Nasrin, F'mond


Some riders share names and a little beer, and think up a side job.


It is afternoon of the thirteenth day of the eleventh month of the fifteenth turn of the 12th pass.


Dustbowl Cantina

OOC Date 28 Dec 2018 05:00


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So guess we're starting a quarry business?"


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.

Day drinking might be frowned upon by a lot of people, but well… F'mond doesn't have a whole lot to do at the moment. There's only so many times you can scrub one dragon's hide. And then oil it. And then work on straps. Seeing as a bad landing aggravated that persistent (but almost healed! maybe?) wing injury again, the currently ground-bound bronzerider has found his way to Cantina and camped out on a stool. Who knows how much time has passed since he entered? Probably the bartender, but F'mond isn't really counting either hours or beers as he sits and currently munches on a bowl of crunchy spiced nut-mix.

"…so then my father said 'go between and fester there' and not long after I was Searched and came to the Weyr." The conversation belongs to greenrider W'roz of Sirocco. As he holds the door open to admit the weyrwoman, Nasrin's lifted brows lower to normal horizons and she nimbly shakes out her limbs. "Promise we don't be here long, I just need to clear off my tab…" and then add to it. Nasrin looks her chaperone over, looking nonplus, and skates a glance around the room. The Cantina is not her hot spot, so she prepares to patiently wait, grey-blue eyes taking in the patrons, F'mond included.

"Sounds like yer father can be the one to shove it all between!" Is the random input from some equally random bar patron to W'roz's story, but it's loud enough to get F'mond glancing at the door. After a moment of blinking, his eyes do eventually adjust and the sight of a weyrwoman has the man straighten up on his bar stool and snap off a salute that might not be as crisp as his normally might be. "Ma'am. And…" His eyes trail off as he follows the greenrider's bath to the bar, the gears turning in his head almost visible as he contemplates whether the pair might actually be a pair, which just ends in him tilting his head and looking at Nasrin as if waiting for an answer to an unspoken question.

Nasrin comes back at F'mond with a slow salute of her own with no true rush in mind, teal sleeve falling down a pale forearm. "I know, right? Uh, is Denzo here? I need to speak to him." W'roz juggles both responding to F'mond and getting the bartender's attention. Flinging a hip forward to rest on the bar, he awaits the more senior bartender of the two. With her chaperone somewhat distracted by business, Nasrin takes over. "W'roz of Sirocco who's kept me company in the bazaar," with a steady naive cadence, she persists. "I see no knot on your shoulder but the leather makes me think you're a dragonrider. I sense something of a story." The cool-headed junior's way of getting his introduction.

"Uh huh," F'mond doesn't seem to know if that was an answer or not, but he'll nod like it was. As for his lack of of shoulder knot, he glances over at his shoulder and blinks. "Guess I forgot it. F'mond, bronze Travith's." No wing is currently given, although he might technically be falling into Mirage at the moment, but not actually flying with anybody so a face that would be normally missing from any drills or Threadfall activity. "Good day for shopping?"

Nasrin looks down to the level of ground where the lace of one boot is pulled along the floor. "We aren't a couple if you require that information," stooping to retie the lace she's standing again before long. The intimate question is handled with aloof aplomb. "I don't think his weyrmate would approve." She can't remember his name but remembers he isn't a dragonrider. "F'mond and Travith, F'mond and Travith…" this is a spell of reciting to gain Rajakhelath's help in eliciting further information. "Oh, of Sandblast?" She all but chirps, slightly widening her standing stance. "Shopping was relatively fruitful: I got a bracelet, bartered for some infusions for the infirmary, and I was given this rock…" She presents a pebble from one of the bazaar urchins.

F'mond didn't really require the information and at least looks for a moment like a reproached school-boy as he rubs a hand along his scalp. "Nah, I can't think his weyrmate would either." Relative monogamy (outside of flights) is kind of the point of most weyrmatings. He winces a bit at the mention of his old wing. "Were of Sandblast. The way it's been going… doesn't look like we'll be flying back with them anytime soon." Although he'd honestly take any flying at the moment. The rock gets a more dubious peer than his previous questioning of Nasrin and her companion. "Is it a special rock?"

Nasrin checks back on W'roz to see him finally settling his tab with the bartender of his choosing. "Oh? I am something of a nosy sort, but if it's something personal, you don't have to elaborate." Disclaimer provided, the junior looks down at the small piece of rough sandstone in her palm. "I'm not sure. So far, it hasn't made any noise, grown hot, multiplied, or gotten any larger." It's raised closer to eye level. "One of the street youths offered it up," the small smile she has behind the stone is genuine for the sort of encounter they had. "He wanted to sell it to me at first for 1/16."

