Gone Drinking
Location: Miner's Find (a bar in Crom) and the North Weyr
Time: Evening and Night on Day 20, Month 10, Turn 3
Players: Ashwin, Jandor, F'sair (NPCed by Ashwin), Margot (NPCed by Jandor), Girta, Rabble, and Ladies of Negotiable Affection (NPCed by Roa), Roa
Scene: Because he had such fun the last time, Ashwin takes Jandor out to a dodgy bar in Crom. Even on their best behavior, the boys get into trouble. After the trouble is done, they head home and pay the weyrwoman a visit.
Inside The Miner's Find Tavern
Fading glows fail to cast their light into the corners of this dingy place, darkened corners made darker by the addition of turns upon turns of smoke from the wide fire that ranges along the left hand side of the room and wreathes the ceiling in a constant haze. A broad bar crafted from what must have been an enormous, ancient tree runs along the back, ingrained with dried on rings left behind by past drinks; bottles, wineskins and kegs of beer line up on shelves behind it, barstools run along its length. Between the door and that bar, a series of tables scattered about, chairs grouped loosely around them. The walls reflect the profession of the majority of the clientele, adorned with bits and pieces of old mining equipment, twisted and mangled beyond all repair. To the right, a stairway winds up in a tight spiral to the second floor; an open balcony does a complete circuit, looking down on the room below. Dimmed by smoke, a number of doors are visible running off it.
The quiet Captain of the High Reaches guard watches one of his companions, a slender greenrider, who's fussing at his dragon, as she undertakes the tricky task of backing up into the shadows, where she'll be out of the way. "Watch your tail, there's a tree," F'sair instructs her, waving one hand unhelpfully in the darkness. The fair Captain's eyes crinkle at the corners, and he turns away, towards the heftier of the two men with him, though he looks to the outside of the building. Nestled in against the sheer face of the mountain, the bar has the sort of shabby permanence that comes from having stood in the same place so long that it's become part of the landscape. Fingers of light escape the closed shutters, and the murmur of inside conversation escapes more loudly, a snatch of sound as the door is opened. A group of miners appear around the bend, from one of the dozen or so nearby settlements, casting curious glances at the green as she reverse parks, before disappearing inside.
Jandor wastes absolutely no time disengaging himself from the back of the green the moment she manages to get herself down on the ground, unstrapping himself and scrambling down her hip with an agility that a heavy man really ought not to have. Regardless, the second his booted feet hit the ground he twists his attention up to Ashwin; squinting at him. "I dinna know why y'dragged me out quite so far fer..... a little drink y'owe me. Coulda very easily brought me t'living caverns, 'r somethin. Not that I'm complanin', just summuat curious." He doesn't hold his hand out for Ashwin either, knowing full well that he can make his own way down. "An' I meant t'ask. Did y'find what y'needed out of the infirmary? Sorry I was so busy. Grumpy old women who cannae pee again."
Ashwin pulls his straps free, and jumps down to land silently beside the healer, straightening up slowly, and looking across towards the dilapidated building with a faint movement of his mouth that somehow contrives to distantly relate itself to a smile. "Took a couple of rolls of tape," he murmurs, hefting one of his knives out of the sheath at his belt, and reversing it, so he can offer the hilt for inspection. "Best grip there is." The knife goes away, and he glances back to where F'sair's in silent conversation with his green, tapping her on the nose to make some point. "Dragged you out quite so far because --" He breaks off, and reaches up for the knot he wears at his shoulder, tugging it free. "We're off duty."
Jandor nods his head slightly with a sage expression, a bearpaw hand lifting to tug at his beard as he inspects first the structure, and then the offered weapon. "Aye, s'dmake sense. Jus', gotta ration y'self on it. N'much of it comes in, somethin' about bein' hard to make." Either way, his broad shoulders are shrugged and he positions himself off of Ashwin's side; crossing his arms to flit his gaze between the guard and the bar once again. This time, there is a slightly knowing expression. "Right." He says, with satisfaction; undoing the loose cords and removing his own. "Anythin' ye ought t'be tellin' me before we go in, then?"
"Knot, F'sair," Ashwin calls over his shoulder, catching the greenrider's attention. "I think they're going to work it out," the greenrider remarks dryly, though he obliges as he crosses over to join the two men. He continues, looking past Ashwin to Jandor with a pained expression. "What shouldn't he be telling you? Last time we were here --" He's cut short when Ashwin's hand claps down on his shoulder, and the guard looks across to Jandor once more with that faint gleam of a smile. "We had a lot of fun," he finishes, stuffing his knot in his pocket. "My Lords, shall we?" Without waiting for reply, the Captain leads the way.
Within it is a warm and welcoming sight that awaits the trio of travelers. Well, it's warm and welcoming if one is frozen to the bone and partially blind. There are perhaps twenty-or-so tables laid out, most of them sporting chairs in various sorts of disrepair and those chairs sporting various characters who are likely just as damaged in some way or another. Off to the corner, a skinny man with greasy hair plunks a jaunty tune on a two-tiered xylophone, and a few women in bright and revealing garb swish their skirts to the 'music'. Behind the bar is a generously-sized woman and a small man who is doing his best to clean out mugs with a dirty rag. For some reason, the stairs and second-floor balcony look to be made of much newer wood than the rest of the place. The floor clings lovingly to the bottom of one's shoes and makes a mournful *schlorping* sound with each step taken.
Jandor turns his head to give F'sair a blank look. It's a curious one though. "Ah." He says to Ashwin, slightly distractedly then as he peers at the greenrider. "S'always good t'have a wee bit of fun." Neutral statement there, if there ever was one. He continues to peer at the greenrider until Ashwin disappears; whereupon he steps in after him -- looking just a little bit tense. This fades very quickly though as he actually enters the place. All Ashwin had to tell him, or the greenrider, was that it was a 'wee bit o' a dive' in his own tongue. He'd have understood perfectly. He squelches after Ashwin, smiling quite broadly now. Yes, this might do. "So, uh...." He asks, to Ashwin. "What's man law for 'ere? We rotatin' on payin' for rounds, cept you owe me the first one, grab our own, what's t'poison?"
F'sair brings up the rear, squelching with a marked lack of enthusiasm, quite the contrast to Ashwin. Something in the Captain's demeanor alters - he moves at all times with an odd grace that's all his own, but something indefinable relaxes in him, here. "Let me get the first couple, we'll see where we stand," he replies over his shoulder. "See if you can find somewhere to sit." He peels off, then, heading for the grubby bar, and their patroness behind it. F'sair sidesteps a small puddle, and inches in slightly closer to Jandor. "I have /got/ to stop playing cards with him," he mutters mournfully.
The hardy woman behind the bar, Girta by name, is pouring what ought to be ale into a mug and shoving it down to a patron as Ashwin approaches her domain. She looks up, eyes narrowing a little as her lips purse. She rests her elbows on the bar, the motion causing her bountiful bosom to wobble precariously before settling again. "Hey stranger," she says in a voice that's more bark than croon, "Don't I know you?"
