Girls Rule and Vos is a Wimp

Living Cavern
The smooth, rounded walls cavern sweep upward from an oval base, two dragonlengths long and one wide, large enough to seat every member of the Weyr at mealtimes. The soft blackness of the lava which forms these caverns swallows glowlight, so shelves for glowbaskets abound, dotting the walls every three or four paces and casting gentle greenish light toward the sparkles of gold volcanic glass embedded in the ceiling. Ancient, lustrous tables run along the axis of the cavern, and at the far end rests the raised dais and high table, where Weyrleaders and honored guests eat during formal occasions. Behind the high table, the Weyr's symbol is embedded into stone: a smoking mountain in black on an orange shield, trimmed in gold.
Perched near the food are seventeen firelizards.
You see Firelizard Tapestry, Dart Board, Living Cavern Notice Board, and Kangarru here.
Iasri is here.
Obvious exits:
Northeast Caverns Kitchens Bowl Southern Caverns

Iasri watches Jadall go, a small frown on her face as he leaves. He actually seems kinda cool now, offering these seven skins of wine and just leaving. Pretending the rules of the Hall just don't exist. It seems that the drinking party is down to one again, but Iasri is drunk enough that she's starting to talk to herself. "Bottom ups then!" She cheers herself, singsong voice. Drinky drink drink.

Vostarik wanders in from the bowl, looking sunburnt and remarkably pleased, considering that it's Vostarik. He's halfway through the cavern on a path for the food when he spots Iasri. And, uh, drunk. Yes, they are two separate entities. Zoom over there instead. "Dude." He is Deeply Disapproving. "Are you—" Sniff. "How much have you been /drinking/?"

Tilting her head back in Vos's direction, Iasri flashes a toothy, drunk smile. "A. Lot." She makes her point by draining the rest of the skin she's holding, dropping it to the ground with a loud thump. "I got six more, and they aren't going to drink themselves. Jadall gave them to me. He said it's okay… trruust me." For the first time, almost /ever/ she's inviting Vos to sit down and join her. Woah.

Vostarik glances over his shoulder - is anyone else seeing this? is he on candid camera? - before kneeling to pick up the skin that Iasri dropped. "Somehow I don't believe you," he grumbles, but nevertheless he slides into a seat across from her. The empty wineskin is opened and given an experimental whiff. Hmm. Fruity. "I /said/ you were a drunk! But no one believed me."

Iasri slams a hand forcefully on the table, already aggrivated with Vos's hesitation. "I /said/ it was okay. Where do you think I got these? Headwoman wouldn't let me in the storage room even if I wanted to /anyways/." She pauses to grab another skin and drag it across the table to her, slowly. Those gross motorskills are always the first to go. "You need to catch up. I'm beating you alreaaady." Always a race. Always a competition.

"I am not /drink racing you./" Huff. For such a buttface, Vostarik is something of a moral stick-in-the-mud. He puts the wineskin back down, sliding it across the table toward Iasri, and on their way back his hands pick up a full 'skin, though he doesn't open it. "Even if Jadall said you could—" which his tone puts into doubt, somehow —"/why/ are you drinking? You're like fifteen." This is incomprehensible to him. Psh.

Iasri pauses in her celebration, 'skin halfway up to her mouth when she stops to oogle Vos. Oh, he just got a ton less fun. "I'm drinkin'," she slurs, "Because I grew up drinkin' with my brother. I have five. Duh." she raises a hand to tick off five fingers slowly. "See? Real /men/ drink booze. Nothin wrong with it. D'riders have no problem offerin' me wine either." She hesitates a minute before taking a sip off the skin. "You're too prissy to race me anyways. Bet you wear a skirt when you're alone by yourself tooo." Snicker.

Vostarik is stung by this! Ouch. "Yeah? Well, I bet you do know what /real/ men do. You're less girl than anyone I've ever met!" Huff, huff. He turns the wineskin in his hands, listening to it slosh. More huff. "Herders. Ugh. 'Riders have no problem offerin' people /anything,/" is his dispute as he leans back in his chair, arms crossed. "It's just not everyone's stupid enough to take it, is all."

Vos's comment doesn't sting like it would if the girl was sober. Now, it just's like water off a ducks back, because she can't really feel anything but awesome, right then. "What?" She snaps back haughtly, "Are you jealous then? Do I need to tell you how to be a man? If you think I'm really mannish, then that means you're more of a /girl/ than I am." She flashes Vos a wicked grin, before propping a foot against the table leg and leaning her chair back. "Whimp." She hisses under her breath as she takes a swig.

"Lush," Vostarik mutters right back, reaching across the table for another wineskin. Apparently he's hoarding. What's in front of him isn't being drunk by Iasri, anyway. "/Anyone/ is more of a girl than you are. Those 'riders we saw the other night were more woman than /you'll/ ever be." Though the less said about that particular encounter, the better. He scrubs at his face with the back of one hand - he might be flushing, but it's hard to tell under the sunburn - and glares at her. "I hope you pass out and wake up somewhere really, really far from here."

