Ista Weyr - Sable Sands
The Sable Sands, Ista's place for relaxation and entertainment in a child-free environment, stretches out before you. Once an old ground-access weyr, the place has been turned into a nightclub catering to riders and weyrfolk alike. Dark shadows drift over booths that line one wall, the conversations and actions of the booths' occupants afforded some small sense of obscurity and privacy from the rest of the bar. Glossy black tables and chairs are scattered across the middle of the floor before the stage that sits opposite the main doors, while a long bar lines the opposite wall from the booths. The bar is a fine piece of furniture, its brass fittings shining bright and wood polished to a fine sheen. Brass-legged barstools covered in soft black leather are pulled up to its counter, often crowded as still other patrons push up to it to make their orders. Tropical plants fill in the corners, their huge pots set on rollers so they can be pulled outside during the day. A discrete sound system can be found recessed in the walls, piping either recorded or live music as the day dictates to every corner of the club.
A wide selection of wines, spirits and juices can be ordered from the barstaff, and a constant pot of klah is kept brewing. Towards the end of the bar, a large machine can be seen, its copper fittings gleaming in the light - a klappachino machine for those with more 'refined' tastes.
While the living cavern does serve food free of charge, and keeps nibble snacks between, it seems a certain blond headed metal faced bronzerider has been keeping himself scarce of the area ever since the newest batch of weyrlings impressed. Here he is to be found around dinner time, tucked away in a corner by himself with a tall frosty mug of beer and a plate of cheesy tuber fries. Likely an appetizer while waiting for the main course. One leg is drawn up to his chest with his booted foot firmly planted on the chair, leaning off slightly to one side while flipping through some paperwork. One hand is used to pick at the greasy foodstuffs, while the other gently turns the pages before him. He's wearing a sleeveless v-neck shirt woven out of a thin and breathable material for Ista weather, untucked over the simple black leather of his riding pants. They fit him perfectly, and are likely custom made rather than purchased straight off a shelf somewhere. On the back of his chair is his jacket, also black. It has two bands of red leather on either sleeve, which seems to be a theme with P'rel. Red and black. All except that dark blue braid in his hair which stuck out like a sore thumb against the sun-touched blond of the rest of it.
S'gam is just as paper-laden when he edges his way into the 'Sands, a clipboard fit to bursting tucked under one arm… but judging by the beeline he's making for the bar, it's either unimportant or boring as hell, aka nothing he'd want to do sober. Something dark and old is poured into a short glass for him, marks are exchanged, and brown eyes finally flick around the room to find a suitable table. They eventually land on P'rel and, strange looks unsurprising to him as always, Sig aims thattaway. "Mind if I join you?" A shrug of the clipboard indicates it can be a quiet moment, but misery does so love company when it comes to paperwork. In contrast to Py's affinity for black and red, Sig's choice of attire is very light in color for once, a buttoned shirt and pants in pale cream and dark khaki respectively. They aren't exactly new, but aren't the weyrleader's normal fare - perhaps laundry day is overdue, ahem.
A frown, not usual for P'rel, is found on the bronzerider's lips - even when golden eyes lift from the stack of paper and hides. It actually seems to take the boy a second before who's asking registers, and once the connection is made he waves a hand towards one of the two other empty seats. "Better ya than some annoyin' drunken chick." he grumbles, returning his skim over some form or another that earns it a scowl. Fingers pluck at the basket of cheese covered tuber fries, and one is shoved into his mouth, fingers then wiped on a nearby napkin. Apparently being overrun by intoxicated women is not only something that irritates the seventeen turn old, but also an epidemic from the tone that he used.
Unphased by the frown, S'gam nods his thanks and plops his butt down into the nearest of the indicated seats. Feet sidle out into the aisle, crossed around his ankles so he can prop his own work onto his stomach and table hands-free. P'rel's tone easily distracts him, however, a sharp smirk turning up one corner of his mouth. "That's what you get for being baby-faced," he jokes, "minus all of the metal bits, of course. Get your nose broken a time or two and they won't be so sharding interested anymore." He perhaps speaks from experience - his has been knotted at least once, by the weyrwoman no less. "Though I suppose if the alcohol makes them oblivious enough to forget your weyrmate, they wouldn't much recognize less-than-pretty features, either," he admits, sipping his drink and then paging through his own reports before finding where he left off. Eyes skim quickly, roll ceiling wards for something that's been written, and then go back to the task.
