reassured by his height being a food few inches under hers. Shaking his head dust falls out and hints of the blond under show themselves. "Not e'ery'un, aye. And nah. I've been looking f'r a good place what ain't m'ledge t' be weatherin' one proper. Jus' btween us," N'tael winks as he uses the cloth to wipe at his hands, "'e weyr leadership don't think much of their weyrseconds flyin' through storms. Somethin' 'bout wantin' us t' be unhurt or such."

As the dust falls off him, so do more layers of intrigue. Beris is well and truly interested now, and takes another sip from her now-returned mug - though after she's wiped the dust from the rim, thanks N'tael. "Weyrsecond - so you're like, in charge at the Weyr? And you're out flying around in a sandstorm anyway?" She sounds a little unimpressed (like she's one to judge), though there's a glimmer of amusement in her dark eyes as she watches him, her body language relaxed.

"Nah, V'ard 'n T'ral, they got 'e reigns well 'n tight. I jus' help out here 'n there when one of them is gettin' a li'l too stretched out." Which is probably a lie, N'tael works just as hard at the other pair. He just isn't as serious about it! "Also, to be notin', I wasn't out flyin'. Jus' sittin' here in this li'l protected corner. Safe as houses, aye?" Another grin as she relaxes. He turns some attention to his body to make sure that he leaves only a small path of dust behind him when he walks, rather than like, the whole desert.

"Yuh-huh." Beris knows one of those names, at least - she's met Igen's Weyrleader before. The moustache sticks in a person's memory. "Uh-huhhhhh." She clearly still wants to dig at N'tael's reasons for standing out in a storm like he was, but she's not getting very far right now. "What's your name, anyway? I was gonna go sit in the garden, if you wanted to come with. It's a bit less dusty than here, anyhow."

"Did they e'er get somethin' more 'n weeds t' be growin' there?" N'tael inquires as he steps up next to her, clearly accepting the invitation. Whatever brought him into the storm is just going to have to stay a mystery for a bit. His name though, "N'tael, bronze Tlazotezath's. Ye bring a broom 'r somethin' t' be makin' a clean spot f'r yeself?"

"Weeds are plants too. Some of them even have flowers. Anyway, they're hardy." Beris leaps to the defence of the garden's inhabitants as she leads the way towards the place. "I'm Beris," she offers up, though no rank or any other sort of addendum follow. "No broom, but-" and once they're in the garden, she'll use the side of her foot to shove sand off first one seat, then another, leaving the first for N'tael to take, if he wants.

"Oh, aye. Wouldn't e'er be thinin' they ain't. Tlaz has got a li'l fondness for them yellow'uns what ain't no bigger then m' li'l finger's nail." A yawn breaks from N'tael's mouth after he talks and he flops himself down into the cleared space with an, "Thank'e Miss Beris. Ye 'e caretaker f'r this li'l patch now?"

Beris flops herself down in her own cleared seat, tapping her foot on the floor to shake some sand out from where it's got between sandal and foot. "Oh yeah, those ones are nice." She lifts an eyebrow at his yawn, and takes a drink, before holding the mug out to N'tael again. "Nah. I work at The Tea Room, with the Steens. You been there?"

Atticus walks in from the Dustbowl Cantina.

A shake of his head for the drink, though he adds oh-so-polietly, "Thanke much tho, f'r 'e offer. And aye, been to 'e tea room more 'n a few times. If'n I'm gettin' a chance I need to be stealin' Rocio 'n gettin' her down there." So that the pair of them can scandalize the Steens a little bit with their cuteness. The pair sit on a bench next to the garden, Beris having a cup of tea and N'tael is completely covered head to toe in dust from the most recent storm. Another yawn breaks across his face, N'tael is sleeeeepy~

"Best place in the bazaar to take a friend," though Beris's intonation on the word 'friend' implies a bit more than just that. "Private. Good staff." She grins impishly, settling back in her seat and puttin gboth hands round the mug now N'tael's declined another drink. "You been up all night or something?" She can't let the yawning go without commenting on it.