A few of the patrons have begun to notice the new arrivals. Especially the really hairy one. That beard gets a couple long stares from the men, though a few of the brightly-colored women look over as well.
Jandor grins, slightly feral-like at Ashwin. "Whatever sorta slop 'e can find that'll do t'trick." He says, happily. This isn't meant as an insult to the bartender or the establishment. It's actually said with a bit of anticipation. The big man then turns on his heel, crossing to look around for a bit. An especially dilapidated, shaky looking old table is selected in a corner. It actually almost looks like it's been halfheartedly repaired after bring broken over someone. He flops down in a chair and extends both legs to kick out two others, one for F'sair and one for Ashwin. "Y'here from loosin' a bet, then? What's t'not like about this place? Ye were tryin' t'explain summuat earlier?"
Ashwin leans against the bar, though he does inspect the surface before he rests an elbow on it. Girta gets a grin that's more demonstrative than any so far, and a wink to go with it. "And you said you'd never forget me. You're breaking my heart," Ashwin replies easily. "Better than my head, I'd say. Three beers, and two of whatever it is you use to detonate mining charges round here, please."
F'sair reaches out to give his chair an experimental push, checking its strength before he commits. "I lost transport in a bet," he explains, sinking down. "Usually it's just lifts back to Tillek, not such a bad bet to lose." He's looking over at the xylophone player, closing his eyes against the determined plunking for a moment. "Never mind, I think you get it."
Girta's eyes widen and then narrow down to slits. "/You./" she hisses. "You busted my bar, you and your pals. Gimme one good reason I shouldn't throw you out on your ear this minute, blondie." The small man behind Girta had begun to fill three more mugs of ale, but at her words he pauses midway through pouring the second and shifts awkwardly.
Jandor actually has a flash of concern cross his face. "Bah." He says. "Couple drinks 'll take t'stick outta yer arse and you'll lighten up. Long as ye can get us back home inna mostly one piece." Smile beneath the beard. He leans back in his chair then, and immediately regrets doing so as the furniture creaks in a very ominous way. A mental note is made to absolutely not do that again. His head turns towards Ashwin, and the bar just in time to see Girta's narrowed eyes. "Hrm." He says to F'sair. "How long have we been 'ere? Two minutes?"
"I got lots of reasons," Ashwin replies, fishing in his pocket, his words low, even, relaxed. "About the right number to cover your staircase, I reckon." He doesn't set the small, fist-sized sack down on the bar, but rather leans over the bar, to set it down behind the bar, out of sight of other patrons. "And my apologies it took so long to get it back to you. Now, I'm awful thirsty."
"A couple of drinks is all I get, unless you want to be coming out of between upside down," F'sair replies. "You leave my ass out of it, though. I held up my end last time, the Captain said so. Both of them, the old one and the new one. About a minute and a half, why?" He follows Jandor's gaze then, and winces. "If she reaches for kitchenware, we go and get him back, got it? Man's got a deathwish."
The proprietress reaches down to discreetly heft the little sack and then reaches around to smack the little man upside the head with the flat of her other hand. "Well? You heard him. Three beers and a pitcher of the strong stuff!" It doesn't necessarily /have/ to be a bad sign that the alternative to beer seems to have no actual name.
The xylophone player plinka-plinks away and one of the girls twirls, sending skirts billowing and herself into the path of a small table with two men. One reaches out and snatches her into his lap, and she collapses as bidden with playful laugh.
Jandor is leaning forward; elbow on the table now as he struggles to hear the conversation that is going on between Ashwin and Greta. Only bits and pieces are caught though, thanks to the xylophone, and so the other man gets his attention. "Ye dinna come t'a bar wif someone..." He murmurs. "Unless ye are ready, willin' and hopefully not so drink that yer unable t'go get him if'n summuat like tha' appens. Fortunately, he went 'n got it all straightened out, so, we dun have to." Beaming smile, as he looks forward to his nitroglycerine. Or whatever they happen to call it.
"I did my part last time!" The slender greenrider bristles, banging one hand on the table, then halting, and wrinkling his nose as he turns his palm over to examine the coating it just acquired. "I did my part," he repeats, less indignantly, and subsides to watch the xylophonist with ill-masked disapproval.
Ashwin, meanwhile, gathers up his beers, his pitcher and the two small glasses - so small that they attest to the strength of their future contents - provided, wrangling the lot of them with an ease that bespeaks long practice. "Very nice to see you again," he murmurs to Girta with another wink, before he turns away, and weaves his way through the tables, to his companions.
Girta only offers a ladylike grunt and hefts up a rag as if she might wipe down the bar. But then she thinks better of it and simply goes about corking some of the open bottles sitting around. Ashwin and his cohorts are left to their own devices for the time being, save for the discreet and curious glances the other patrons keep tossing over towards their table.
Jandor is waiting with a look of anticipation when Ashwin returns. "So, wha' happened last time?" He asks their unwilling means of transportation. A curiously expectant look is on him, and he seems to be expecting him to continue despite the fact that the guard is going to be at their table in a few seconds. "Wha' was that all about?" He further inquires of Ashwin. "Everythin' alright? Safe t'drink outta this without worryin' tha' s'piss in it?" It's said as a joke, and his eyes show it.
"Just settling a debt," Ashwin murmurs, setting down the drinks, and pushing a beer towards F'sair, who curls a hand around it. "Last time there was a fight," the greenrider illuminates, peering suspiciously into his drink. "Nothing doing backstroke in my drink, this is an improvement. This place is on the improve, Captain." Ashwin is busy pouring two small glasses from the pitcher, and lifting each. "Won't be able to taste a thing in a moment, won't matter," he replies to Jandor, with a gleam in his pale eyes, dropping the two small glasses into two of the beers, with a small splash.
Over at the other table, where a woman is still seated on one of two men's laps, said woman squeaks audibly as hands find squeezable spots and do so. It's a cue, and she half-stands and is half-pushed out of her patron's lap so the two of them can tromp up the stairs. They nearly bump into a pair of women who are descending. Dark-haired, tall and slim, both women look exactly the same, save for the color and cut of their dresses.
Word travels fast in a little bar, it does. Probably through someone who had made their way upstairs. It is hard to say, but there is a slight disturbance up there and then a woman makes her way down the steps as the two others go up. She moves to stand there at rough half level, leg upraised to show much of it beneath her dress; one hand on the railing the other hand coyly on her hip. She would probably be about forty, and not bad looking; though her face marks her as being at /least/ three sheets to the wind, probably about seven. "AAAAAASSSSSSSSSSSSHWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIN!!!!!" She calls happily across the /entire bar/ and in the act of doing so, looses grip on the railing -- rolling down the stairs to land in a heap of skirts. She recovers quickly though, half walking and half stumbling towards the table with the three.
