Who

Th'bek, Ryott

What

Ryott and Th'bek meet so that she can return his knot to him.

Some profanity

When

It is evening of the nineteenth day of the seventh month of the fourteenth turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Dustbowl Cantina, Igen Weyr

OOC Date 23 Jul 2018 04:00

 

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"The deal was for my name, not my life story,"


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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.


The reach of the Weyr's walls offers an earlier reprieve from the sun than the flat desert sees and life begins to predictably stir. Freshly bathed from a day of sweeps, the brownrider and another wingmate journey from the bowl to bazaar's sprawl. Comparing who had the more mundane day of surveillance, the pals make it to outskirts and take the first cobbled alley open to them. With L'dyd leading the way, Th'bek's path is marred by a blue firelizard with a note attached. Hazel eyes read in a sweep of the note. "Slight change of plans, my friend. Want to make it to the Cantina with me?" More determined to go to the Pit as planned, L'dyd says for Th'bek to join him there when his 'business' is concluded. Folding the note into quarters, he takes the next left and approaches the hot spot.

Already settled inside at a back table, Ryott is looking utterly relaxed. Leaning back in her chair so that it's balancing on two legs, her hands behind her head, the girl is staring up at the ceiling where Strife is perched on the rafters. The bar is doing some moderate business but the corner Ryott's staked out remains relatively quiet. She sent Trouble off with the note for Th'bek, and now she is just waiting to see if the brownrider shows. When the darker blue pops back in note-less to join his brother in the rafters, a small smirk plays at the girl's lips before she pulls her lips back into an expressionless line.

Th'bek paired a loose tunic with his riding breeches despite better alternatives. You never know when between may be a necessity. He centers the shell-embellished belt on his torso and procedes into the well-attended Cantina, at least at the forefront where the bar is. Knowing youth can wait, Rev orders the cheap ale and stretches his gaze out as he drinks, searching for the young hooligan. There, the back, towards the right. Licking scanty foam from his top lip, he joins Ryott without much haste in mind. "Where'd Wingleader Zaria assign you sweeps to?" Keeping one hand on the drink he slides a hip toward the right asymmetrically then relaxes.

Ryott doesn't move except for dropping her arms to cross over her chest, head taking a cocky tilt to the side as she watches the brownrider get his ale and then make his way over to her table. There's a briefly blank look when the brownrider mentions sweeps, not exactly sure what that means, but she just shrugs her shoulders. "Didn't run into any Wingleaders…wait, is your Wingleader a woman?" she asks, looking the tiniest bit impressed by that revelation, a single brow lifted in appreciation over darkly sharp eyes. "Honestly, it was a bit of a disapointment. Most people barely looked at the knot and those that did, didn't really react," Ryott says, "Well almost. There was that one Wingsecond from Parhelion…Now what was her name?" her gaze lifts to the ceiling as she wrinkles her brow while apparently searching her memory.

Glimmer peeeeeeers.

Th'bek offers Glimmer ale.

"Yeh, she's from Ista, rides a blue," Th'bek announces about Arroyo's wingleader, keeping his tone as mild as weather as a topic of discussion. His hair, having been combed back with some oil, has started to break free from the neatness, some hanging just at the edge of a brow. "Well, that's a shame there wasn't any good rousings. But I bet if you were older, you might have gotten to at least touch some firestone." With a shrug for what could have been, he brings the ale to his mouth. "Divale?" He keeps up with rankers, sometimes to know whom to avoid.

"Never been to Ista, I hear it's nice," Ryott comments breezily although she notices that mild tone of his before sighing heavily. "Yeah well, it's the curse of looking so young. No one takes you seriously," she snorts in reply. Snapping her fingers as Th'bek offers up a name, she drops her eyes to him again, "That's the one. Piece of work she is. Had a run in or two with her previously," her tone clearly conveys that they probably weren't very pleasant. "What's her deal anyway? She seems permanently pissed off?" Eyeing the man's cheap ale, she wrinkles her nose a bit, "You sure you don't want something better than that? My treat, as a thank you for letting me have a little social experiment."

