Divale, Zaria, Th'bek


A Windsecond, Wingleader and Weyrsecond all go to the Tea Room…No, this is not the start of a joke, although there is plenty of shade being thrown around.


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


The Tea Room, Igen Weyr

OOC Date 26 Dec 2018 05:00



"So, you're saying Divale's like needlethorn?"

The Tea Room

This shop is easy to miss from the street. It bears the same striped awning that most shops have, this one in shades of lilac and sand, but it has no sign save for a plaque of sandstone hung beside the door, on which a teacup has been carved. When open, the heavy curtain that covers the doorway is pulled aside to allow entry. After stepping through, one will find themselves in a tiny space decorated with classic desert touches.

The walls are whitewashed to increase the sense of light within but the floor is tiled in hues of blue and green, with each tile bearing in its center a brilliant red lotus. There are only five small tables, all of them of dark, heavily carved wood set low to the ground. To sit at one requires reclining on the plethora of pillows and cushions and layered rugs provided for that purpose; each seat is provided with a carved wooden back-prop to rest the pillows against, for those who want spinal support. Tea is served from the service at the rear of the room, where a tiny smokeless hearth keeps water heated, and a row of trays are kept loaded with teapots, tiny cups, and containers for sweetener. There is a small selection of fruits, breads and cheeses also available for those looking for a snack but this is not a place for heavy meals.

Late afternoon sees a variety of activity going on around the Weyr. As for the Tea Room, it's seeing moderate business at the moment, as most of the weyrfolk are making good use of a clear, beautifully crisp and mild temperature autumn day! One of the regular patrons is here a little earlier and only because her tasks so far have left her with a rare bubble of time. Not one to be fond of idleness and idle regardless, Divale ventured here and spurned the comfort and solitude of her weyr. Why? Because even the little things keep her dark thoughts at bay and here there is enough to keep her mind occupied. Like people watching! She'd been subtly observing one young couple for the better part of half an hour now, while quietly nursing a cup of spiced tea and some savoury snacks. Then the couple leave and Divale is left in her corner nest seat, legs tucked under her around a sea of pillows and looking far too content to be genuine (for those who know her; those who don't really DO think the Wingsecond is). A few other patrons take up other spots but the brownrider has no interest in them… yet.

Zaria's interest in coming to the Tea Room is not apparent, she has no reports tucked under her arm, and is dressed casually with a billowy poet shirt of pale blue, overtop a leather vest dyed two shades darker than the shirt. Her pants are soft whehide in a pale tan cut in a relaxed fit over long, willowy legs. Her ginger hair is pulled back in a short runner tail, several too short strands escape to frame her face, and hazel eyes look over the small room before she spies a certain familiar brownrider. Seeing most of the other tables taken, she only hesitates a moment before making her way over. The wingsecond's contented state is eyed wearily, just because it's something so unfamiliar, but she manages a crooked smile in spite of that. "Are these pillows taken?" she asks with a nervous chuckle and an indicative wave of her hand.

Divale glances up as Zaria approaches and, sensing the other woman's nervousness, smirks wryly. She keeps her cup held between her long fingers and while her posture and behaviour are innocent enough, there is always an ulterior motive lurking beneath every action. "No, they are not presently taken," she murmurs dryly, dipping her head in unspoken invitation and permission. "It has been awhile, hasn't it, Wingleader?" The use of the title is formal but in a teasing manner. "What brings you here, on an otherwise beautifully clear day?"

Waiting until that unspoken invitation, Zaria smiles thankfully and then settles her long limbs down onto the pillow with as much grace as she can manage. "Ooof, I still wonder what the proprietors of this place has against chairs," she mutters under her breath, but in a good natured way. When she's finally settled, she glances around for the waistress, but sees her busy delivering an order to another table, so her gaze returns to Divale in the meantime. "It has, Wingsecond, indeed." she replies just as formally with her own tease, the bluerider seems to be in a good mood today. "Just fancied a cup of tea, nothing more," but there's a quirk at the woman's lips that may be speaks to more, although she's not sharing. "And yourself? What is that you're drinking?" she leans forward to peer into the brownrider's mug curiously.

"Cushions and pillows are quite suitable and a little gentler on the back if arranged correctly," Divale notes dryly and knowing perfectly well that Zaria meant nothing by the comment. She quirks a lone brow for the return teasing, but her posture stiffens ever-so minutely when the bluerider leans in. Almost by instinct, the tea cup is nearly held closer to her body in defence, but Divale stamps that down quick enough and, instead, tilts it slightly so the other woman can see. "Spiced black tea. The only tea I will drink regularly." Unless she seeking the benefits of something she's concocted herself! Her eyes narrow a little, as she leans back into the plush cushion she's using as back support. Now it's her turn to look wary of Zaria's purpose here. "Mhm, well," she eventually muses. "It's a good day for it." She remarks, while classically evading the question on what brought her here.