Iasri shrugs, intent on taking on that name if Vos says so. "Fine, sure. Guess I am." She tilts her head back to guzzle more of her skin. She's trying to ignore his snarky comments, but being drunk doesn't protect her from all swipes. The mention of the female riders from the other night strikes a nerve, and she slams the chair she was leaning in down on all four legs. "Shut. UP." Her voice gets shrill. "Just because you're extra girly doesn't mean you can come here and make fun of me." That's when she notices the rest of the skins are migrating towards him. "Give them back. HEY."

Vostarik snorts. "You're practically prepubescent and already drunk off your ass. /Anyone/ can make fun of you. And should," he adds as an afterthought, already stealing a third wineskin to add to the pile in his lap. But then she notices, and despite himself his hand freezes for a moment. Erm. He recovers. "No." Nice, eh? "There's no way you're going to drink all of these. I'll take 'em back to Jadall. Unless," he glances at her, sardonic, "you really think you can get them away from me."

Iasri looks as if she has touched a hot iron, and she withdraws her hand back to her chest. She's seething, that feel good buzz already gone completely. Now she's just angry. "Give them back," she hisses dangerously, leaning foward in an attempt to grapple away the remaining wineskin on the table. "Maybe I wouldn't drink them all if /you/ didn't have a stick shoved up your arse. If you helped me…" She trails off, straightening herself up in her seat, a dangerously venomous silence. Calm before the storm. That is, until she leaps foward onto the table towards him. Teeth bared. Arm aimed straight at his throat. Rip out that jugular!

"Helped you? Helped you what?" Vostarik isn't quite as incredulous as he'll be in a moment, but he's getting there. "Helped you kick me in the crotch whenever I wa— aah!" Yes, that was him shrieking. /Now/ he's incredulous. He's also flat on his back on the ground, having completely failed in getting out of harm's way but succeeded in knocking his chair over backwards. Wineskins everywhere! Now he's trying to shield himself behind his arms, lest she actually. You know. Kill him. "What the shell is your /problem!/"

Iasri goes down with him, hitting the ground on her bad shoulder with a painful grunt. Good thing for the wine, it cushioned the blow. "You're my problem," she shreaks, punching, albeit not that hard, at his arms, "I was having a good time, and you ruin it. You /always/ ruin everything with /everybody/. Nobody. Likes. You." At this point, her face is beet red, voice shrill.

Vostarik is still ducking behind his own forearms. What? He's not about to hit an intoxicated fourteen-Turn old girl! "/You/ don't like me," is his muffled rebuttal. (Actually, it's her and just about every other Herder who knows him, but that's not the issue at hand.) "There's a difference!" He tries to roll away, but she's sticking fast, so he goes for the next most dangerous route - he unshields his face and tries to grab at her hands as they descend on him. Augh. "Calm down! You're in /public— ow!" Now she's socked him in the eye. So much for self-defense.

Iasri feels her fist connect against Vos's face, and the reaction is almost instinantious. She lets loose a triumphant cry, jerking back her arms in surprise and rolls off from pinning him to the ground. The sappy, inner girl wants to reach out and comfort him, but, she's too pissed right now to do anything but glare. She pants, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, and she turns to pick up the nearest wine skin. "You /deserved/ that." she snarls, and whips back her arm and chucks the skin at Vos, hard.

Vostarik, to his credit, catches the wineskin single-handedly before it too can hit him in the face. His other hand goes to his eye as soon as he is fairly certain she's not going to punch him again, and he sits up, scooting backwards as she gets off him. "And /you/ deserve to be chucked out of the freakin' craft," he shoots back, trying not to let his voice crack. That hurt! "Crazed wherry. Happy now?"

"Yes. I am." She shoots back smugly, one hand going to her shoulder to rub it tenderly. That fall hurt, but no bother. The rest of those horded wineskins are keen for the picking, and Iasri leans foward to grab one or two of them to her lap. "/These/," Iasri snaps, "Are for me. I offered you some. But you just had to stick your nose up and be a jerk. I was being /nice./" She stabs a finger in the air pointly, "Now all you get a black eye. You shardin' girl." Her words are starting to clear up significantly, hinting at her slight sobriety.

"Nice. Right." Vostarik's anger (and severely punched-in-the-face pride) might be hidden under his bland disbelief, but it's still there. He climbs to his feet, bending to pick up the chair as well. "Yeah, well. Keep on drinkin', then," he drawls, eyes narrowed (until it hurts the one). "And have a /nice/ night." Huff, huff. An dhe turns, yanking to straighten his shirt, and stalks back out of the caverns again.

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