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Weyrd Science > Dragon's Rest > Hothouse Flower


Posted by: Ianyar Sep 10 2015, 02:17 PM
    Ianyar had come to the Green Star seeking excitement and adventure. He'd wanted to do something new, something other than getting wasted every other night with the crowds of sycophants who visited the track to bet on his wher. This place was supposed to be full of mystery, danger, intrigue. But other than the one attack by feather-winged beasts some sevendays ago, almost nothing happened in this place aside from endless construction, the chattering of crafters working their trades, and Ianyask getting to spice up her diet now and then with alien fauna. It was boring.

    "I don't know what I was expecting," he said with disgust. "I just didn't realise that being a colonist would be so dull. We almost never get visitors—it's like being in some backwater cothold nobody ever cared to learn the name of!" The bartender who was half-listening to his woes glanced at Ianyar with poorly-disguised impatience before bustling away to serve another customer. Usually the patrons had the courtesy to get drunk before they got this loud and complainy. This one was only on his second cocktail.

    Letting out a heavy sigh, Ianyar spun around on his bar stool so he could regard the rest of the room, crossing one slim, stocking-clad leg over the other and adjusting his skirt so it lay smooth over his lap. It was early evening, and the tavern was reasonably crowded, giving the space a stuffy, overwarm atmosphere. Ianyar couldn't wait for fall to arrive so he wouldn't have to worry about constantly sweating off his makeup in the oppressive, humid heat. Scoping out the patrons currently sitting at various tables and positions at the bar, he noted a slender blonde who seemed to be sitting alone. After regarding her for a moment over the rim of his glass, he waved to the barkeep and leaned in so he could speak without needing to shout over the clamour.

    "I'd like to send a drink to the pretty girl over there with the blonde hair." he said. "Whatever it is she's already got there. Tell her I'd be delighted if she'd join me."

Posted by: Feigne Sep 11 2015, 09:12 AM
Feigne often wondered why there was an inn within the ramshackle cluster of buildings the riders called a Weyr. She wasn't complaining per se, but she always preferred the illicit underground vendors who you could only find after a million cryptic clues. Well, there weren't any of those here so far as she'd worked out, so she'd have to put up with this establishment to fulfil her alcohol needs. She was trying not to rely too much on it lately. She didn't want to have to be pulled out of her cups by her siblings. Their parents were dead, yes, but she needed to keep her mind sharp if she was going to find their murderers and exact vengeance.

Still... a little alcohol was nice. When she didn't have things to do and Feisk was busy entertaining himself. It was nice to relax a little and let go a bit. She couldn't let go too much though, there was too much at stake to let herself do that. Too much could go wrong. She sighed. Too much had already gone wrong. She hadn't yet been able to convince another courier to take her back to Pern. It was terrible.

She stared at her drink mournfully and finished the cup. The Green Star did strange things to the taste of food and drink, but it wasn't all that bad. Some ways she preferred it a little exotic like this. It was kind of nice. She contemplated ordering another when suddenly another appeared. She blinked. "I didn't know I was telepathic..." She said, looking up.
"You're not." The barkeep replied. "The one over there bought it for you." He pointed at Ianyar. "He says he'd be honoured if you'd come sit with him." He seemed very put upon. Poor man. Feigne looked over at her mysterious patron and raised an eyebrow.
"Oh, well... I'd best go see what he wants then."

Well, he couldn't be too bad if he'd bought her a drink. She picked up the cup and headed over to him. "Thanks for the drink." She said, a smirk nestling in the corner of her mouth. "To whom do I owe the pleasure?" She sipped her drink. On second thoughts, it wasn't all that good. Maybe she should ask what he (he was wearing a skirt, was he the right pronoun?) what he was drinking.

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