"Oh, I meant no offense, it does add some atmosphere to the place," Zaria adds quickly. She pulls back quickly when Divale seems to recoil from her leaning, an embaressed blush coloring just the bridge of her nose. "Hmmmm, that sounds good, spiced things are especially appealing this time of Turn," she remarks thoughtfully and passes on her order to the waitress who has just arrived at the table, for a mug of spiced black tea as well. Fussing with the pillows at her back to get that support Divale spoke of, she nods her head, "Oh it is. Got drills over with early, the newest recruits are coming along nicely, so I gave everyone the rest of the afternoon off." As a Wingleader, Zaria likes to reward her wingriders when they do well, it does good things for morale she's found. Finally comfortable, she lets herself relax with a soft exhalation of breath.

Divale's smirk returns, as she gives Zaria a lingering, sidelong look. "Indeed." she murmurs her agreement, before turning her gaze down to her own cup. The approaching waitress is ignored, though the girl doesn't seem flustered by lack of even basic eye contact from the brownrider. "I suppose a reward now and again does serve it's purpose in the long run." She gives no further comment on the matter or offer her own update on Parhelion's business. Not out of spite or rudeness, but merely because it's Divale and she's known for being difficult even for idle conversations. Instead, she lapses silent with only the occasional movement when she brings her mug to her lips for a small sip of her tea. It's not an awkward silence and is almost… comfortable, despite the brownrider's guarded coolness in general.

"That's my reasoning," Zaria confirms on the topic of rewarding her wingriders occasionally. "They deserve it, truly. Especially the new recruits, great bunch, exceptionally trained, but I suppose I shouldn't be surprised with Vosji as Weyrlingmaster," she remarks conversationally. Divale's quiet doesn't seem to bother the bluerider, she may be used to the brownrider's ways in the Turn since making her aquaintance. The pair are seated at a table together each with a mug of tea, the other tables mostly taken up with the moderate business the tea room is doing. Taking up a small spoonful of sweetener, she sprinkles it in her tea before blowing on it and taking a small sip. "Mmmmm, that is good. Perfect for the season."

The silver bell pegged at the Tea Room's entrance ring-a-lings and admits Th'bek who takes a few seconds too long to shake out his feet: the toe of his boot thudding the floor five, six, seven times. Linen damp from his hair is unwound from around his neck and head and hung deliberately on a peg. He look at circular rug to try to guess its origins, thinks it mid-continent. Stalls for time. Facing the room while looping a hand around the other wrist, he recognizes Divale and Zaria. "Do most people take their boots off here or…?" Looking behind him and asking about protocol.

"… but you added sweetner to it." Divale's nose wrinkles ever-so slightly as she observes Zaria taking that small spoonful and looks almost disappointed. Should it be any surprise, really? Just as she scoffs to add further comment, the bell rings and causes her focus to shift to their newest arrival. Recognizing Th'bek, she smirks all the same for his hesitation. His question merely brings a too-innocent tilt of her head and a false-sweetly offered: "That would depend on how dirty your boots are." Which is not helpful and evasive, but she is definitely amused by the prospect of seeing out just what the older brownrider choses to do (or if someone spoils the 'fun' before that).

"I did, not everyone is as naturally sweet as you Divale, some of us need help," Zaria retorts quickly with uncharacteristic sarcasm tinting her words before she chuckles softly to herself, unphased by her table companion's disapointed look. The ring of the bell also has her swiveling her head to watch the Weyrsecond enter, raising a thin ginger brow inquisitively. Divale's not-so-helpful comment brings a smirk to her lips as she shrugs her shoulders in Th'bek's direction, "No idea, I just come here for the tea." And to prove her point, she craddles her mug between both hands and brings it to her lips for a careful sip after blowing across the top.

"Didn't you know you're both sweet?" Th'bek, laying it on thick, incorporates as he looks down at his feet and the crux of the matter. "Cleaner than some," he finally answers about boot status and steals some glances at some of the other patrons. Unfortunately many are seated on the ground and have their feet tucked. A Weyrsecond should know these things, especially one as Igen-y(tm) as Th'bek. Better to have them off than on and risk slighting a Steen for something so trivial, he works at his laces some enough to pull each foot out. "More like it deepens on how smelly the socks are, right?" With a mellow smile, he continues to look obtusely around the room. "Is it that good?" He asks of Zaria, a skeptic.

From the deadpan stare she gives both Zaria and Th'bek, Divale's 'sweetness' is probably coming up with half a dozen ways to murder them both (it means she likes you) and get away with it. She does, at least, relent enough to give a shadow of a wry smile. "I've no idea what either of you are talking about," she murmurs over the rim of her cup of tea, indulging in a little more of the spicy drink while the Weyrsecond comes up with his defence. "If that's the case, then sit there. The air is circulating away, rather than towards." she replies indifferently, lifting one hand to flick her fingers towards a pile of pillowed cushions beside them; it's another unspoken invitation to join.