Jandor is busy nodding at what Ashwin says, taking up the glass and tipping it to his lips immediately with no sign of hesitation, preamble or worry. And, he manages not to cough too. Shaking the glass slightly at his hand and nodding. "Aye, s'good..." At this point, the piercing shriek goes out. Jandor frowns markedly at this. "Why do I smell t'trouble and not t'alchyhol?" He shrugs, and tips the glass to his lips again. Drinking this first one quickly.
Ashwin uses one finger to settle the small glass that's bobbing inside his beer, before he downs both in a series of long swallows, mouth twisted to a more definite smile as he sets them down with a clunk. His satisfaction lasts right up until when his name is shrieked, and not a moment longer. His head whips around then, in time to catch the last of the woman's tumble. He doesn't wait to track her progress towards them, but instead turns his head to fix F'sair with a faintly concerned glance. "The fuck? Which one of you's responsible for that? Mine're up there, I can see them. Is she Vej's?" Jandor is graced with another suggestion of a smile for his words, and finally the Captain turns back to glance towards the woman. "Have another drink, you won't be able to smell, either," he advises.
Behind the bar, Girta looks over at the toppling prostitute and scowls. "Told 'er not to drink before she started workin'," she growls, arms crossing over her wibbly-wobbly assets. A few of the other brightly colored women look over, some gasping at the fall, some just snickering at the behavior. Certainly, the looks given to Jandor, Ashwin and F'sair's table are far less discreet now.
Jandor nods appreciatively. Strangely enough, he's not following the woman's approach either. Instead, he seems to be concentrating on reloading his lethal weapon; following almost exactly the motions that Ashwin did. Except a little bit more hurried. The thing is sniffed appreciatively, with that feral grin back on his face. "Nay. Can still smell m'self. Have t'have another!" And he begins reloading again, only once looking between the other two. Ashwin seems to know what he's doing here.
To her credit, the nameless whore manages to reach Ashwin without stumbling more than five times. She draws to a halt near to the trio, arm reaching out to grip -- or attempt to grip F'sair's shoulder for support with the other resting on the table. "Aaaaasssshwwwiiiin." She breathes, cheerfully. Who the heck is she? She reaches out then; leaning forward as she attempts to clamber into the guard's lap. "Don't you recognize me?" A little pout is on her face. "I can't remember if we did anything or not, but I know who you are! You've gotten older! And stronger! Feel those muscles!" She turns her head away to burp slightly, and reaches out -- attempting to palpate his pectorals as a means to stay upright. "Come upstairs?"
Girta watches all of this with deepening frown, but she doesn't break out the frying pans just yet. A couple of the other prostitutes are snickering opening and the twins stand by the foot of the stairs, muttering between one another and making small gestures. One moves her hands as if describing the general outline of someone's body. The other one nods and pantomimes throwing something.
Ashwin nudges his smaller glass towards Jandor in a silent request for a refill, turning his head for a moment to avoid that breath. "'fraid not, love,' he replies, both hands up now to ease the woman away from his lap. "Those're my girls over there by the stairs, looking friendly." F'sair lifts his head to have a good look at the twins, frowning faintly around a sip of his beer. "They don't look that pleased to --" he begins, then halts, thinking the better of it. "I'm down here tonight," Ashwin continues, manhandling the woman beside him sideways, and making a decent attempt to decant her into Jandor's lap. "My friend Jan here, he's a better bet."
"I..." She says, sweetly. "Don't care who's your girl. *I* want to be your girl." Her lips drop into a heart shaped pout, and it seems that she's going to have nothing of the manhandling -- sidestepping almost expertly and lowering her center of gravity to make her more difficult to move. "Come on, Ashy." She insists, reaching out to attempt to take him by the wrists and lift his hands somewhere inappropriate. "Put your hands on me. See? You could have all that! Come upstairs!" And with that, she drops her center of gravity -- attempting to fall into his lap if he won't have her willingly. She knows how to force herself on someone, oh, yes.
Jandor, for his part during this is watching in a sort of amused way. In the way when, for example, someone manages to trip and fall but does a complete three hundred and sixty degree backflip at the same time. It's a mixture of horror, and guilty pleasure. Both of his hands lift, then, gesticulating somewhat. "Nuh-uh, Ashwin. Ye lie inna bed that ya make." He seems to take great pleasure in saying that, too. Though, to cover that pleasure, he pours Ashwin his drink and pushes it towards him.
Help comes in the form of Ashwin's girls. Or they would have been, if it hadn't been for a certain hat. "Hey Margot," the first one offers with a smile. "C'mon offa him. I got a lonely fella right over here'd love to head on up with ya." The other one reaches down to lightly tug on Margot's arm, flashing Ashwin a sudden and utterly bemused smile as she does so. "Heya, sugar. New friends, same trouble, looks like."
"I think," Ashwin replies more firmly now, both hands catching at the woman's hips, to prevent her from landing, "that you heard me say no. Just here for a drink tonight, you'll have better luck elsewhere." He goes so far, even, as to cast a meaningful glance in Girta's direction - the glance of a patron with money to spend, should he not depart abruptly. And then his identical saviours arrive. He's not slow to try and hand her off. "Follows me everywhere," he replies.
Margot tugs her arm away from her colleagues somewhat viciously. "B...but..." She says, voice lowering. It's not a happy shout anymore, it's a sort of mean hiss. A very jealous one. "I'm not lookin' for a paying customer, here. I. Want. This. Man." This is said to her colleagues, whilst still trying to attach herself to Ashwin. "So, you're saying then, Ashwin, that you don't want me?" This is said in a whisper, that is aimed for his ear only. Of course, other things may be thrust at him in the act of moving to whisper in his ear, but.
Jandor is sneaky. Since Ashwin isn't able to drink his glass, due to problems with Margot he does so for him -- not even bothering with the beer portion of it. His lips curl, his eyes cross, toes probably flexing inside his boots. Fingers wiggle, beard twitches and finally his head shakes as he makes a 'blbllblblblbllblb' sort of sound. "A'right." He murmurs, to nobody in particular. "I cannae taste 'r smell anymore."
"Fuck, Margot, you're drunk. Get outta here and sleep it off b'fore you make this any worse than it's already got. He said no is no is no." The first twin is scowling now and the second reaches for Margot's arm to give another sharp tug. Girta is moving from around the bar and stalking slowly towards the table that's causing all the trouble.
"Fuck," Ashwin mutters, tilting his head back, and out of Margot's way. "He said no. He's got a wife he didn't have last time he came here, and a baby on the way, and the only thing he wants to hold onto is his drink." F'sair's watching Girta's approach with a rabbit-in-headlights sort of quality about him, and he takes another sip from his beer, to moisten his throat before he speaks, raising his voice. "Perhaps more beer, my good woman," he tries, optimistically.
