Who

Reilan, Cha'el

What

Your mission if you should choose to accept it….Cha'el does not self-destruct.

When

It is midmorning of the twenty-fourth day of the third month of the first turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Igen Weyr, Dustbowl Cantina

OOC Date

 

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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.


Evening in the Dustbowl Cantina is always a loud affair. Crowded areas, carousing drinkers, and some simply trying to get a meal. Reilan is one of the last ones, really, even if he does also have a drink in hand with his hot meal. He’s managed to gain himself a chair at one of the smaller, neglected tables. Most of the occupied ones are surrounded by larger groups. He takes a bite out of the toasted sandwich though, chewing while his gaze roam over the rest of the cantina. The people are at least interesting to watch, and he does /know/ a number of the people milling about the place. But getting his meal in /peace/ is his first priority. Plenty of time to socialize after!

Threading his way through the rowdy throng, exchanging brief greetings and dropping a roguish grin on a brunette that murmurs something as he brushes by her, Igen’s Weyrsecond cuts straight for that small table that the young blonde has secured for himself. Snagging a drink from off a tray as a barmaid skirts by, he comes to a halt and sets Reilan with a smirk that the lad will come to learn usually means nothing but trouble. “You came.” The obvious stated with a note of approval flecking the brownrider’s tone. Snagging a chair and flipping it about, Cha’el straddles it and without so much as a by your leave, takes up the other half of the teen’s toasted sandwich.

Reilan’s gaze flicks up to Cha’el when the brownrider appears there at his table, brows lifting upward slowly. His shoulders shrug somewhat, though his own mouth curls a little in half a grin around the food in his mouth. It takes him a moment to get it swallowed though, and by then the other half of his sandwich has been summarily repurposed into someone /else’s/ dinner. Fingers lift a bit, wiping away a smear of some kind of sauce from the corner of his mouth. “I didn’t come here to feed you.” Still, he puts his sandwich down, brushing crumbs away from his fingers before folding his arms on the table, leaning forward a little. “S’right though. I came. I’m not gonna go hide or anything.”

With an almighty bite into the toastie, Cha’el devours a good half of the triangle he’s purloined. Chewing, chewing, swallowing, and washing it down with… “Fuck!” Disgust streaks across his expression. “What the fuck is this?” He demands to know of the barmaid that comes swanning by tittering at the Weyrsecond’s reaction to the drink he had snagged from her tray. “A Weyrwoman’s Revenge,” she says of the milky cocktail. “And this would be why I stick to rum.” He grumbles plonking the drink back onto her tray. But before she leaves: “Bring the kid another of whatever this is,” the sandwich pointed at. Back to business, Reilan is set with an intent look. “It’s not about hiding,” the Weyrsecond starts out and then corrects himself. “Well it is but it isn’t. You’ve got to be able to do whatever will be necessary to achieve your goal. Some of which, is going to keep you awake at night.” At least he’s not sugarcoating it. “And some of which, might lose you friends and earn you enemies.” There’s a pause before he adds: “That something you’re willing to risk?”

Amusement over Cha’el’s disgust is hidden in his own drink, and Reilan takes quite a bit of time nursing it to keep the laughter from bubbling out. Still, the teen brightens at the reordering of more food, plucking up what’s left of his sandwich again. He doesn’t take a bite out of it yet, tilting his head just a little as he listens to the Weyrsecond. “Heh. That stuff you were thanking me for the other day? Lemme tell ya that I didn’t really /make/ any friends over it. Phib and the other guys already didn’t like me much, so however it might’ve been good for some, it wasn’t all that great for me. I’m used to doing stuff that’s not exactly…what I’d /like/ to be doing.” He absently plucks at the sandwich a little, dislodging some lettuce to nibble on. “But at least this way…I dunno. It’d be /for/ something, you know?”

With the orders placed, Cha’el fits his attention squarely on the blonde lad, eyes narrowing in contemplation. By the end of it all, its clear to see the approval patterning bearded features along with shadows of something else that he’s keeping under wraps for now. Polishing off the half sandwich he’d purloined, the brownrider nods but there is yet one more question for Reilan to answer. “And your parents. They around Igen?”

Reilan busies himself with taking the last bite of the remains of his sandwich half, using a finger to wiggle a few stuck bits out from between his teeth. Once done, his tongue moves over the area..just to make sure, really, before he gives a mild shrug for the question. “They’re /around/, sure. My father works for the Sersangs, so he’s down at the tunnelsnake fighting ring, same as I am, for the most part. I’m old enough to be on my own though, if you’re worried about that.”

