Worse Than a Tunnelsnake Up the Sleeve

Igen Weyr - Moonshine Gardens
A large sandstone archway provides a dramatic entrance from the soft fine sands of the lake shore. The room within defined by sandstone brick walls which vary in height, but none low enough to be seen over. Colorful awnings stretch overhead, connected by a series of poles and wires so that they float effortlessly above. They provide shelter from the sun during the day, and a warm comforting feel at night lit by electric lights. Plank flooring is stained a medium cherry hue, giving an odd effect to the open space.

A solid wall at the back leads to a smaller building where the kitchen is located. Colored glass shelves line the wall in irregular intervals, stocked with all fashion of liquor and wine. A massive bar rests in front of the wall, an exquisite piece of skybroom polished and stained to a flawless black finish, accented with two inlaid meandering stripes of pearl and silver. Matching black and silver stools line along the front of the bar. Round tables for four-somes to six-somes are spread about haphazardly with comfortable but also easily replaceable wicker chairs.

Some people can afford to drink in the middle of the afternoon. Today, Tej is numbered among their company, sprawled comfortably in one of the wicker chairs around a table for four that she has all to herself. Though she's looking as comfortable as a feline in the sun in the slouch she's maintaining, there's something about the look of it that doesn't speak to true repose. Her muscles are held in a subtle readiness for movement, even the routine serenity of her expression is a touch off-kilter just now. Maybe it's the Igen heat, it does do funny things to people not from Igen sometimes. To help combat dehydration (or help it along, whichever), the redhead with the fair skin dressed in an Igen style outfit that covers much of her in slightly-faded lavender with flaxen accents, well-maintained but well-worn, has some kind of fruity drink in hand, citrus slices garnishing its lip. Around her, the slow business of a regular afternoon moves on, with the knotless harper giving every appearance of doing nothing more than soaking it all in.

If anybody in Igen keeps regular business hours, they certainly haven't told Yaromil. The hold lad is temporarily free of whatever trade business may have required him at the Weyr and so found time to continue his investigations. It's with an all to serious expression and rigid posture that he enters the oasis of libations. A few confused blinks as he stares around. He rises to his tiptoes to stare behind that skybroom bar as if it might be hiding something but settles with a slight huff. "I thought they said this was a garden…" muttered darkly as if he blames the very walls for this LIE.

Perhaps Tejra is particularly keen of hearing, or simply happens to be close enough, for she is not far from where the holder came to a stop. "A garden for the flowers of humanity to bloom in colorful words and ways when watered by the lip-and-leg-loosening libations." The harper's voice is a low melodic purr and lent the cadence of one quoting something. Pale eyes flick from their lazy perusal to land on Yaromil and sweep down him in a single assessing look. "If you have a drink, or three, it might start to look more like the botanical variety." Tej's hair as well as the awnings above are vivid enough to maybe let a man see flowers, with enough booze. The woman shifts, the movement fluid and graceful, to sit up and sip her drink. "I don't think anyone will be offended if you call it a bar instead." But, then, she's not a local; she probably doesn't really know what offends around Igen parts.

Seeing as he wasn't in a particularly trusting mood to begin with, the flowing cadence of the Harper's words strike Yaromil as the opposite of reassuring. His shoulders tighten as he turns the flower from bar to woman. "If there is indeed a garden somewhere…" a statement he sounds very doubtful of and with good reason seeing as this is Igen, "having a drink or three seems like a good way to never see it." Whether he'll call it a bar remains to be seen. Right now it's more of a disappointment.

Red brows rise over the tipped glass before Tejra sets it back on the table and uses a finger to make sure the red-violet liquid is not staining her upper lip. "Lesser known fact:" this tone is more instructive than any she ever actually uses in a classroom, and perhaps because she's allowed to get under the skin of strangers where it's frowned upon when the students are under the age of fourteen, "a secondary definition for the word 'garden' is 'a large public hall,'" she pauses to make a show of letting her pale gaze go around the room and then back to the young man, "which arguably, this may not quite qualify, but it's surely closer than something botanical. If you made a poor assumption, it can hardly be anyone's fault but your own." She smiles prettily, like that was a nice thing to say (haha).

Yaromil is about as impressed by that not-so-fun fact as a rock might be. He might not be quite rude enough to interrupt, but once Tejra is done harping, he'll respond with a snort. "That's sharding absurd. Words should only have one meaning else nothing will mean anything." Forget slippery slope even, he's talking about a freaking cliff to sudden linguistic doom which he'll face head on and with arms crossed as if this harper is the harbinger. "Don't know. Could blame the harpers who probably named this Garden thinking their so clever?" Apparently flowers were much more important that booze since he hasn't budged even an inch closer to taking a drink.