Margot is being entirely unpleasant to everyone here, especially huddled down close to Ashwin like she is. "Take yer hands offa me." She says. "Cept you..." This is said to her victim. "I see then..." She hisses in his ear. "That you don't want me. That you think I'm ugly." She tucks her body down in close to his. "Weyr made you like boys? I'll show you... nobody rejects me!" This is all whispered right in his ear. She doesn't hear the statement that he has a wife and a kid on the way. None of it matters. She's been rejected. And so, in a display of acting surprisingly amazing for one so intoxicated she reaches down as though to hug Ashwin, saying loudly.. "Mmmm, Ashy!" At which point she kicks off the chair and suddenly recoils explosively, one hand to her face -- flying out of his lap and landing with a sickening thud on the floor. To anyone watching, unless they were specifically watching his hands, it looks /EXACTLY/ like he just clobbered her. "HE HIT ME!" She screams, at the top of her lungs -- even adding tears. "BASTARD HIT ME! MY FACE! MY FACE!" And then she pulls her head down, covers it with both hands and sobs. At which point, a general murmur of dislike can be heard through the bar. "You can't be hitting women! Hey! Margot was my favorite!" Are just some of the responses. A trio of men from a nearby table crouch beside the sobbing Margot, and then begin to move towards Ashwin's table with hardened faces.
Jandor is still bubbly over that last drink until Margot goes flying. Happy, intoxicated face suddenly flits to something like serious business as he looks towards the incoming people, then sidelong at Ashwin. "Errr...." He says. "Yer call on this one."
The twins jump back as Margot goes flying and Girta arrives. She stares at the mess as a few of the men push to their feet and the xylophone music comes to a stuttering halt. "Look here," snaps Girta, "I know she was outta line, but you can't go around hittin' my-" "He weren't hittin' nobody!" one of he twins cries. "I seen it and she just threw herself-" "She threw her own self to the ground!" she second twin adds. "Are you callin' Margot a liar?" one of the men asks not of the dynamic duo but of Jandor. "We don't like strangers 'round here," another man notes, inching closer. "And we don't like strangers hittin' our women," growls a third. One of the other girls, a slender blonde, crouches down to try and help the sobbing Margot off of the floor, though for some reason she refuses to rise, wails louder, and keeps her face fully hidden. "I remember them," the blonde hisses. "Weyrfolk. No decency, that lot."
"Upstairs might be best, girls," Ashwin replies to the indignant twins, lifting his chin to indicate the newly made balcony. Even as he speaks, he's reaching over to claim the tiny glass that held the unnamed strong stuff, and dipping it into the jug to scoop it full. "Drink up, friend," he advises F'sair, following his own instructions, and downing the contents of the little glass in one mouthful. "Might be on our way, try somewhere else." Indeed, he's already pushing his chair back with a sticky scraping sound, bracing one hand against the wooden arm of it to rise to his feet.
The greenrider begins to gulp his beer obediently, displaying a surprising turn of speed when pressed. He ends up with a slightly foamy mustache, which one finger gently blots away as he sets his glass down, coming slowly, and carefully to his feet. Like a sudden movement might draw attention.
Jandor is slightly uncomfortable. Not because of the fact that Ashwin hasn't really made a call on what to do in the burgeoning situation -- not because of the situation itself. But he can certainly follow that lead, and dunks his own glass into the thing; drinking noisily. One may notice though that in the act of doing so, he backs around the table to stand beside Ashwin so that there is no empty space between them. "Mm." He murmurs. "Might be best t'move 'long. Try another' place, 'n maybe a bit 'o food.." He's pointedly ignoring the bartender, as well as those among the men who addressed him. Not deigning a single reply. "What say ye, Ashwin?"
The twins might have displayed a bit of loyalty, but that goes out the window as disgruntled men begin to crowd closer. They duck out of the way quick enough, and even Margot and the blonde have the sense to head upstairs quickly. Girta is still standing and still frowning. "You boys knock it off," she warns. But the men begin to close in, a few more adding to their numbers. "Should teach you boys somethin' about respect," one notes. "Can't just come in here like you own the place." "Got no right to've hit Margot." "I won't have no fightin' in my bar!" Girta bellows. But this demand has the opposite effect. A large man with a nose that looks to have been broke several times and a hairline that's run for cover, draws a fist back and takes a swing at Ashwin.
"I say, how many of them're between us and the door," Ashwin replies, moving his lips very little to mutter those words to the healer with whom he now stands shoulder to shoulder. "Trying to walk out now," he points out to Girta, raising his voice so it'll carry to the bar's owner. "Trying?" That's F'sair, increasingly uneasy, and shuffling around until he comes to a halt on Jandor's other side. "No, no, we're going, we're not trying." And it's at that point that Ashwin's forced to duck, which he does with alacrity, straightening in the wake of the swing, without mustering one of his own to return. "Just on our way out the door," he repeats, slowly and clearly. In case enunciating it helps. "We are /not/," F'sair retorts. "I had enough of talk about weyrfolks last time." So, in the end, it's the greenrider who opens hostilities for the visitors, reaching for Jandor's empty beer glass, and tossing it towards Ashwin's attacker.
Jandor responds to Ashwin thoughtfully, in an equally quiet voice. "Oh, I dunno. 'Bout maybe fifteen? S'pretty good odds, if'n ya wanna..." And then Ashwin ducks, and the healer tenses; hands balled into fists -- coiled and ready to do battle. Though, the fists lower for a moment as the other doesn't take a swing back. "Right, then, if y'wana wa..." For the second time, he is entirely interrupted. This time by F'sair and his glass throwing. A rapid reconstruction of his opinion of the greenrider is done -- he had him labeled for rather wussy after all -- and then he steps forwards. Doesn't hesitate. The thrown glass is going to start it as he knows full well, and so he aims a broad fist for the mouth of the guy standing next to Ashwin's attacker. If it's going to start, might as well take someone out early.
"DAMN it!" This is from Girta as that first punch goes flying. The puncher bellows as the punchee ducks, and then there is another roar of outrage as he finds himself dripping wet. The man standing besides the soggy assailant was so busy watching his friend that he doesn't notice Jandor's fist flying until it's too late. There is the crack of knuckles slamming nose, and then it's a free-for all. One man dives for F'sair while Ashwin's original attacker goes in for another try. This time he barrels in low, attempting a full-on tackle. The murmur of discontent erupts into a roar and punches begin flying everywhere. Even Girta is forced to duck.
Ashwin swears, but he only has time to do so once. "/Again/," he mutters, right before his man barrels into him, and the air goes out of him completely. Both hands wrap around his attacker's middle, and the Captain swings him over his hip, dumping him onto the floor behind him. He's only half turned to finish the job off when F'sair intervenes, beaning the man on the floor with a chair, so that he slumps. "Watch out for anything coming over the --" Ashwin begins to Jandor, turning sideways to drive a kick into the knee of the man next to him -- "balcony."