Out the back-door of the Cantina comes a man, tall and hale and painted in dark contrasts. White shirt, pale skin, dark hair and eyes and everything else. Atticus isn't immune to the heat of Igen and it shows in the places where his shirt, sweat-dampened, clings. He's evidently out to catch a breath of hair, exhaling harshly through his nose as he closes the dull roar of the Dustbowl's lunch crowd with the firm shutting of the door behind him.

So he's the complete opposite of dusty-coloured N'tael's blond and blue! "Aye, somethin' a li'l like that. 'n 'e heat, takes it out of a man. F'rgot 'bout that t'be honest. 's my first time since comin' back I've sat m'self out 'n a duststorm." A small handwave in her direction notes that N'tael doesn't find this at all strange or unusual. "How long ye been workin' f'r 'e Steens? Thought they only was down with them cousins workin' there?" With his eyes closed he hasn't noted the entrance of the newest stranger yet.

"Guess it's a kind of like…homecoming, then," Beris notes, before her attention is caught by someone coming out the back door of the Cantina. A sweaty man. The teenager stares at him for an impolitce length of time before she realised N'tael was asking her question. "Huh? Oh. Guess my family knew a Steen or something, got me the job. I dunno. Just got told to go start working." N'tael's got his eyes closed, so she feels less rude ignoring him for a bit and watching the newcomer to see what he's up to.

"Afternoon," Atticus says to the pair, his even-spaced stride taking him in an easy way round the corner of the flowerbeds. His hand dips into a pocket, and he withdraws a packet of the smokes locals favor. Lining up the edge, he taps the pack smartly against the heel of his palm, flipping open the papery edge to retrieve one with the absent elegance of a gesture of long acquaintance. He doesn't engage either of them, just casts about for his light, fingers patting down his pockets.

At the new voice N'tael cocks open an eye to check out said new comer. "Proly better if'n ye didn't." N'tael says it conversationally, nodding his head at the packet of smokes. "Ain't real polite if'n ye ain't asked if'n the lady minds 'e smoke messin' with her work break." An assumption he's just going to toss out true or not.

Beris sips from her drink absently, more interested in watching Atticus than the taste of the tea. When N'tael rouses from his apparent doze and opens an eye, the teenager's gaze flicks back to him, amusement on her face at the way he's playing the gentleman. For her part, Beris shrugs, looking back at Atticus, intrigued. Two new men, both interesting in their own ways. "I don't mind. Get plenty of smoking outside the Tea Room." She sips nonchalently from her mug, but her eyes are watching Atticus over the rim of the vessel.

"Oh, I'm sure the," Atticus' eyes flicker toward Beris with a certain lazy-lidded amusement, "…lady doesn't," and about then she's interjecting. "But far be it for me to not share." He slips the cigarillo to his mouth to hold onto and reaches out to offer the pack Beris-wards. His demeanor doesn't change, even when his other hand retrieves his packet of matches. Life's grand; his half-smile to N'tael thereafter seems to cement his opinion of this momentary interlude from his shift inside.

"Hum." N'tael expresses quite a bit of disapproval there, but he isn't an Igen native so some of their traditions aren't his. Smoking is one of them that N'tael simply doesn't like. An eyebrow arches slightly at Beris, a silent question on if the woman will take the smokes.

Beris looks like she's going to accept the offer - until she catches N'tael's look at her. If she wasn't getting that look, she probably would have accepted, but…instead, her hand draws back to return to the mug, clasping it a little too tightly, making her knuckles pale. "You work in the Cantina, right?" she asks, thinking she's seen his face before now. She's certainyl studying it hard, though that might also be a ploy to not look at N'tael for his judegement on the cigarettes.

ALL THE JUDGEMENT.

Atticus is from a pit filled with scum and villainy far worse than the dredges of Igen's bazaar could hope to field. He could have been king. Smokes are the least of his vices. The man's smirk around his cigarillo would be better suited for Lucifer, but he neatly slips the pack back into his pocket in acquiescence of Beris' wishes. He strikes the match on a nearby stucco, lights up, and shakes the fire from the firestick in quick succession. "You know," he says offhand to N'tael, "There's public baths five minutes…" he orients himself, "That way." He takes his first drag, Kermit-in-Igen.

