Who

Aztrexia, Cullen, Lyllian

What

Rain drives Traders and Harpers alike to the Dustbowl Cantina…hilarity ensues

Strong Adult language, Allusions to sex

When

-- On Pern --
It is 7:46 PM where you are.
It is evening of the twenty-eighth day of the fourth month of the seventh turn of the 12th pass.
In Igen:
It is the eighty-eighth day of Spring and 75 degrees. As the night wears on, the storm blows itself out leaving the night clear and bright and full of stars.
In Southern:
It is the eighty-eighth day of Autumn and 61 degrees. Throughout the night, the warm autumn rain continues to fall steadily.
In Southern Mountains:
It is the eighty-eighth day of Autumn and 14 degrees. It's cold and dark out.


Where

The Dustbowl Cantina, Barside

OOC Date 08 Mar 2016 07:00

 

aztrexia_default.jpg cullen_default.jpg lyllian_default.jpg

"No, they do not line us up and have us open our mouths and legs for sniff tests."


igendustbowlcantina.jpg

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.


Timor: moon8.jpg
Belior: moon3.jpg



With wet footprints tracked down the entryway and the heavy scent of damp clothes and hair, Igen has once more weathered the moody stormfront of heavy desert rain. Some occupants of the cantina still harbor the animal-energy of the broadripple thunder and harsh lightning, wary-eyed and wired where they hunker over their drinks… if they've dispersed yet from the entryway, where they warily consider the now-clear sky above. Cullen - just kind of body checks his way through the lot of them on entrance. Older, graying, hard-bitten and smelling just faintly like he might have taken the backroads route through the midden hards to get here, his damp clothes and hair suggest he either hadn't made it out of the weather in time… or maybe just hadn't bothered to. A few people recoil when he passes, the canine-like head-shaking spattering them with droplets. His heated body practically steams with evaporation.

The rain had been no gather day for Aztrexia either. Having returned a caprine she'd found wandering about, she now heads into the cantina hoping to find a dry place to sit and a hot, preferably spiked, drink. She shoulder checks her way through the crowd at the entrance. Much like Cullen in the fact that she cares not who she runs into or how they get out of her way, just as long as they do get out of her way. Moving away from the random calls of "Hey!" and "An Excuse me would be nice!" She makes her way to the bar, the half of her hair that hangs loose clinging to her face like a second skin. She gives the 'tender her drink order and turns, looking for a place to warm her bones and grumbling at the fact that this place is so full. Why must the rock bound be so crowded?

Another body makes her way into the cantina, carefully wrapped in a shawl which has taken the brunt of the downpour. The cloth is unraveled from Lyllian's body and placed with some of the other drying pieces of outerwear. The candidate's knot managed to keep nice and dry, itself, making her stand out a bit in the cantina, even as she attempts not to draw attention to it. The teenager slips up to the bar, slipping into one of the available seats, and asks for a non-alcoholic drink. She gives a nod over towards Aztrexia, and a polite smile. Not noticing a knot upon her shoulder, she doesn't go her usual route of referencing rank.

Positioned near enough to center bar that Aztrexia probably finds herself subject to the stabley smell of runner dung and hay, Cullen is booming his order, "Klah. Black," over the counter like a micro-sequel to the thunder outside. He can make an order for caffeine sound ominous. Turning in his stool to lean his back against the bartop's edge, elbows draped off either side, he nearly rams a knee into Lyllian's thigh in the process. "Oy," he comments, JUST shy of possibly saying something else, before noticing her knot, instead offering a cornerwise grin, "Strange hole to turn up a Candidate in." His own knot is generic Trader fare; no caravan or loyalties are denoted with it. Just road dust and tatty edges.

Cullen's smell might have been noted, but being a trader herself, Trexa is used to those kind of odors. Her own Zingari knot hangs off her shoulder Cullen-side. A nod is given to Lyllian, but not much more than that. Like most Zingari, specially those not native to Igen, Trexa is leary of outsiders, even though amongst her people she's a bit of an outsider herself. Zingari superstitions run deep. A hot cup of klah, black, like Cullen had ordered, lands itself right in front of Aztrexia and the strong smell of whiskey floats off of it. This earns the bartender a wide, almost seductive smile. Sliding her payment towards him, Trexa sips at her warm drink, listening to those around her.

Lyllian's not one to make waves, even if the sudden knee to her thigh makes her jump in her seat a moment. "Oh, with the storm out, the Cantina was close by," she states rather innocently, even if the tone betrays that wasn't all the reason. A rather fruity drink is sat in front of her by the bartend, giving no indication of alcohol in it by scent, even if you could smell it over the scent of Cullen. She brings it to her lips for a brief sip, and her own currency is passed along. The native High Reachean in her, despite Turns of sitting in the desert of Igen, causes her eyebrow to raise slightly at their choice of hot drinks despite the warm, albeit wet, weather outside.

