Fort Weyr - Gemstone Tavern

The dim lighting by the flicker of candles lining the walls is enough to offer a view of a room decorated in such a way as to be tastefully appealing. Each piece of furniture and decoration is chosen to accent another piece, and so on and so forth, matching and tying the whole room together in a theme that's separate, and yet at the same time unified. Tables line one wall, dimly lit by candles hanging in sconces all along. The bar along the far right wall is made of richly toned mahogany, tooled by a master and polished to shine with the soft glow of wood at its finest.

Candles strategically placed add to the atmosphere, accenting, punctuating. Towards the back is an open fireplace, constantly burning with a bright light, warming the tavern on cold nights and serving as a gathering place for patrons' story-tellings. Across the room, lush pillows and soft-covered floors promote relaxation at ease. Just before the pillows is a long stage, so full of its own vigor and memory - nicks here, marks there, scuffs from footware and other things - that it's possible to imagine the shows put on for the patrons without necessarily seeing the performances.


It's around the time where the Weyr starts to quiet, many heading to various points in the Weyr. Some go for drinks in Shenanigan's, some go to the Tavern, others linger in the Living Caverns and settle in various other parts of the Weyr. One would think that the Weyrwoman would have grown out of her old habits of stopping into the Tavern for a drink, and maybe for an ear to release her frustrations. Espeically considering that most of her frustrations should be kept underwraps to prevent mass panic, now. But, the woman enters and calls out her greetings to the regulars who happily call her by the name she was given at birth rather than at Impression. Dtirae does nothing to correct them, instead, teasing them in turn before she's making her way to the bar. "Somethin' strong. Not strong 'nough ta knock me out, though." She grins and takes a seat, "maybe somethin' ta eat as well. Ain't picky on that. I could use a pleasant surprise."

Only standing up a tiny bit straighter at the approach of the Weyrwoman, Inyri grins. Having picked up on the fact that the Weyrwoman is, actually, a semi-regular at her place of employment, she's been doing her best to try to acclimate to the fact that she's going to be dealing with high rank on a regular basis. So far, she hasn't managed to come off as nervous, and tonight is doing a good job at managing cheerful confidence: "One food item, any variety so long as it's pleasant — and would a tough stout suit you, ma'am?" She's pulling out a pint glass from behind the counter, either way.

"Yep. Stout is actually soundin' good right 'bout now." Dtirae agrees, leaning against the bar. "Can't say I recall yer name. Unless, I never got it. When didja start workin' here?" The grey eyes of the woman scan the other, trying to place her or at least fetch a name from her memory. "Shells, rude of me ta forrget." Her nose is scrunching slightly before her head is shaking and she relents entirely. "Well met, even if we've met already. Dtirae. Don't worry 'bout callin' me ma'am or nothin'." Even if the other already said it. "Seein' as I'm not doin' anythin' Weyrwomanly and all."

"Just a few months ago — I think we've met in passing more than really /met/," Inyri admits, talking even as her physical focus is turned toward the tap to fill said previously mentioned pint to the brim with stout. Or at least to the brim with fizz; the stout, presumably, is still underneath it, and becomes visible again when she actually sets it on the bar. "It was probably just crazy crowded every time, and I passed along a drink or tubers or something and moved along my way, so I probably didn't ever give my name, which was actually rude of /me/ so I wouldn't worry about it — right. It's Inyri, here's your drink and I will be /right/ back." With a quick flash of a smile, she disappears into the kitchen doorway for a moment to grab a cook and order something on Dtirae's behalf.

"Aah. That explaints it. Part of my job is ta remember names and faces." Excluding the point before she Impressed, on some cases. The pint is taken and she's taking a quick swig. "This place is pretty crowded. Especially durin' one of those special nights. Me'n some friends got crazy wasted." Fond memories, that, but she says nothing except for smiling to herself. It clears up rather quickly. "Inyri." And then, she nods as the woman departs. She takes another drink, musing to herself for a moment.

It only takes Inyri a couple of seconds to resurface, as she was merely ordering; she takes a moment to re-pin a stray hair out of her face before sidling back up to the bar. Before she gets a chance to /say/ anything to Dtirae, she's distracted by another customer — thankfully, he only wants a glass of water, which takes her about half a minute before the Weyrwoman has her attention again. "Or 'hey you' or 'chatterbox,' I will also answer to both of those. Some people have taken to calling me Breakwater, but that's really just the staff. And you and your friends are probably the type of customers I like; I always prefer fun people. Who like to dance and talk and are willing to actually be drunk in public. And want to interact with me instead of just ordering things and disappearing, that too."