A healer's job is to fix broken things, most often. And not to delight in things being broken. Nonetheless, there is a satisfied grunt from him at the feel of something snapping beneath his fist. He doesn't immediately retract his hand after the blow though, grabbing the man by the hair and powering his face down into the table with a meaty sound before turning to Ashwin. "Balcony?!" He says. "But, s'only women up there, and they'd nae..." He is interrupted by someone's fist connecting with his temple hard enough to completely interrupt his vision and skew his head halfway around so that he is blinking at the wall; rocking all the way back on his heels. He doesn't fall though, by dint of superhuman contortions and reaching out with a hand to grab the collar of the one who just clobbered him. "I love ye too." He murmurs, affectionately, and punches him in the stomach with his other hand.
It seems the women upstairs, while they come out to offer whoops and cries of support, do not carry objects to pitch downwards just now. There is a crack as Girta socks a large man hard enough to make him blink rapidly and stagger backwards. "That's it, blondie. You ain't comin' back. Not you or y'friends," she growls. A few chairs join the fray and get thumped over others' heads and a couple men have joined Ashwin's attacker to lie unconscious on the floor. But there are plenty willing to take their place and the next one who comes after the guard does so by leaping off of a table in an attempt to pummel him from behind. Jandor's adversary drops but a man with curly hair and squinty eyes reaches out to grab ahold of that big, bushy beard and YANK.
"Balcony," F'sair agrees, from where he's busy bringing a chair down on his foe's head a second time, just for good measure. "They like him up there, some of them." He spots the man leaping down on top of Ashwin, and promptly squawks and scatters, backing up several steps, and unfortunately onto the toes of the table behind him, who are still slowly rising. This prompts F'sair to charge forward once more, past Jandor, head down.
"I'm trying to leave, love," Ashwin replies to Girta, claiming a jug from the next table, and tossing it past the woman, where it connects with the temple of the man behind her. "Good move, F'sair, thanks," the Captain approves absently, before the greenrider's squawk of warning has him turning. He goes down under the man who flies through the air, and lands on his back, continuing the momentum so he can roll, carrying his new turtle's shell with him, and lift his head to bang the back of it down against the nose of the man clinging to his back.
Jandor sees stars once again as his beard is pulled on. Really, that hurts. And the hand is going to have a few strands of red for it. It elects a sort of grunt of anger from him as he reaches out, seizing the other's elbow in both of his hands. He takes a pretty good slug in the forehead for it that'll assuredly leave a mark, but he digs his thumbs into the joint until his beard is released. Growling like a bear now he reaches for the table this time, lifting the edge of it upwards into the body of that man and giving it a kick. Won't disable him, no, but he'll have to dig himself out from under it. Red spot visible on him he turns back towards Ashwin, leaving F'sair on his own for a moment as he reaches for the man on Ashwin's back; slipping his arms under his and holding him there, patiently in a full nelson. It's half human shield, half waiting for Ashwin to finish the job he started with the headbutt. "Aye, Guardsman!" He says, cheerfully. "Present for ye!"
The man rolled underneath Ashwin makes that odd 'whooshing' noise one makes when the wind is knocked out of them completely. The slam of head to nose has him sliding sideways until he hauled up and pinned by Jandor, but Ashwin's being down on the ground means several new arrivals to the fray decide that kicking a guardsman when he's down is a good idea. Luckily, one large woman and two large men alongside her burrow into the battle to shove away the men who would rather play dirty. "Try harder!" Girta snaps as she buries her fist into someone's gut.
No glib reply from Ashwin this time, who's busy rolling to protect his kidneys, and grunting as he follows the example of Jandor's recent adversary, reaching up for the long hair of one of the men who are aiming boots at his tender parts, and using it to haul himself up and onto his feet. Every action has one equal and opposite, and the man with hair thumps down to the floor, where Ashwin sinks the boot in himself, nodding to the trio who helped give him the breathing space to rise, before he turns to drive a fist into the nose of the man Jandor called. "Much obliged, journeyman," he replies, lifting his head for a moment to survey their surroundings, then ducking a swing. "The door, I think, if we can find our ride." Their ride doesn't have much technique, but is possessed of a sort of terrifying energy, and has one man pinned, so he can punch him repeatedly. "Immoral? Wham. "There are whores here!" Wham. "We fly Thread for you!" Wham. "You ungrateful bastards!" Wham.
Jandor simply loosens his grip on the man, and lets him collapse like a ragdoll. Briefly touching his own forehead with his fingertips, he sidesteps -- only to have a man who is sitting down at a nearby table take a swipe at him; connecting with his ribs. There is a sharp, hissing breath of air before without missing a beat, he grabs the other's plate. With his left hand, he seizes the piece of bread that was on it and begins eating it, but with his right he cheerfully breaks the dish over the back of the other's head and steps back towards Ashwin, munching on the stuff before the fragments of glass have even stopped moving. He's casually leering about him though, as though daring someone else to try and pick them off as he works his way back towards the two. "O'er there!" He says, finishing the last of the bread. "Pummlin' that gu.." This time, he gets his arm inbetween another swing and thumps the attacker quite mercilessly in the neck. "What'ye think? Grab one arm, I grab t'other an' we run for it? Or, fight some more?" He's not asking in a raised voice at all. It's quite neutral, like asking directions.
The ranks are thinning a little bit. Well, the ranks of people that are moving as opposed to the ranks of men that are puddles on the floor. Girta is doing her best to help clear a path to the door as she mutters something about how she should have grabbed a frying pan again. "Out!" she bellows more audibly. "Everybody out, out, OUT!"
"Might be an excellent time for arms," Ashwin replies, backing up a step to pick up the jug of strong stuff that he and Jandor have only managed to diminish a third or so. Nursing this in the crook of one arm, he half-turns, kicking out again, once then twice, to connect with a pair approaching from behind. "Arm each, and out we go." He raises his voice for Girta's benefit, finding the parade ground bellow that so belies his usual, soft-spoken murmur. "On our way, ma'am." F'sair has no such intentions, kicking out as he's hauled off the unconscious butt of his fury, and freeing himself to begin stalking towards healer and guard. "Right! Who's next, then?"
Jandor is fairly lucky in that he doesn't have to defend himself again, at least for the next few seconds as he makes his way to Ashwin's side. Fortunately, F'sair is moving before he has to manhandle him out too far. "T'door, m'good greenrider, t'door is next." Eyes flit to Ashwin as though for approval. "I think ye, t'guard and I have done 'nough damage 'ere. C'mon, let's get outta 'ere before they catch on tha' I'm t'only healer in here. Be a wee bit awkward." He still has both hands up, ready to intercept whatever might come his way. So far though, he's clear. Likely won't last.