Snapping his fingers N'tael puts on an act like the newcomer had just provided some valuble information. "Y'know, ye might jus' be right there. I think there WAS a place what involved a lot of water." Sarcasm drips from his lips but he seems to accept that the newcommer is going to smoke and there isn't a damn thing he can do about it. Maybe he should have Tlaz come smoke on the man, THAT would probably make a mark better than Nate. "Clans are really outsourcin' f'r their people these days. Somethin' happen t' 'e clan heads while I was cavortin' on 'e Ista Island?"

Beris smirks as the - er - banter begins between N'tael and the newcomer. She tries to hide it behind the mug buuuut it's probably too late. Oh well. She lifts the mug to get the last dregs of her drink out, and stands. "Things always change, 'specially when you're not looking. I've gotta get back to work…you can keep the cloth," she adds, grinning as she heads away from the garden.

The trick is to really believe at the depth of your soul that the world revolves around you. Bonus points if you've been raised with everyone telling you that it's your oyster. Atticus has tons of points, as it happens. "Happens that there's soap there, too. It's incredible." He takes N'tael's sarcasm as fact, replies with faux-sobriety. He offers a lazy wave of fingers to Beris' leaving, watching her walk away with masculine awareness of a young woman.

N'tael has raised with one of that~ As if his deep accent wasn't proof of that. "Tell me more of these wonders what are in m'own weyr. Please. I'm listenin' with both my ears what aren't paying attention to important things."

Atticus cocks his head to the side mid-drag, exhales in a scented cloud of spiced tobacco. He assesses the other man for a long moment, as if weighing ideas, and then unhelpfully replies, "No, I do believe that's the… most pertinent locale." The good news is that his cigarillo is half-smoked.

N'tael snorts lightly at his comment. "Come now, ye don't think that dust is a proper outfit?" Lazily N'tael lifts an arm up and flecks of dirt fall from it to land on his already dusty lap. "A shame, I ghought I'd finally found a proper Igen way of doin' it."

Atticus has to concede that point, his expressive eyebrows articulating emotion that it would take a handful of sentences to express: consideration, a certain self-aware amusement, precise deliberation and then acquiescence to the spirit of N'tael's words. "They do find the strangest ways of going about things, here." His Bitran brogue speaks loudly his status as outsider.

"Figured Southern was strange enough, but Igen ain't like any other." At least the two can find agreement on something now and N'tael sighs as he pushes himself up to his feet and makes a half-hearted attempt to brush more dust off. Knowing the futility of it though he doesn't try too hard. His nose wrinkles at the smell of the smoke against the more clean-burnished smell of a desert recently dusted with a fresh coat of covering. "Brita?" Trying to place the accent.

Atticus makes a noise in the back of his throat synonymous with assent. "That obvious, is it?" Atticus returns the answer to N'tael's question after a glance over at the other man, his sarcasm muted in subtlety. The line of his lips assumes a flatter line than before.

"Ye be talkin' distinctive and people catch where ye're from quick-like." N'tael half smiles at the words that are a bit of a jab at himself to. Few people talk as distinctive as Nate does. "You got a problem with where ye hail from? Seems like ye lost a li'l bit of that swagger ye had goin' on."

Atticus takes his last drag, exhaling the smoke upward in a slow breath before stubbing out the end of the cigarillo along the nearest stucco wall. "Me? Squabbles with Bitra?" He speaks of it as if a person, that sense of indulgent laughter returning. "Never." If irony licks at his words, well. The meaning of it isn't said for N'tael. "And you? Do you have problems with… wherever it is you originated from?" The august lift of his eyebrows is very polite.

"Nerat ain't got quite 'e reputation." N'tael, giving an answer and where he's from in one sentence. N'tael <3s his home. Glancing skywards a shadow breaks over the pair as a bronze body gets in the way of the sun. "I'd best be gettin' m'self back to 'e grind. E'en V'ard would proly be a li'l upset if'n I showed up lookin' like I'd jus' rolled m'self in dirt."

"It's always a good idea to keep the man in charge mollified." Atticus' words are again twisted irony, but he gestures with a flag of a hand to N'tael. "They'll probably be wondering what's keeping me. Clear skies, dragonrider." He adjusts the way his sleeves are rolled up and heads back for the Dustbowl.

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