Relatively unphased by the stare she's getting from the female brownrider, Zaria merely smiles sweetly back as she takes a couple more sips of her drink. To Th'bek's question, she bobs her head, "It's good. Spiced black tea, definitely got a kick." The bluerider shuffles over a little bit when talk of stinky socks comes up, wrinkling her nose a little bit as she gives him plenty of room to sit down. Back to Divale, she just scoffs, "You can't fool me, there's a soft gooey center under all that prickliness…somewhere…deep inside…" she seems less certain as she trails off with a tilt of her head.

"Thank you, I will…" Th'bek sweeps both boots up with one hand and deposits them and their road dust by the door and more or less out of the way. Upon return he plans the best angle of attack to manipulate his body from standing to sitting on the floor, not quite sure where to cast his legs. Facing the two dragonriders with view of the door, he reacts with a favor word of his son's: "yuck. No offense." He decides to sit Indian-style, hands on the side of each knee like a guru. "So," eye flock to Arroyo's Zaria, "you're saying Divale's like needlethorn?"

Divale's gaze returns to Zaria and her brow quirks up again as if to challenge the bluerider. Yes, and? That smirk becomes almost wolfish by the end, but thankfully Th'bek is there again to distract her and get the other woman off the hook… briefly. "Have you ever tried it, before casting judgement?" she asks, dryly as ever, to the older Weyrsecond. There's a low scoff, but not because she's affronted by that statement. She acts that way at first, of course. "Are you saying I'm a pain in everyone's ass?" Or foot or wherever one is unfortunate enough to get needlethorn (and not by a Healer's hand). Then she smirks in genuine, dark humoured, bemusement. "Because I like that. I'll take it as a compliment! Thank you, Th'bek."

The wolfish smirk that Divale treats her to has Zaria's eyebrows shooting up in speculation, but the bluerider's expression remain pleasant overall. Th'bek's apparent disgust at her choice of drink bring her gaze back to the male brownrider with a chuckle, mouth opening to reply but Divale gets there first and takes the words right out of her mouth. Pointing back at Parhelion's Wingsecond, she nods emphatically at Th'bek, "Yeah, how do you know?" Looking down at the glossy surface of the liquid in the mug, she chortles when Divale takes the compliment. "It certainly suits you," she replies with a heavy tease to her tone before knocking back a longer swig of her tea now that it's cooled sufficently to do so.

Th'bek rounds out his knees by slipping his palms over them in a time-passing rub. "Yes'm, and even once bathed in it- don't ask, it was a dare and they said it would help a sunburn. Fun fact: it didn't." As a short brunette with long eyelashes quietly asks if she can help, Th'bek the Tea Hater toys with tact. "I need more time I think." LOTS. Like, infinity. The server seems to pause to offer some suggestions, but Th'bek's already turned away to look at his boots as if awaiting someone. "You're like the first person I know to enjoy being called a pain in the ass, Divale." His mouth gapes to silently laugh, the motions all there but the noise.

"Thank you, Zaria." Divale's no longer sending a wolfish expression her way and only a properly reserved half-smile. She's content to finish the last of her tea as well, though she'll scoff again under her breath for Th'bek's tale of woe with tea. "I bet it didn't and you're lucky it didn't do worse than probably exacerbate the pain you were already in!" Says the brownrider who knows her herbs and MAY have been a Healer if life had gone a completely different track for her. "It means all the work I do pays off, Th'bek." That 'work' being keeping everyone as far away from her in any emotional sense, that is. She apparently has no shame in admitting to it, even cryptically and no shame either in stretching out her legs before deftly getting to her feet. "If you'll now both excuse me? I've business to attend to." Things were starting to get too comfortable and so it's time for her to move on! Find some other poor soul(s) to hunt observe for awhile.

Zaria raises her brows and tries to stiffle a chuckle at Th'bek's tale with another long sip of her tea, draining the mug entirely in an attempt to compose herself. Divale's retort is given a nod of agreement, although the bluerider would probably have been as gullible, if not worse, but there's no way she would own up to that. Divale's comment about her work paying off gets a scoff under the ginger-haired woman's breath but she keeps her opinion to herself on the brownrider's penchant for keeping everyone at arm's length or more. Zaria was just starting to fidget with her beltpouch and a small mark piece when Divale gets to her feet. "Of course you do…" she drawls under her breath, almost unconvinced, but again, smartly keeping her lips sealed on her opinion. "Doesn't matter, I was about to be on my way anyway," she doesn't share to where, but there's a smile of anticipation on her lips so it's likely pleasure and not work. As she unfolds herself upwards, she ticks a casual salute at the Weyrsecond with a warm, "Clear skies." before moving out the door, whistling softly that fades as she moves through the curtain.

Th'bek's chest heaves a two-chant cough more to expel dust than disease. "At nine-Turns-old I was expecting much more than I got but at least I lived long enough to tell you about it." He lifts up a knee to pull out the bulk of a pillow. As the two other riders leave to depart on their merry ways, Th'bek returns Zaria's salute. "Stay busy!" He'll just continue to wait for his date, sniffing at the cups leftover for the tea smell they carry. Then make a face.

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