Most were probably desensitized to his grumpiness at this point, not that it had changed P'rel any. There is a twitch though, when the Weyrleader gets all smirky with him, perhaps thinking the things he'd like to snap out in response, rather than saying them outloud. For no other reason than self preservation, perhaps. There is a very distinct pause, tension stiffening the young bronzerider's shoulders. Instead of answering with a retort, he takes his time picking up another tuber fry and fills his mouth with that, before taking a long pull off the beer on the table. Only once everything is swallowed, does Py glance briefly in S'gam's direction. "Had my nose broke plenty of times. Split lips, black eyes…dun matter none. Nothin' changed." he replies flatly, as if he was disappointed by this development. Or lack there of. "Not like I got a sign above my head that says I got a weyrmate. Shit, half the time that dun even matter to 'em even when their sober. Had half yer freakin' candidates follwin' me around, glad that's over with." With a snort he goes back to flipping through his paper work, picking up a writing implement now and again to jot something down, or fill in the blanks. Literally.
"Shards, you're a bucket of sunshine," S'gam says with a chuckle under his breath, head shaking as he shifts to draw a pouch of lead pencil-types from his pocket. Desensitized, yes. Above giving him shit for it, not so much. Notes are made in the margins of his work, a muffled noise showing he's listening while he finishes his sentence… and done. "Maybe you /ought/ to wear a sign then, if it's such a frequent occurrence?" Brows tilt upwards inquisitively. "It would certainly save you a lot of time and effort." Judging by his expression, though, even Sig is happy the candidates have cleared out. He grunts again for that, sighing low with another shake of his head. "Now it's just the ones that stayed that we have to worry about." Page flip.
Golden eyes flick the way of S'gam for that sunshine comment, Py's pierced brow quirking upwards despite the last of of tuber fries being popped past his lips. Chewing soon ensues and the younger bronzerider goes back to his paperwork. "Naw," he says after another sip of his beer, his oddly flowing and beautifully looping script a testament to his harper training. "If I had a sign I'd be tempted to beat people with it." Completely straight faced and flat toned, said so effortlessly and without thought that he might very well be dead serious about that. He wipes his fingers on that napkin again, pushing the basket out of the way, with a glance cast the way of the Sand's kitchen with no measure of patience whatsoever. "Malphath's happy. He searched one of the bronzes that Impressed. Mouthy little bastard. Dun envy that creepy greenrider ya'll put in charge." And, page flip.
S'gam actually laughs for that, steadying his clipboard with both hands to keep it from bouncing on his stomach. "Ah, shards, but it'd be funny. Not like we need it though - people are scared to death enough of losing their jobs without being brained by a kid that's in the wing supposedly known for public relations." A beat. "The irony is actually rather magnificent." Still chuckling to himself for the mental image, Sig attempts to re-immerse himself in the paperwork… or else does a good job of pretending to read it, because he asks a moment later, "Which is mouthy, your dragon or the weyrling?" That's not even sarcasm, believe it or not. Idly remembering he has a drink, the weyrleader picks it up, considers it, and downs half of it in one go before looking at his work with a 'maybe that'll help' expression.
P'rel does not laugh, in fact, it's hard to even tell if the guy does anything at all other than frown and scowl all the time. He merely continues on filling out the numerous papers and forms, taking great care to do so correctly. "Maybe if they were doin' their jobs instead of annoying the public relations dude with their annoyin' doe eyes they wouldn't be gettin' hit with the sign and wouldn't be losin' work or limb." he tact's on there, letting S'gam revel in all the amusement he likes as his food arrives. A medium rare cut of steak with mashed tubers, gravy and a side of seasoned steamed veggies. Yum. "Malphath ain't mouthy. Talking about the guy named S'u." Okay there, there it was possible for a second that Py actually almost laughed, but before the smile got too out of hand, it's pushed back down with a cough. "I can't even take the dude seriously. He's got a chick's name." Yes, he'll just ignore the waitress when she delivers his entree and makes off with the empty basket, if only to return and ask the Weyrleader if he would like something to eat.