"It's big as far as islands go, but too much water, feels like you're hemmed in. But their greenriders are sociable. Ask for Rethe if you ever get to the isle." Although not actively smiling, the brownrider comes from the salt of the earth school. "Wingsecond Divale can tell her own stories about how she got her disposition. Dragonrider judging is a common passtime, I'll give you that, but they're under a lot of dread. Especially when they're partially responsible for a whole wing. Now where's my knot and your name?" Dominant hand reaches out for what's his as he drinks, one eyeball on the girl. "One, what's wrong with my ale, and two," framing Ryott in a bear trap stare. "Just how are you paying for things? And rich uncle I don't think I'll buy, least not after just one drink."

Nodding at his recommendation on who she should ask for if she ever makes it to Ista (not likely), Ryott tilts her head curiously at Th'bek's non-answer regarding Dviale. "Who's judging? The woman's cold as ice, I admire her. Girls get a rep for being soft, and I hate that," she asserts, letting a sliver of emotion out for emphasis before reining it back. When he puts out his hand, she reaches into her pocket and pulls out his knot before tossing it gently onto the table in front of him. "And the name's Ryott," she adds, holding up her end of the bargain. The idea of rich uncle just makes the girl smirk, "No, no rich uncle. My wits and winning personality keep me comfortable," she adds dryly.

That Ryott is honest is somewhat refreshing. That Ryott is honest makes Th'bek attract the attention of a server to provide him another drink. That established, Rev plays with his knot. It's not the original one Zeyta had provided him after graduation, but they've still seen a couple Turns together. "And have you always called Igen your home?" Nursing the last bit of rotgut, he swirls the contents to hear it slosh.

A further curl to her lips appears as Ryott watches the man order another drink. When the server moves off to get it, she drops back down onto all fourt legs of her chair as she leans forward, folding her arms on the table in front of her. Narrowing her eyes suspiciously in the brownrider's direction, she just studies him for a long moment, "The deal was for my name, not my life story," she finally replies rather bluntly. When the server returns with the man's drin, her hand drops briefly beneath the table and returns with a couple mark pieces to toss of the woman's tray. "Keep the change."

When the second drink is delivered, Th'bek knocks back the last and even trades the server with a boyish grin as a common patron here. As Ryott flicks over the marks, Th'bek eyebrows scrunch. "Aye, clearly I can't bribe someone who owns Steen shares." There's exaggeration then mild disgust as the next drink doesn't appear to be an exact duplicate of the last. Oh well, the girl paid for it. "Then I guess we'll have to stare at each other's heads while I finish this and head to the Pit. I'll go first." Staaare. He's rather good at it.

"Steen? One of them hoity-toity bazaar families?" Ryott asks, just a tad confused what they would have to do with anything. "And marks aren't the only currency you know," she remarks blandly, while looking up at the man with something akin to a wry smile before continuing, "I will answer one single yes or no question about myself absolutely honestly in exchange for a minor favor at some later date." Her terms laid out, the girl will gladly join the stare-down, her own dark eyes steadily unblinking. She could do this all day.

"Yes, the very same." A quick look to either side to make sure no affiliates were in ear shot. "No, marks aren't the only ones, but the only type I use. Riders don't exactly make them hand over fist. Except maybe gambling." Which he does. And still doesn't make marks hand over fist. As her offer is brought to the table, the brownrider hesitates under guise of just finishing his drink. "Mmmn. I owe too many favors as it is. Better call it a night, my young mercenary." The last amounts of the booze is guzzled to hasten his progress to the Pit. "Watch yourself." Threading his arm through the knot, Th'bek cinches the pin where once again he's identifiable. Not exactly liking the idea of leaving her alone within bazaar confines, Th'bek gives a last look should he be asked to identify her later, and joins up with L'dyd.

"You watch yourself," Ryott counters with a derisive snort, "The Bazaar hasn't got me yet." She seems entirely non-plussed that the man didn't take her up on her offer, but she does curl a half-smile at being called a mercenary, she kinda likes that. Once Th'bek has left, the girl waits a inderminate amount of time before she leaves through the back to make her way to the Caravan Grounds and her bed.

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