Poor, poor holder boy. He doesn't have any idea just how badly out-matched he is for a debate in linguistics. Tej is a terrible harper in so many ways, but not that one. She also excels at use of her movements as a weapon without ever leaning toward actual violence. "Should they now," is low and rife with a black humor that is a warning to anyone clever enough to hear it. The sinuous way the dancer rises from her chair, so serpentine in grace, should be warning, too, that the predator descends to play with its prey. Abandoning her drink that she might skirt the table and move closer to the man not much younger than herself, she pauses shy of arm's reach to inquire so innocently, "And how many extra words are you willing to learn in order to make that happen? And will you be the one submitting yourself to the task of going about all of Pern to teach one and all the hundreds and thousands of new words you'll need?" She actually sounds curious, even if the wide-eyed blinking is feigned in a way that can be read if one isn't inclined to believe the innocent act.

Clever or not, Yaromil is going to stay the course he's stubbornly set himself on, motionless as his hills dig into this molehill he's gonna make into a mountain. "They should." His eyebrow raises a little higher as he watches the woman move closely. "I don't think I need any. Point this way or that way for directions. Or whatever a trader has on hand that they want. It ain't that complicated." He gives a shrug. "Shouldn't need to clarify I want the place of growing things when I say gardens. Instead of place of…" He waves around whatever this not-Garden might be.

"Don't need any more words or don't need any words at all?" Careful now, Yaromil. That glint of mischief growing in the pale eyes of the redhead before him is dangerous, indeed. So is the Cheshire smile pulling across her lips. "Let's play a game." She suggests in that perhaps slightly hypnotic (to the non-dense, which Yaro may not qualify himself for, sorrynotsorry) melodic purr of hers. "I think we should take a walk about, and I'll talk and you only point and we'll see how things go, shall we?" And with that she's moving to try to hook an arm around his at the elbow as if they were simply going on a friendly promenade and not an errand to prove a fool's a fool.

Yaromil slows takes a half step back as the woman suggests a game. With all the glowering and grumbling about gardens, he can certainly add some more distrust on to the topic of games as he eyes Tejra like she might pull a tunnelsnake out of her sleeve and hurl it somewhere. "Some words are needed. But when you get into 'lesser used definitions'" he pitches he voice up higher as if trying to mimic the words from earlier. "That nobody ever uses, you're just wasting everybody's time." And time may be money even if Yaromil has some time to kill right about now. He bristles as his arm is claimed, but doesn't withdraw. And maybe he's tentatively agreeing to this whole 'game' as he takes one step and then another and gives a curt nod.

With Tejra, that's really extremely fair. Her sleeves bell out in a way that suggests there's enough room for one, anyway. She doesn't give him back his arm even in the face of all that bristles. He's like an adorable kitten that thinks it's scary when it puffs up, really, or at least that's how the harper behaves about it. "Nobody ever uses the second definition of 'garden'? How curious, when I suspect whoever directed you here used it, and everyone who lives here probably uses it every time they want to suggest a drink." If he wants to stat to talk, Tej will (so rudely) put one of her fingers over his lips, because the game is 'no talking,' and it's already begun. She pulls him about and leads him in the direction of the bar first. "Now tell the nice bartender just what you'd like to drink," she suggests with a bonny smile at her companion.

There's a sharp exhale as Yaromil disagrees with that whole definition, the teen giving a roll of his eyes as well. He's already said his bit on the definition of THIS garden so it doesn't really need repeating. He'll remain wordless if not completely silent as Tejra leads the way over towards the bar. He tilts her head as she proposes the first challenge, but he can rise to it. First steps first is to slip his arm free and once done, the young man shrugs, turns, and crosses his arms. Apparently no effort to order a drink. Maybe because he's a heathen that's drank from the lake again on his way in.

"Now, now," Tej tsks, though she makes no fight to keep hold of his arm, one hand settling lazily at her hip while the other gestures back toward the bar. "Unless you concede at the first challenge…" She draws that out, tauntingly, brows going up and up, pale eyes blinking at him. If the game is already over… that would be a shame. "Or is it just that you haven't any marks?" There's amusement playing over her lips for either the idea or the fact that he can't answer her in more than gestures. It's a great game!