There are a couple brawlers along the way that could pose as potential interference, though quite a few are too busy clobbering one another to bother trying to clobber the trio everyone originally wanted to beat up in the first place. One man on the floor, near-passed-out, does reach up a hand to wrap it around Jandor's ankle. And a fighting pair crash down in front of Ashwin as they struggle to see who will ultimately get the chair both cling to tenaciously. Girta is helping as she can, bellowing and punching and fuming as she goes.
Ashwin stomps on a nearby hand, and as F'sair goes to bowl past him, he hooks one arm - the arm not wrapped around the jug - through the greenrider's, so that the guard faces the room, and the greenrider faces the door. "Arm please, Jan," he calls, as F'sair tries to wrestle his free. The premise is obvious: that the healer should take the other of the greenrider's arm, assist in turning 180 degrees, and march him along the path Girta's clearing for the door.
Jandor is fairly quick on the uptake and, after kicking his leg free and jamming his boot heel into someone's solar plexus he takes position off of F'sair and, unceremoniously grabbing an arm begins to walk. Or rather, drag, depending. "Ye know we'll have t'make 'im sane tae fly us outta 'ere, right?" He asks of Ashwin, across the greenrider's body as he heads for the door.
Girta is breathing heavily, eyes narrowed, chest heaving more than usual. She stands by the door, hands clenched at her sides, watching intently as the three strangers creep closer to leaving the premises. For a fuming F'sair, she offers a solid pair of backhands, one for each cheek. "Fight's over. Pull it together." A quick glance to Ashwin and Jandor as she notes, "Works better'n water."
Ashwin spins and joins in hauling F'sair back to the door, cradling his jug in his other arm. From F'sair, stunned silence in the wake of those slaps, and then a more subdued, "Ouch". "Many thanks for your hospitality," Ashwin replies, angling past Girta, and leaving her behind to guard the door. There's a rather agitated green dragon outside, head swinging, eyes whirling orange, and more than anything, this seems to settle F'sair down. "And they say /we're/ immoral," he mutters to himself, ceasing his struggle. "They're the ones who punch from behind." From Ashwin there's a snicker, as he nods to Jandor to release their companion. "Up on the dragon, lads," the Captain instructs. "Exit, stage left."
It is late and sensible people ought to be asleep. Certainly, Tialith is asleep, curled up on her couch and breathing slowly. Her rider, on the other hand, is wide awake, though her hair is down in a single braid and she wears the loose top and pants she tends to sleep in. Whether Roa is waiting up for her weyrmate or simply kept up due to the rather demanding bulge that dominates her profile, the little weyrwoman paces around the perimeter of the north weyr slowly, reading from a hide held in one hand as she does so. The other hand is pressed against the small of her back where a dull and insistent ache has taken up residence.
There's laughter outside on the ledge, and the curtains move as F'sair's green makes a landing, drops her passengers, and makes a takeoff. From the greenrider, in the interim, there's lots of the sort of shushing that ends up being far louder than anything it might have smothered. The curtain shifts aside once more, this time at the Captain's prompting, and he so titled appears at the entrance to the weyr, a jug cradled in one arm, the suspicion of a smile still on his features.
Jandor enters a few seconds after Ashwin. Ever the gentleman he lets the Captain lead the way, especially given the relative privacy of this place. He stands mutely a pace behind and to Ashwin's right. He's mute, arms folded behind the small of his back. He has the signs though, of having been in a tussle. A couple of bruises on his forehead, and one on his cheek. He doesn't say a word though, waiting for Ashwin's lead.
At the laughter and shushing, Roa lifts her head and smiles faintly. But she waits for the Captain to come to her, rather than heading out to the Captain, and her wait is soon justified. The weyrwoman seems about to say something when...oh...there is somebody else there. Somebody red and furry and bruised. She blinks and then puffs out a sigh. "Oh no. You didn't."
"A little," Ashwin is forced to admit, crossing over to set the jug down on the table, and peer into it for a moment. "Didn't spill," he informs Jandor over his shoulders. "Had to, a little. I was defending my honour." All this is delivered quietly, with a small, private smile for the Weyrwoman that differs entirely from the gleam of anticipation that had his mouth quirking back at the bar.
Jandor quirks his expression at Ashwin, for a moment. "Weyrwoman." He says by greeting to Roa, before he smiles. "An' here I was expectin' ye t'say we fell down a flight 'o stairs." He seems to find this a pleasant surprise. And seems to prove that he has Ashwin's back, for he nods readily at Roa. "Aye." He says. "And yer honor, actually. Had a drunken whore tryin' t'get 'im t'play with her." He gives a bit of a smile beneath the beard. "T'was a lil' bit 'o good fun. Can we do it again sometime?"
"What, just one this time? At least last fight he had the decency to get into a brawl over two." Roa glances towards the pitcher and then back to the men. "Any lumps or bumps or cuts that need cleaning? Is F'sair all right?"
"They were there," Ashwin chips in, as though he thinks this will help. "Tried to defend my honour too, actually. Thought that was quite nice, didn't you?" This last is for Jandor, to whom he turns for confirmation. "Got a bit of a kicking, but we're okay. F'sair's more than."
Jandor glances to Ashwin thoughtfully. "Nae sure." He says, honestly. "Was payin' attention to t'others tryin' t'kick yer teeth 'n jewels in. But, if'n ye meant t'twins that were scowlin' at ye when y'had the one in yer lap that was.... yeah, pretty cute 'n there, I s'pose." He rubs at his forehead. "Lil' bruise here 'n there. I can get Ounari at t'infirmary t'wipe it up, without 'er askin' too many questions." He glances to Ashwin, thoughtfully. "Y'know, I've got jus' one question. I'd have yer back either way, but... did ye smack t'girl, or not? Dinna see."
The weyrwoman, of course, wasn't there. She wasn't even remotely close. And yet still she answers, as calm and sure as if she had been an eyewitness, "No. He didn't. Do either of you want something to eat?"
Ashwin only lifts a finger to point at his weyrmate, as she supplies the answer. He evidently considers this sufficient, and Roa is on the receiving end of another quiet smile. "Wouldn't mind a bite," he replies. "Had planned to stick around, order a big meal, some of those little things they bring you on plates to go before. Proper table settings, I know how you feel about cutlery." That for Roa, rather than Jandor. "Ended up leaving a bit early, though."
Jandor waits for Ashwin to speak, once again. "Wouldn't mind a wee bite." He says. "But, s'no need tae get it fer me. Tell me where t'find it and I'll get it myself." Far be it from him to make a heavily pregnant woman wait on him. "I might add, s'well... t'was totally yer fault." He rubs the mark on his head. "Do ye have t'foggiest idea who that woman was?"
Roa arches her brows upwards at that. "No, it's fine. I can't sit down anyhow. Go, at least wash up a bit. You both smell like..." her nose wrinkles as she moves to draw down some leftovers from dinner as well as some simple snacks that just tend to be around the weyr. The end result are a bowl of nuts, a pitcher of juice, some slices of cold meat, rolls of bread, six redfruits and a jar of hard candies.