"Nah. Ain't polite to call someone by somethin' that ain't their name or rank, but even going by rank depends on the situation." A brow lifts at the woman's other name, "Breakwater? Why's that?" Curiosity is certainly piqued. "Yeah. Not really close with one of 'em anymore. The other? Not too sure what she's been up to. But, yeah. Ain't nothin' wrong with just lettin' go sometimes. Not that 'm able to, gotta keep my reputation good an' all. Interactin' can be done without gettin' drunk, though." Her stout is lifed and another drink is taken. "Any interestin' gossip goin' 'round?"

"Depends on your definition of interesting — there's the seriously ridiculous, like that the Weyrleader got assaulted by some madman and is bleeding to death in a cave somewhere, and then the more mundanely ridiculous, like how someone swears that there's a green dragon somewhere out there who laid an egg. But just one. Next I'm going to hear it hatched a gold firelizard." Inyri rolls her eyes; clearly, to her, both are equally as absurd and can't have a touch of truth to them. With a lull in customers, she's pouring a water for herself, as well. "The rest is mostly just all who's sleeping with who, and the continued scuttlebutt about Laris, none of which is even a little bit credible." She told Anoryn she'd listen for credible. Credible didn't really stop by very often. "And I'm from Breakwater Hold. Guess I've got a little bit of an accent when /I'm/ drunk. Northern hick."

Dtirae snorts with laughter, "he ain't bleedin' ta death, at least." After all, the Weyrwoman did haul her ass down to yell at him. Or so some of the rumors state. "Greens ain't capable of layin', so that one ain't the least bit credible. Less she decided ta take care of a firelizard clutch or somethin." Another smort and the woman lifts her drink once again to her lips. "Mmm. Always good ta know who's sleepin' in who's bed, I guess. If they ain't got anytihn' better ta do." A chuckle and shesettles the pint down before she folds her arms across the bar, one ontop of the other. "Ah. Accents ain't nothin' ta be worried about. Zuvaleyuth gets mad when I get lazy and talk like this. Try not ta do so when we're in important meetin's an' whatnot. Never been to Breakwater."

"But," said Inyri with a single shake of her index finger — not directly pointed at Dtirae, that'd be disrespectful, more directed at the wall — "just one. Not an entire firelizard clutch. And it's good to know that nobody's bleeding to death; I never believe anything people tell me, really, just remember it in case it's important later. Half the gossip about bed-hopping is probably made up, too, though I think I've known in advance about every announced pregnancy since I got here, and not from the person in question. You're completely understandable, by the way," she adds, sipping her water. "I can't see why the accent's a problem. As for Breakwater, there's nothing there really but fish and boats and water and a tiny village."

Dtirae laughs, "one egg? Shells, how Quaint. But, can't say it ain't really unsual. Some dragons like doin' things like that. Whatever makes 'em happy. Heard a tale 'bout a this dragon who would tear all 'er meals ta shreds and cover the feeding grounds in blood'n guts. It's a wonder she ever ate.. But, ain't sure if that's truth or not." The Weyrwoman is clearly amused by this, and not at all put off. "Never know what might come in handy later, true. And yeah, half of the bed-hoppin' is someone hopin' it is true, just cause they saw two people bein' nice t'gether. Which is perfectly normal behavior." The grin continues to play on the woman's lips, amused. "My former weyrmate got all in a tizzy cause someone gave me some feline hides, they weren't great quality but they had been promised ta me awhile back. He ain't my weyrmate anymore." A teasing wink is given to the other woman before she shakes her head. "Nah, it ain't 'bout bein' understandable. It's 'bout how she thinks I should be speakin'. None of the other dragons understand her half the time. Took me Turns not ta get headaches and ta understand what she means before she finishes speakin'." Grey eyes watch Inyri, as if daring her to ask for an example. Or, it is amusement dancing there. Quite hard to tell. "Ah. Likely why I ain't been there. Sounds fun. I always enjoyed fishin'."

Inyri shrugs, twisting a loose piece of hair around her fingers. "It can be. I mean, I liked living there and all, but I never knew anything else? I'm finding this place fun — not that I'm much for variety, apparently! I grew up in a tavern. And then I moved in order to … work at a different tavern. Go figure. I'm higher-ranking here, though." Speaking of the tavern, that's when someone comes out to pass Dtirae's food off to Inyri; it's a sandwich. Some kind of meat with a local-brand specialty sauce. "Light and tasty with a pleasant surprise kind of flavor, as requested!" the barmaid says as she passes it along, looking mildly pleased with herself — she can't be entirely pleased until the other woman likes it, after all! "I have no idea what to say about your ex except that he sounds kind of oversensitive, and … I really am kind of curious what it is she sounds like, your Zuvaleyuth." Yep, she walked right into asking for an example.