"Something tells me it would be less doe-eying and more… anything that got in your way," S'gam says with a teasing smirk. The bronzerider's appetite is likely the only thing that still surprises Sig, that being a new revelation he just can't seem to get over. Eyes watch the basket depart before focusing on the dishes set before Py. No comment. "Ah, S'u," Sig eventually says with a little chuckle, remembering quite well Ittisieth's reaction to the name and ensuing events on hatching day. "Yes, that one's going to have it out for him I'm sure. He'll need that mouthiness for dealing with people like us." It's still funny though, the weyrleader coughing to clear away his grin when the waitress asks if he wants food. "Ah, no thank you. I'm on a liquid diet tonight." The code is apparently familiar to her, for she departs, and Sig digs in his pockets for more mark-pieces to give to her upon her return.
Setting the paperwork aside for now, P'rel focuses instead on the dinner set out before him, already having picked up his knife and fork and using it to cut his meat all at once into small bite sized pieces. "Yer probably right there, but really, could just have Malphath step on 'em if it got that bad." Again, the lack of teasing in his tone, a chunk of meat skewered and popped into his mouth for chewing. He says nothing for the eying of the amount of food he's gotten, stabbing his fork into one of the vegetables and making faces of disgust as he masticates. A shudder for the swallowing, and a long guzzle of beer following. Not a veggie man, obviously. Py brow arches at S'gam for the 'dealing with people like us' comment the other bronzerider makes, "Whatcha mean by us? Yer like, nice and shit. That kid though, man…he dunno when to quit. Maybe in the next two turns he'll smarten up or somethin', cause for real, he gets mouthy with me again and he'll get worse than a black eye next time." A scowl, and more eating, with much irritated chewing.
"Aye, that you could, were you so inclined," S'gam agrees, levity in his tone more than making up for P'rel's lack. The weyrleader returns to his papers when Py starts eating, finishing his scan of the document before signing in his cramped, neat hand. Then, the stack of papers is pulled from his clipboard and set aside on the chair beside him so he can start anew with the next set. /Sigh/. The rest of his drink is promptly downed. "I'm not entirely nice," S'gam responds after a moment. "Perhaps nicer than some, but I still get my digs in on the boy's name from time to time." A shrug. "He might, he might not. Depends on his dragon and the weyrling staff." He aims a smile at P'rel that's ambiguous, not quite amused, but not quite stolid either. "But I would advise avoiding him in the meantime. /Nothing/ exacerbates one's worst traits than a new lifemate." Eyeroll. He speaks from experience, now.
P'rel merely shrugs at the Weyrleader's levity enough for the both of them, though despite the lack on his part, at least the blond hadn't once been found trying to use his dragon as a tuber masher. That was something. Right? Cough. The younger bronzer goes ahead and eats in silence while S'gam speaks, though the occasional flicker of his golden eyes the man's way signify he was probably listening. Only once the meat is gone does the kid slow down some, alternating bites of veggies with mashed tuber and sips of his beer. The plate is clean though before he knows it, and he's using a roll from the basket on the table to sop up the gravy from the plate. Apparently intending to get every last drop he's paid for. "In case ya haven't noticed, I ain't too keen on hanging out with other guys. Especially ones I can't stand. So ya can count on me for stayin' far as I can from the little bastard." He talks as if S'u was much younger than him then perhaps a turn or two. Roll consumed, Py leans back in his chair some after flipping out some marks for the meal as well as the tip onto the table. Generous tip too from the looks of it. He sips at his beer then, watching the other bronzerider over the rim. "Malphath caused his own problems, pushin' me to be more or change stuff he thought be better. Iess said somethin' to him, but Malphath never told me what it was before he claim he dun know what I'm talking about."
"Huh." S'gam straightens in his seat a bit, flicking between one paper and another before scribbling furious notes in the margins. Something had finally interested him. Scrawling complete, Sig peeks up just in time to see Py mop up the last of his gravy. "And yet, for its size, the weyr is very small. The only rider I honestly don't like, I see at least once a sevenday. Less, now that he's no longer a wingleader, but it happens… So I appreciate the assurance," Sig says with a wry smirk, content that P'rel at least wouldn't go out of the way to make turmoil. Shortly, their waitress returns with Sig's drink, depositing it into the weyrleader's hand before offering to clear P'rel's plates if he was finished. S'gam thanks her, taking a mouthful of alcohol before kicking back in his chair again. "Mmm, yes, /some/ change is of course inevitable, especially if they want it like that. It's when we resist and try to assert our own personalities that we sometimes… overcompensate." Curious eyes scan P'rel. "Did it change anything, whatever he told Malphath?"