Outsider Cullen certainly is; the parameters of his personal space have the hardbitten enforcement of a creature only reluctantly sharing the close quarters of the cantina. His arriving klah is welcome at least - he collects it and turns back to facing the room at large, supporting the steaming drink between either hands so that it rests against his abdomen. "Thy Igen riders must be lax. I've seen Candidates ne'er dealt an earboxing for stepping so close to drink." Not that he enforces any chiding in his tones; he has a way of speaking through his teeth and making it sound casual. Aztrexia might be trying to stay out of it, but Cullen has never been one to respect that sort - he turns right to her, dustpan-flat gaze energized and alarmingly direct, as though he'd known her for turns, and inquires abruptly, "This normal here?" Maybe he caught her eavesdropping.

Aztrexia , who'd been cradling her klah raises her hands, surrender like in front of her, turning to the musky man, an innocent, yet sarcastic grin on her face. "I do not know." Her tone and accent are even, almost cultivated. "I am not from these parts." Her smile turns sickeningly sweet before she returns her attentions to her whiskey infused klah, which she finally takes a drink of.

"I'm not drinking," Lyllian replies simply, almost smugly, and she takes another sip of her juice drink. "I'm behaving myself. And so long as I don't return with alcohol on my breath or the scent of sex on me, I'm pretty sure I'll be fine. Neither of which, I will state, are actions I wish to take tonight. I'm just simply enjoying the atmosphere, keeping out of the rain, and waiting for my father to peek his head out of wherever he's been hiding last." Because she never can find him when she means to.

Poor Aztrexia is off the hook - Half-spitting out a mouthful of klah, matching snarls of distaste form to either side of Cullen's nose, turning an incredulous look Lyllian's way, "They scent check you for fucksmells here?"

Aztrexia almost chokes on her klah with the conversation going on around her, in fact Cullen's reaction all but rips an amused chortle from the woman. She shakes her head silently and stares down into her mug, trying to hide her amusement, poorly. She rolls her eyes. So many rules for the rock bound. She sips her klah again and taps idly at the counter.

"Calm yourself, sir," Lyllian says with a playful smirk and leans on the bar. She might even giggle a bit. "Not like you haven't smelt hard liquor on someone's breath before by simply talking to them." She pauses, twirling her juice drink a few as she gazes into it. Finally, she answers simply, "No, they do not line us up and have us open our mouths and legs for sniff tests. Shards, that'd be a funny sight, though."

Cullen has this glassy forward-fixed gaze and clenched jaw like he could have gone his whole life happily devoid of that imagery. "It. Is. Thy. Weyr," he responds back mechanically. "I'd batter the jaw of someone putting nose to my sharding crotch. Faranth's chute."

"Now there's something we can agree on!" Trexa can't help but comment, anyone coming near her shits and giggles uninvited would meet a very grisly end. She takes a drink of the klah and stares forward once more, one nail tapping in mild irritation on the bar. Being inside was giving Trexa anxiety, but with her yurt still under the canvas in her cart, and her runner having a stone pulled from his foot, Aztrexia doesn't have much more choice than to be here. Her mind wars at wether to stay here or to tear after the mother clan as fast as Rosan's hooves can get them there. This weyr unnerves Trexa, to a degree that the young Zingari had not yet felt in her nineteen turns.

Lyllian just giggles to herself. "Adults," she says nearly under her breath. Yes, perhaps Aztrexia isn't much older than she is, but Cullen on the other hand… he's a Pernese relic. No offense, one Oldtimer to another, of course. She raises her glass and takes another sip of it, keeping her mouth occupied from teasing him further on the matter. It's not befitting of a Harper, and certainly not of a Candidate.

It's alright - Cullen has all the rawhide signs of a man that aged badly anyway. His hair was probably starting to go prematurely gray before he was twenty. "Never was I an age," he responds with a dry chuff, "When the ways of a Weyr made sense t'me. Y'all keep doin' how ya do." If they had pistols on Pern, he'd be making a pistol shape with his fingers and cocking in in Lyllian's favor. As it stands, it's just a kind of stylized pointing, followed by a 'chk-chk!' sound in his back teeth. Aztrexia may not have invited it, but as he pulls away from the bar to take his leave, klah and all, he probably reaches back a hand to drop an absent, vaguely comradely PAT to her back. On trader to another. And then he's OFF with his klah, to return to the clear night outside. Someone stop him, he is totally stealing his cup…

Aztrexia will keep doing what she does, thank you very kindly. She sips from her mug, and lucky for her, she gets it set down before that friendly pat on the back. Trexa stiffens, teeth gritting as she resists the urge to retaliate. She is not the touchy feely type. She counts to five before she turns and stares at Cullen as he walks out the door. She certainly isn't going to stop him from stealing his mug. She's staying put until the downpour outside stops. Even if the place sets her on edge.

The corner of Lyllian's mouth curls up in amusement, and cocks her head a brief moment towards Cullen. And then… it's back to nursing her drink. She gives a soft giggle towards Aztrexia. "I wonder if he's always like that," she muses. But, she just finishes the drink off and she's out, heading back to the barracks where she's packed like sardines with other candidates and… fresher scents than Cullen is leaving behind.

Add a New Comment