Dtirae hmms. "Makes sense. Was kind've the same, born here in Fort. Though, for variety, I joined the hunters. Was one of the leads until I got Searched, then Zuvaleyuth decided ta fill my head with all her words. Ain't nothin' wrong with goin' from one tavern ta the other. Yer gettin' variety in the people who show up, at least. And, havin' a higher rank ain't all that bad, either." There's some positives! The sandwich is given a quick look, but, she's not overly skeptical of it. In fact, she's all too happy to take a bite. Her expression varies from interest, to thoughtful, and then settles on pleased as she nods. "S'good." Never mind she's still got some food in her mouth as she speaks. But, she does swallow for the next bit. "Nah. He was jealous. Then started spewin' stuff that I needed a man ta take charge. Pretty sure I broke him, he was a pushover b'fore we started doin' the weyrmate thing." She doesn't sound the least bit remorseful. The sandwich goes back onto the plate, and she clears her throat just so. "Figure I can give ya an example of how she greets Wiyaneth, the old Senior's dragon." A moment of pause as the woman takes a completely serious look. Apparently, this is how she pictures her lifemate. "Greetings betowed 'pon thyself, o' she whom was born in this ancient stone of the first Weyrs, o' dam of many who flourish and lay their heads to rest within these walls in which are called home." She doesn't even laugh, not in the slighest. "That's only one of 'er variations. She never stops. Not until she's proddy and that's only once ever Turn or two."

"Wow," Inyri breathes, looking impressed — both at the impression and at the fact that a dragon actually talks like that, maybe. "That's definitely something. Wordy and all. And poetic. Does she read, too? I feel like she must be reading poetry in her spare time." She looks more pleased when it turns out the Weyrwoman actually /likes/ her chosen sandwich, and finishes off her water with a satisfied smile. "Not that I think dragons are supposed to be able to read, but if they can get memories from their lifemates' heads, why not the ability to read? I think, also, that I'll be steering clear of that guy. Not that I've got a clue who he is, but I'm still staying away from him."
"She has me read. Ain't a fan of it, but, she enjoys poetry and anythin' that has ta do with her Weyr. She's been talkin' like that since she Hatched. Didn't understand a word other'n her changin' my name. Weirdest name ever, but, she's sayin' it's 'elegant' and I grew to like it." There's a chuckle as well, "well, they can see through our eyes. Ain't sure if they could learn ta read from that. Never thought ta try it." There's certainly a look of consideration for it, though. "'is name is P'on. He doesn't drink. Rides bronze. 'm sure you'll not run inta him." The sandwich is gain lifted to her lips, but this time, she is spending more time eating rather than just a single bite.

"Did she, like, completely change it?" Inyri has no idea what Dtirae's name used to be, and wasn't actually connecting her to the greeting calls of 'Deitra' — those aren't the same name, had to be someone else. "Because while I didn't know they did that, it doesn't really surprise me at all that they could. Anyone can change a name, really, I guess; my uncle changed his name when he moved, for instance, just because he could. We had to get used to addressing letters differently. Claimed a change in his life meant he could change his name. And I will be sure to completely avoid him, yeah."

Dtirae hmms, "nah. It was more like she scrambled it, really. Instead of Deitra it's Dtirae. Sounds real different, but kind've the same. She's an odd one, but." It's a fondness in her tone. "Well, the dragons kind've give some a new name. Or the men take new names. Ain't sure why. Somethin' 'bout being easier to call out in Threadfall. No idea." It's likely if they told them, she never paid attention. "Anyone could change their names, though. Why it isn't hard ta become another person." Likely, she's addressing recent events if only subtly. "The rest of the sandwich is then (it isn't a pretty sight) popped into her mouth and chewed. And then washed down with the rest of her stout. "And, I got my favorite pain in the ass buggin' Zuvaleyuth. T'was nice talkin' with you. Should be seein' you 'round."

Laughing a little, Inyri says, "Oh, is that you? I keep hearing that name, I didn't know who it was attached to!" Now she does, which seems to satisfy her at least in part; her expression isn't really smug, but it's more pleased and put together. "I knew dragons changed names but I always thought it was just to make 'em shorter. Guess it's all sorts of things, really. It probably /should/ be harder to just change your identity, but, I mean — nothing anybody can really do about that — " Mid-sip of water, Dtirae's called off, and so Inyri changes her conversation tactic just as fluidly (by which, that is to say, not). " — Right. I'm basically always here, thanks for stopping in!"


'The World of Pern(tm)' and 'The Dragonriders of Pern(r)' are copyright to Anne McCaffrey (c) l967, 2000. This is a recorded online session, by permission of the author but generated on PernWorld MUSH for the benefit of people unable to attend.