Just as Reilan has finished speaking, the barmaid returns with the toasted sandwich and a tumbler of rum over a precious few blocks of ice. Nodding his thanks, Cha’el turns his attention back to the blonde teenager. “Something goes wrong, its us,” the ‘us’ not clarified, “that your father will be looking to for an explanation. So…” The Weyrsecond takes up the glass and wets his throat with a sampling sip, exhaling an appreciative sigh. “Your first task will be to supply your father with a convincing story of where you’re going to be and what you’ll be getting up to over the next three sevens. Then.” He pauses and slips a hand into his jacket, “You will need to execute these tasks with definitive proof.” A square of folded hide is extracted and slid over to Reilan.

The teen’s head tips somewhat to the side, curiously watching Cha’el despite reaching for the sandwich. He’s still /hungry/. “Well if he’s gonna be looking to you for ‘why’ anyway, I can always tell him it’s some sort of thing over with the Weyr side of things. Not like he ever leaves the bazaar anyway.” The specifics could always be hammered out later when Reilan is actually thinking more on it. He almost takes a bit of that sandwich though when the paper is slid over to him, exchanging food for the note with raised brows. There’s an occasional dart of his gaze above to the Weyrsecond, each line read gaining another /look/…although it ends on a bit of a wince. The woman disguise. Cha’el /remembered/ that. He sighs somewhat though, folding the paper between his fingers again. “So you want me to steal stuff, basically? And getting caught means…what? Possibly punched, eaten by a dragon, or locked in the brig.” The blonde takes a deep breath, letting out an explosive sigh before going back to the comfort of his sandwich, stuffing in a mouthful. “So when do we start?”

“You could say we’re training you for the groundcrew as well as being drafted into running errands for me.” Cha’el provides flipping the kid the sort of grin that suggests he will more than likely be calling on him for such things from time to time. Watching closely from over the rim of his upraised glass as Reilan reads the instructions written on the square of hide, the brownrider swallows, exhales a sigh of appreciation and sets his glass back down again. “Its less about the stealing and more about your ability to lie with a straight face, gain access to places you supposedly shouldn’t be and strike a convincing façade if someone sees through your disguise or explanations. The costs will be covered after you’ve completed your tasks. But, if you get caught…” There the Weyrsecond pins the teen with a challenging look, “Depending on how you deal with it, and whether you sing like an avian, I’ll have your back. Getting punched? Goes with the territory. Better learn to deal with it. Just…try to keep that pretty face of yours in one piece. We may need it.” A short pause in which another drink of rum is enjoyed and then a voice enriched by the slick burn of rum, “As soon as I get up from this table and leave.”

Reilan’s eyes roll somewhat, lips curved into a vague smirk. “I’ve been hit before, I can ‘deal’ with it.” Not that he /likes/ getting a fist planted anywhere, of course. He taps that folded paper on the table though, glancing at it now and again in thought. “Thierry’s been bugging me to join the groundcrews anyway so that’ll work well enough, yeah.” There’s a slight shift in his seat, dragging the paper back to stuff into his pocket. Something to stare at and mull over later. “Guess I’ve got work to do.” After his sandwich. He does pick up his cup though, lifting just a little at the Weyrsecond before bringing the rim to his mouth.

Draining the last of his drink, Cha’el fixes the blonde teen with a smirk at his return on getting punched. An approving nod goes to the matter of Reilan joining the groundcrew and then the Weyrsecond is pushing to his feet and ‘dismounting’ the chair he’d been straddling. “That you do,” he agrees on the soon-to-be-spy having work to do. “We’ll be watching you.” And going by that crafty grin, somewhere bets are being laid on the outcome of the mission just handed over.

Reilan watches Cha’el rise again, determination plastered on his face. Of course, it may just be that he’s determined to finish the food he tugs closer to himself in the process. He makes a face at the being ‘watched’ comment, wrinkling his nose up just slightly at the thought. “So long as it’s not while I’m sleeping.” Because that’s when things get creepy. He does nod, however, letting his gaze drop away from the Weyrsecond to continue eating.

At Reilan’s rejoinder, there’s a hearty rumble of laughter that breaks free from the Weyrsecond. “Smart arse.” Delivered with amusement before he’s turning on his heel and threading his way through the evening crowd. Just before he disappears out the door he stops next to a young woman looking to be in her mid twenties, murmurs something in her ear and then is gone. Five minutes later, the ebony-haired lass makes her excuses to those she’s making merry with, and leaves as well.

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