After two… alright, maybe three beers, F'mond's lips are a bit looser than normal and he gives a shrug. "Something about being too old and too slow." That's definitely not how the dragonhealer phrased it even if it was how he interpreted. "Seems we're bound for a lower flight." But hopefully not too low, no offense Mirage. He does lean in slightly as she raises the rock up to get a better view and then snorts at the list of what it hasn't done. "Value is in whatever someone's willing to pay for it? But it just looks like any of a hundred other stones… so I'm hoping you didn't actually part with a 1/16?"

Prompted by the word 'age' Nasrin's head lifts so she can judge that term against what she sees. That F'mond doesn't seem that old to her at all must mean there's a more realistic reason but one she opts not to push, not for the moment. Setting her jaw and tilting her head is about all the reaction Nas'll let surface. "When there is such an abundance of free rocks of similar caliber, I told the boy but he wanted me to have it all the same." With W'roz buying a beer and laughing he returns to Nasrin with a beer for her as well. "Here, weyrwoman. I didn't know what sort of drink you liked. Someone told me once wine goes to a goldrider's head." He laughs, trying not to sound insulting. Fingers latching to the mug instinctively, the junior clinks her drink against the greenrider's. "W'roz, here's to the truth in that."

Some days a man may feel older than others. Today F'mond may have gotten a particularly strong reminder of ever creeping age when poor Travith tweaked a still healing injury he would have already bounced back from oh… about ten turns earlier. "Maybe it was a test?" F'mond raises an eyebrow. "Some holder or bazaar family wanting to test just how shrewd our weyrwoman's bargaining skills might be?" Although free rocks and a child would be a might bizarre test. W'roz's return and declaration gets a snicker of laughter that F'mond tries to hide, but he'll raise his glass in a salute anyways. "Besides, the beer is better here anyways." Let old Benden keep their wine.

"Perhaps," Nasrin speaks over the mouth of her drink of the bargaining test, eyes looking to one side. "If you want a rock of your own, try for the shop with the green awning by the Merry Marksman." She takes the first initial sip of beer then lowers her arm. "Unless my rock happens to get strange powers before then, in which case I might want to keep them all and you'll just have to find some other pebble vendor." W'roz, inducted to have the conversation doesn't mind missing the jist, he's just happy to drink. "And hey," W'roz chimes in without the backstory. "If you really want to buy rocks, I'll find a couple hundred of them to sell ya."

F'mond straightens up as really, there was only so much pebble to see and takes a swig of his own drink. "I think I'll keep my marks. And kid'd probably have more luck hanging out by the Dirty Wher." When in search of suckers, probably best to go to the seediest bar in the area well after sunset. There's a smirk as W'roz chimes in. "Yeah? Would you trade your rocks for some of my weyrs with a great ocean view?" You just have to look really far, right?

Now it's just a feel-good laugh fest. "Yeah, exactly!" W'roz leans his torso over his beer, his face lit up. "While we're into sales, where's my pile of ice…" Nasrin's way with humor is more wry than boisterous, but she's in a good enough mood to take a third sip of beer she hates the taste of. "Ice!" W'roz, easy to incite, continues to contract his sides with laughter dwindling to regular chuckles. After they subside, "Dunno if we've met I'm W'roz, Damynth's rider."

"Pshaw, leave the ice to the Reaches," F'mond gives a dismissing wave of the hand. Winter may be coming, but ice is still doubtful. And as W'roz starts with the introductions again, the bronzerider sticks out his hand for a shake. "F'mond, bronze Travith's. So guess we're starting a quarry business?" Hopefully it's not a quarry of quandaries.

W'roz shakes F'mond's hand and deposits his empty mug on the bar counter. "Sounds like stones are the way to go, though the weyrwoman here's going to start throwing them at me if I keep detaining her." Mid-drink, Nasrin can't immediately respond to those allegations so she just crinkles her face to mean she's not ready to pitch projectiles just yet. As the Sirocco rider counts what denominations of marks he has in his possession, Nasrin briefly puts a hand on his arm to halt him. "I've got the bill, my treat for making you tag along." And, sneaky as she is, she also covered F'mond's. "Shall we then? Good meeting you, fellow quarryman F'mond." W'roz seconds that. "Take it easy!"

F'mond gives a wink towards the greenrider. "You wouldn't want to keep her then. I hear she's got some pretty good aim." And if he hasn't heard it yet, he might just start a wild rumor about it. What else is there to do in some spare time? And then Nasrin's off paying tabs and the other riders are making clear to depart so he gives a tip of his currently non-existent hat. "Nice meetin' y'all as well, and clear skies!" And while round three may have been paid for, F'mond's going to stick around and buy a few more for himself before heading back towards the ground weyrs.

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