Content to just sit back now and sip his brew, eyes flick to the waitress as she delivers S'gam's new drink and he bobs his head once in regard to her and picking up the dishes. He was done. She does so, as well as pick up payment offering to bring change, but he waves her off maybe just making her night with the big fat tip. "That right?" he asks, certainly not prodding the Weyrleader for the identity of the disliked rider. "Huh." This is turned over in thought perhaps but not lingered on for long, and he merely nods his head for the appreciation his lack of unnecessary friction garners in the older man. Though when S'gam starts going into lifemates and the change they bring about, golden hues glide the other bronzerider's way, another long sip of beer taken before the empty mug is placed on the table. "Ya dun need to explain that to me. Experienced it first hand." This isn't gone into, but instead he addresses the man's question. "Yeah, it did. Mal stopped pushin' me to be someone I ain't. He still has shit he insists on, but it ain't nearly so bad anymore. That's all that matters."
Content to just sit back now and sip his brew, P'rel's eyes flick to the waitress as she delivers S'gam's new drink and he bobs his head once in regard to her and picking up the dishes. He was done. She does so, as well as pick up payment offering to bring change, but he waves her off maybe just making her night with the big fat tip. "That right?" he asks, certainly not prodding the Weyrleader for the identity of the disliked rider. "Huh." This is turned over in thought perhaps but not lingered on for long, and he merely nods his head for the appreciation his lack of unnecessary friction garners in the older man. Though when S'gam starts going into lifemates and the change they bring about, golden hues glide the other bronzerider's way, another long sip of beer taken before the empty mug is placed on the table. "Ya dun need to explain that to me. Experienced it first hand." This isn't gone into, but instead he addresses the man's question. "Yeah, it did. Mal stopped pushin' me to be someone I ain't. He still has shit he insists on, but it ain't nearly so bad anymore. That's all that matters."
S'gam lets the waitress disappear with everything before nodding into P'rel's question. His half-smile is dangerous this time, gaze for once very unamused. "Indeed. I don't have much use for a man that arrests first, asks questions later, even if he /may/ be good at what he does." Bitter, even after almost ten turns? Just a tad, but he recognizes it at least. "But that was back when you were likely just a pup. We never got along after that." Another large portion of his drink is knocked back, though he's not quite finished. Py is considered for a very long moment before an understanding look changes his expression. "As did I. Fun times. Hazard of the dragonriding profession though, I suppose." A nod is given for I'srie's success. "That, at least, I'm glad to hear. I hope the trend continues as such." It actually sounds like he means it, too. His two quarter-marks given, Sig considers his drink and then polishes it off before glancing towards the door, visibly contemplating whether he should head back to the offices… or make a madcap dash into Ista's wilderness. It was hard to tell. Either way, he sighs and pushes to his feet, gathering wayward papers and clipboard as he goes. "Anyways, I should get going. Thanks for the chat. If you need anything, let me know, yeah?"
P'rel blinks once at the short story told to him, brows lifting upwards. He doesn't know the whole story of course, which S'gam points out soon enough. There's a twitch for being called a pup, as well as a drawing downwards of the corners of his lips, but he doesn't fly across the table to pound the man or anything. Merely just looks a touch annoyed. He mostly nods to the rest of what the Weyrleader has to say, not adding any more to the conversation even as he turns and pulls a red lollipop out of the inside pocket of his riding jacket and unwraps it, shoving it into his mouth with a soft clacking sound. "Yeah me too." Malphath backing off seemed to be a matter of relief for Py, tension he probably wasn't even aware of that has tightened his shoulders when speaking of past events now melting away. Then the other bronzerider is downing the rest of his drink and getting up, collecting his things. Gold to brown for a second, before P'rel nods and reaches for his own assignments as well as his writing implement. Not getting up, apparently wanting to stay and finish before heading home or whatever it was that the kid did after a long day of kissing holder ass. "Take care, man." he says, gaze dropping to his paperwork. "I dun need nothin' but thanks." This is said softer, and the boy's shoulders hunch some, getting back to work before the older man has even stepped away.
If S'gam notes that unhappy expression, he doesn't say anything at first, instead nodding when P'rel relaxes and agrees. The man's mouth opens, perhaps to add something else, but apparently he thinks better of it. Questions and curiosity should likely be reserved for another time. "You take care as well. Anytime," he says instead, smiling briefly before heading for the door. "And don't work yourself too hard!" As though by way of example, back to work isn't his immediate destination. Instead, he cuts the path towards the plateau (and the beach beyond) rather than heading for the weyrbowl. Guess that answers that!