"Yes ma'am." There's washing up on the part of the menfolk, and then for those who find it comfortable to sit, there's sitting. For those who don't, there's at least a little perching on laps. And talk, and recounting, and hand gestures, and eventually the use of food and drink to reconstruct what was, overall, a very entertaining night.
Time: Evening and Night on Day 20, Month 10, Turn 3
Players: Ashwin, Jandor, F'sair (NPCed by Ashwin), Margot (NPCed by Jandor), Girta, Rabble, and Ladies of Negotiable Affection (NPCed by Roa), Roa
Scene: Because he had such fun the last time, Ashwin takes Jandor out to a dodgy bar in Crom. Even on their best behavior, the boys get into trouble. After the trouble is done, they head home and pay the weyrwoman a visit.
Inside The Miner's Find Tavern
Fading glows fail to cast their light into the corners of this dingy place, darkened corners made darker by the addition of turns upon turns of smoke from the wide fire that ranges along the left hand side of the room and wreathes the ceiling in a constant haze. A broad bar crafted from what must have been an enormous, ancient tree runs along the back, ingrained with dried on rings left behind by past drinks; bottles, wineskins and kegs of beer line up on shelves behind it, barstools run along its length. Between the door and that bar, a series of tables scattered about, chairs grouped loosely around them. The walls reflect the profession of the majority of the clientele, adorned with bits and pieces of old mining equipment, twisted and mangled beyond all repair. To the right, a stairway winds up in a tight spiral to the second floor; an open balcony does a complete circuit, looking down on the room below. Dimmed by smoke, a number of doors are visible running off it.
The quiet Captain of the High Reaches guard watches one of his companions, a slender greenrider, who's fussing at his dragon, as she undertakes the tricky task of backing up into the shadows, where she'll be out of the way. "Watch your tail, there's a tree," F'sair instructs her, waving one hand unhelpfully in the darkness. The fair Captain's eyes crinkle at the corners, and he turns away, towards the heftier of the two men with him, though he looks to the outside of the building. Nestled in against the sheer face of the mountain, the bar has the sort of shabby permanence that comes from having stood in the same place so long that it's become part of the landscape. Fingers of light escape the closed shutters, and the murmur of inside conversation escapes more loudly, a snatch of sound as the door is opened. A group of miners appear around the bend, from one of the dozen or so nearby settlements, casting curious glances at the green as she reverse parks, before disappearing inside.
Jandor wastes absolutely no time disengaging himself from the back of the green the moment she manages to get herself down on the ground, unstrapping himself and scrambling down her hip with an agility that a heavy man really ought not to have. Regardless, the second his booted feet hit the ground he twists his attention up to Ashwin; squinting at him. "I dinna know why y'dragged me out quite so far fer..... a little drink y'owe me. Coulda very easily brought me t'living caverns, 'r somethin. Not that I'm complanin', just summuat curious." He doesn't hold his hand out for Ashwin either, knowing full well that he can make his own way down. "An' I meant t'ask. Did y'find what y'needed out of the infirmary? Sorry I was so busy. Grumpy old women who cannae pee again."
Ashwin pulls his straps free, and jumps down to land silently beside the healer, straightening up slowly, and looking across towards the dilapidated building with a faint movement of his mouth that somehow contrives to distantly relate itself to a smile. "Took a couple of rolls of tape," he murmurs, hefting one of his knives out of the sheath at his belt, and reversing it, so he can offer the hilt for inspection. "Best grip there is." The knife goes away, and he glances back to where F'sair's in silent conversation with his green, tapping her on the nose to make some point. "Dragged you out quite so far because --" He breaks off, and reaches up for the knot he wears at his shoulder, tugging it free. "We're off duty."
Jandor nods his head slightly with a sage expression, a bearpaw hand lifting to tug at his beard as he inspects first the structure, and then the offered weapon. "Aye, s'dmake sense. Jus', gotta ration y'self on it. N'much of it comes in, somethin' about bein' hard to make." Either way, his broad shoulders are shrugged and he positions himself off of Ashwin's side; crossing his arms to flit his gaze between the guard and the bar once again. This time, there is a slightly knowing expression. "Right." He says, with satisfaction; undoing the loose cords and removing his own. "Anythin' ye ought t'be tellin' me before we go in, then?"
"Knot, F'sair," Ashwin calls over his shoulder, catching the greenrider's attention. "I think they're going to work it out," the greenrider remarks dryly, though he obliges as he crosses over to join the two men. He continues, looking past Ashwin to Jandor with a pained expression. "What shouldn't he be telling you? Last time we were here --" He's cut short when Ashwin's hand claps down on his shoulder, and the guard looks across to Jandor once more with that faint gleam of a smile. "We had a lot of fun," he finishes, stuffing his knot in his pocket. "My Lords, shall we?" Without waiting for reply, the Captain leads the way.
Within it is a warm and welcoming sight that awaits the trio of travelers. Well, it's warm and welcoming if one is frozen to the bone and partially blind. There are perhaps twenty-or-so tables laid out, most of them sporting chairs in various sorts of disrepair and those chairs sporting various characters who are likely just as damaged in some way or another. Off to the corner, a skinny man with greasy hair plunks a jaunty tune on a two-tiered xylophone, and a few women in bright and revealing garb swish their skirts to the 'music'. Behind the bar is a generously-sized woman and a small man who is doing his best to clean out mugs with a dirty rag. For some reason, the stairs and second-floor balcony look to be made of much newer wood than the rest of the place. The floor clings lovingly to the bottom of one's shoes and makes a mournful *schlorping* sound with each step taken.
Jandor turns his head to give F'sair a blank look. It's a curious one though. "Ah." He says to Ashwin, slightly distractedly then as he peers at the greenrider. "S'always good t'have a wee bit of fun." Neutral statement there, if there ever was one. He continues to peer at the greenrider until Ashwin disappears; whereupon he steps in after him -- looking just a little bit tense. This fades very quickly though as he actually enters the place. All Ashwin had to tell him, or the greenrider, was that it was a 'wee bit o' a dive' in his own tongue. He'd have understood perfectly. He squelches after Ashwin, smiling quite broadly now. Yes, this might do. "So, uh...." He asks, to Ashwin. "What's man law for 'ere? We rotatin' on payin' for rounds, cept you owe me the first one, grab our own, what's t'poison?"
F'sair brings up the rear, squelching with a marked lack of enthusiasm, quite the contrast to Ashwin. Something in the Captain's demeanor alters - he moves at all times with an odd grace that's all his own, but something indefinable relaxes in him, here. "Let me get the first couple, we'll see where we stand," he replies over his shoulder. "See if you can find somewhere to sit." He peels off, then, heading for the grubby bar, and their patroness behind it. F'sair sidesteps a small puddle, and inches in slightly closer to Jandor. "I have /got/ to stop playing cards with him," he mutters mournfully.