Yaromil turns his head to stare back at the bar before looking back at Tejra and giving a slow shake of the head, his mouth downturned a bit in the 'don't really care for whatever' expression. Not utter hatred, more indifference than anything else. It's an expression his face knows well, like the features were molded for this very thing. As for the marks, well… that gets one shoulder raised in a shrug. Maaaaybe. But she'd have to make it a lot more worth his while for him to actually try to answer.

Pale eyes blink oh-so-innocently, her brows pinching slightly in meticulously imitated confusion. "I'm sorry, I don't understand. I win?" Tej doesn't twitch from the mask of the uncomprehending; she's committed to this act, to this game, to see it through. If it weren't apparent before, it may be apparent now that there are two stubborn teenagers in this room.

While Tejra might be getting ready to sing her gloating victory song, Yaromil gives a shake of his head. This isn't defeat. If she can't understand a clear message, he's just going to assume he wins. But he'll give it another shot. He points his thumb over his shoulder at the booze and then gives another very definitive shake of his head. Booze, no. Did Tejra just find the one teetotalling man in Igen?

"Well, that at least explains why you were so cranky about the flowers," Tejra replies, her lips tugging into an amused smile. She darts closer to his face to murmur low, to impinge on his personal bubble of space long enough to say, "But you know, they have non-alcoholic drinks here, too." If she makes that sound patronizing, it's certainly on purpose, but it doesn't stop her from briskly moving along back the way they came, only to stop far short of the arch and spin back, rocking a step back toward him, if he's followed and if they run into each other as a result… oops?

Yaromil gives another shrug at the mention of non-alcoholic drinks, but doesn't turn around to try and ask sign for one, so maybe he just wasn't thirsty. LAKE WATER IS GOOD ENOUGH FOR HIM, TEJRA! Then the harper is off and for some reason, he's trailing after. The sudden turn and step back is a little awkward, but comes juuuuuuust shy of an all out collision, although Yaro's hands reach out to brace himself? her? Something? But when nobody is falling he'll slip those hands right back into his pockets.

"Please go borrow that woman's hat. For just a moment." Tejra, who seems wholly unconcerned about the close call, about their continued proximity (let's face it, she's probably not even concerned about this thing we call live, honestly), indicates the woman in question sitting with her two friends and enjoying a drink. She wears a floppy-brimmed sunhat, even indoors. Odd that, but that's the task laid before poor Yaromil. Tej will do him the courtesy of stepping aside that he might pass her and make the attempt.

The random woman's hat is considered for a moment, but Yaromil doesn't move towards it or her. Instead, those one hand comes out of his pocket to tug on a free corner of Tejra's own headscarf and make a tsk-tsk sound. The harper's head is already covered, so why would she need a stolen hat? Yaro's not here to do her dirty work. He was here for non-existent flowers. Or trees. He could take a tree.

The harper's face is back to her most serene, her most infuriatingly tranquil. "Not for me. For you," and she reaches to clip just his hair with the sweep of her open palm. "The point is to try to borrow it. You know… Using your words." Not steal it. What kind of redheaded troublemaker does he take her for? In the middle of the day? In the middle of the Weyr? Besides, petty theft isn't Tejra's go-to troublemaking move, though she knows a guy who— She looks patiently at the younger man and makes another gesture, "Unless you can't."

Yaromil raises a hand to pat his own mass of curly hair, nice and bouncy and thick, with a grin. Why would he need a hat when he's got such beautiful hair as this? And then, he'll give a very dramatic yawn, hand tapping to slowly cover his mouth as he does so. He stretches this yawn on and on and on, longer than a yawn has any right to go on. Not his fault if she keeps picking 'tasks' he has absolutely no interest in. Like this game was destined for failure on all sides to begin with.

This again. Tej tilts her chin in answering gesture, the eyes, the demeanor, everything fits just so. "What's that? You can't? Well, can't say I didn't try," though the same cannot be said, in Tejra's opinion, of the young man with no sense of humor. The harper doesn't wait for a reply from the teen though, moving back in the direction of her table and her neglected drink, leaving her back to him while she plucks it up to take a long, refreshing sip.

Oh, is that Tej calling victory? Because from where Yaromil is standing it looks an awful lot like RUNNING AWAY. As the harper retreats to her table and reclaim her own drink, he'll give one last charade. He reaches up to brush some non-existent dirt off of his shoulders and once gone, he'll give a head nod towards the harper and make his own departure OUT. TO FIND SOME TREES OR FLOWERS OR WHATEVER PASSES FOR AN ACTUAL GARDEN, HARPER-FREE!!!

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