[The Inclement Weather] The Bar Diplomacy (Sairque)

[Fois]

9th of Fall, 511 AV Duty as a watchrider at the Lookout was the boring part of the Endal's job. Despite not requiring much energy or effort to actually do anything, at the same time there wasn’t much to do during that time at all, boring Fois and every other Endal to no end. Occasionally there would be some minor excitement in noticing a dangerous storm and sounding the bell to warn the people, but so far this fall the weather seemed very warm and pleasantly calm in general. One particularly misty day even managed to take away the very last amusement left there of watching the magnificent views of Kalea. This remarkably dull and yet wearying nature of this duty was what made hunting a so much more attractive part of his profession. And that was also the reason why Fois, who wasn’t the most frequent visitor of social gatherings, would usually find himself at the Inclement Weather after just having spent days at the Lookout. This evening was just that kind of occasion and the rider had just taken a seat by the bar finally having a chance to let his mind escape the tedious ennui and his ears be engulfed in the noises of drums and guitar that were masterfully weaved into a lively rhythm. ”Anything for a drink?” a strapping bartender inquired the newly arrived guest. ”Yeah, anything would be just wonderful,” Fois answered in a voice that sounded much more tired than he actually was. The lasting effects of boredom were probably still shackling his throat, but he was sure that a good drink would quickly solve the remaining problem. The bartender cheerfully nodded and moved on to fix something for Fois, so the Endal turned around on his stool leaning back at the bar and casting his gaze over the dance floor. Judging from the passionate dancing one would not suspect it was autumn already as the atmosphere seemed to lack any of the calmer moods of summer send-off and winter anticipation. The rider glanced to his side noticing a bowl of Blue Mold Paste within his reach. He grabbed a bit of it and winced at a less than delicious flavor. Fois knew full well that he didn’t like that stuff, and yet his memory constantly insisted on recording the taste of the paste as somewhat fine. ”Here’s your drink,” the bartender returned the Endal’s attention back to the other side of the bar. ”Let me know if you like this, I’ll let you know what to ask for.” Fois didn’t need more encouragement, so he grabbed the glass and took a fairly generous gulp of the beverage.

[Sairque]

Slapping the last obvious dust stain from the ocean blue bryda, a whipcord thin woman glanced up just in time to avoid an overly enthusiastic reveler throwing himself this way and that in some sort of ritualistic show of farewell. Deftly slinking to the side of the entranceway, narrowly avoiding an elbow to the ribs, the diminutive lady resumed a lazy stride toward the bar with little more than a vaguely amused glance at the boisterous fellow. Idly, a heavily scarred hand brushed over the matching fabric of her vinati to remove another strip of clinging rock particles as exhaustion ringed eyes guaged the mood of the crowd. They loathed to give up the season, it seemed, and Winter would have to beat them into submission. In other parts of the mountain, exhausted bodies, in moments of obscure weakness, looked to the coming change of pace with relief. Though dust generally wasn't an ornamant of the society's top tier, the woman's other adornments--a myriad of neatly coiffed braids, each gemmed with a glass bead; the fine spin of her clothing and the subtle embroidery intricately woven in; a bright scarf slung low over her hips like a shash--while not particularly different from most others, had that particular quality and flare that marked most creations destined for Endal use. Or perhaps they, along with the very skin on her back, were simply worn with that easy confidence and authoratative swagger inherint to the caste. Either way, the woman exuded a complete disinterest and disconnect from the bodies attempting to harmonize with the skillful manipulations of drum and guitar. Turning away, and slipping past a large fellow to occupy the prized seat he'd presently vacated, the woman hopped on the bar stool and spun to face the cheerful tender. With a laugh, he accepted a challenge to put together a volatile concoction while maintaining smooth, robust, and mellow flavor. Glancing from the swaggering patron to the bottles whirling in and out of the swarthy tender's hands, Sai realized she had no idea that drinking was this complex. When a scour of the available beverages revealed nothing blatantly familiar, such as a normal bottle of ale, or even water, that wryly amused gaze swung left and right to examine what nearby patrons drank. Something dark, something lighter, something...the color of the liquid helped not a lick. However, a tall, athletic fellow with a blue cloth woven into a braid apparently needed to dull his palatte with the distinctive flavor of blue mold paste before gulping down whatever it was that the whirlwind tender offered. The petite woman leaned lifted a hand to catch the tender's attention before he attended to the other side of the bar. "Whatever it is that you just gave that man," a subtle lifting of a finger toward Fois, who wasn't recognized partly due to the task at hand and partly because of disinterest in socializing, accompanied the wry comment. "I do not want. Last years huckleberry mead? Long gone, you say...anything similiar? I'll take a glass." Preparation only took a moment and soon Sai found the cool liquid sliding down her throat, abruptly making her aware of the raise in temperature with all these gyrating bodies nearby. Before the tender had even taken a step toward another patron, he found the bar-novice expectantly holding out the empty palm-height glass for a refill. His laughter sounded delightfully like liquid spilling into itself. Nursing this second helping after having the first clear the grating dust from her throat, she spun around on her own stool to join the brooding man next to her in watching the festivities. It took a second, but eventually that profile struck her as familiar. He'd had the misfortune of irritating Mother Illish enough to set him on an unusually long watch rotation, if she recalled correctly. Normally, she did a better job at keeping her thumb on the pulse of the hunters, but lately she'd been putting in double duty to stock up for Winter, prepare for the baby, and maintain extranneous duties passed along from other Flight Leaders. An inquiry found its way to her lips, only to have the rough mead stifle it on its way down.

[Fois]

Fois bent his brows a little as the liquid burned its way down his throat but not even a moment passed before a satisfied smile appeared. ”Quite nice,” he said with a tired tone seemingly washed away by the drink. The rider wasn’t in a habit of having fancy drinks but apparently they were surprisingly enjoyable. ”You like it?” it was probably a rhetorical question but Fois still gave the bartender an approving nod with an almost overly serious expression on his face. ”It’s called Blue Seagull. Thought it fits with your outfit,” the man laughed and moved on to serve other customers, who were eagerly awaiting for their own drinks. Smiling at the tender’s joke the Endal returned to watching the dancing celebration of the day they were living. He wasn’t a fan of prancing around, but watching the people enjoying the event and having a glass of nice drink in his hand was beginning to pick up his mood that was in a dire need of being lifted. The rider’s attention was brought to the side by the bartender’s laughter. Fois noticed Sairque, a Flight Leader getting her own fix provided. The Endal hadn’t run into her a lot recently and, since he wasn’t intending to join the people on the dance floor, getting into a conversation seemed like a good way to spend the evening and getting out of a little glum state he was in. ”You’re here to cheer up or relax?”

OOCSorry it's so short