The hardy woman behind the bar, Girta by name, is pouring what ought to be ale into a mug and shoving it down to a patron as Ashwin approaches her domain. She looks up, eyes narrowing a little as her lips purse. She rests her elbows on the bar, the motion causing her bountiful bosom to wobble precariously before settling again. "Hey stranger," she says in a voice that's more bark than croon, "Don't I know you?"
A few of the patrons have begun to notice the new arrivals. Especially the really hairy one. That beard gets a couple long stares from the men, though a few of the brightly-colored women look over as well.
Jandor grins, slightly feral-like at Ashwin. "Whatever sorta slop 'e can find that'll do t'trick." He says, happily. This isn't meant as an insult to the bartender or the establishment. It's actually said with a bit of anticipation. The big man then turns on his heel, crossing to look around for a bit. An especially dilapidated, shaky looking old table is selected in a corner. It actually almost looks like it's been halfheartedly repaired after bring broken over someone. He flops down in a chair and extends both legs to kick out two others, one for F'sair and one for Ashwin. "Y'here from loosin' a bet, then? What's t'not like about this place? Ye were tryin' t'explain summuat earlier?"
Ashwin leans against the bar, though he does inspect the surface before he rests an elbow on it. Girta gets a grin that's more demonstrative than any so far, and a wink to go with it. "And you said you'd never forget me. You're breaking my heart," Ashwin replies easily. "Better than my head, I'd say. Three beers, and two of whatever it is you use to detonate mining charges round here, please."
F'sair reaches out to give his chair an experimental push, checking its strength before he commits. "I lost transport in a bet," he explains, sinking down. "Usually it's just lifts back to Tillek, not such a bad bet to lose." He's looking over at the xylophone player, closing his eyes against the determined plunking for a moment. "Never mind, I think you get it."
Girta's eyes widen and then narrow down to slits. "/You./" she hisses. "You busted my bar, you and your pals. Gimme one good reason I shouldn't throw you out on your ear this minute, blondie." The small man behind Girta had begun to fill three more mugs of ale, but at her words he pauses midway through pouring the second and shifts awkwardly.
Jandor actually has a flash of concern cross his face. "Bah." He says. "Couple drinks 'll take t'stick outta yer arse and you'll lighten up. Long as ye can get us back home inna mostly one piece." Smile beneath the beard. He leans back in his chair then, and immediately regrets doing so as the furniture creaks in a very ominous way. A mental note is made to absolutely not do that again. His head turns towards Ashwin, and the bar just in time to see Girta's narrowed eyes. "Hrm." He says to F'sair. "How long have we been 'ere? Two minutes?"
"I got lots of reasons," Ashwin replies, fishing in his pocket, his words low, even, relaxed. "About the right number to cover your staircase, I reckon." He doesn't set the small, fist-sized sack down on the bar, but rather leans over the bar, to set it down behind the bar, out of sight of other patrons. "And my apologies it took so long to get it back to you. Now, I'm awful thirsty."
"A couple of drinks is all I get, unless you want to be coming out of between upside down," F'sair replies. "You leave my ass out of it, though. I held up my end last time, the Captain said so. Both of them, the old one and the new one. About a minute and a half, why?" He follows Jandor's gaze then, and winces. "If she reaches for kitchenware, we go and get him back, got it? Man's got a deathwish."
The proprietress reaches down to discreetly heft the little sack and then reaches around to smack the little man upside the head with the flat of her other hand. "Well? You heard him. Three beers and a pitcher of the strong stuff!" It doesn't necessarily /have/ to be a bad sign that the alternative to beer seems to have no actual name.
The xylophone player plinka-plinks away and one of the girls twirls, sending skirts billowing and herself into the path of a small table with two men. One reaches out and snatches her into his lap, and she collapses as bidden with playful laugh.
Jandor is leaning forward; elbow on the table now as he struggles to hear the conversation that is going on between Ashwin and Greta. Only bits and pieces are caught though, thanks to the xylophone, and so the other man gets his attention. "Ye dinna come t'a bar wif someone..." He murmurs. "Unless ye are ready, willin' and hopefully not so drink that yer unable t'go get him if'n summuat like tha' appens. Fortunately, he went 'n got it all straightened out, so, we dun have to." Beaming smile, as he looks forward to his nitroglycerine. Or whatever they happen to call it.
"I did my part last time!" The slender greenrider bristles, banging one hand on the table, then halting, and wrinkling his nose as he turns his palm over to examine the coating it just acquired. "I did my part," he repeats, less indignantly, and subsides to watch the xylophonist with ill-masked disapproval.
Ashwin, meanwhile, gathers up his beers, his pitcher and the two small glasses - so small that they attest to the strength of their future contents - provided, wrangling the lot of them with an ease that bespeaks long practice. "Very nice to see you again," he murmurs to Girta with another wink, before he turns away, and weaves his way through the tables, to his companions.
Girta only offers a ladylike grunt and hefts up a rag as if she might wipe down the bar. But then she thinks better of it and simply goes about corking some of the open bottles sitting around. Ashwin and his cohorts are left to their own devices for the time being, save for the discreet and curious glances the other patrons keep tossing over towards their table.
Jandor is waiting with a look of anticipation when Ashwin returns. "So, wha' happened last time?" He asks their unwilling means of transportation. A curiously expectant look is on him, and he seems to be expecting him to continue despite the fact that the guard is going to be at their table in a few seconds. "Wha' was that all about?" He further inquires of Ashwin. "Everythin' alright? Safe t'drink outta this without worryin' tha' s'piss in it?" It's said as a joke, and his eyes show it.
"Just settling a debt," Ashwin murmurs, setting down the drinks, and pushing a beer towards F'sair, who curls a hand around it. "Last time there was a fight," the greenrider illuminates, peering suspiciously into his drink. "Nothing doing backstroke in my drink, this is an improvement. This place is on the improve, Captain." Ashwin is busy pouring two small glasses from the pitcher, and lifting each. "Won't be able to taste a thing in a moment, won't matter," he replies to Jandor, with a gleam in his pale eyes, dropping the two small glasses into two of the beers, with a small splash.
Over at the other table, where a woman is still seated on one of two men's laps, said woman squeaks audibly as hands find squeezable spots and do so. It's a cue, and she half-stands and is half-pushed out of her patron's lap so the two of them can tromp up the stairs. They nearly bump into a pair of women who are descending. Dark-haired, tall and slim, both women look exactly the same, save for the color and cut of their dresses.
Word travels fast in a little bar, it does. Probably through someone who had made their way upstairs. It is hard to say, but there is a slight disturbance up there and then a woman makes her way down the steps as the two others go up. She moves to stand there at rough half level, leg upraised to show much of it beneath her dress; one hand on the railing the other hand coyly on her hip. She would probably be about forty, and not bad looking; though her face marks her as being at /least/ three sheets to the wind, probably about seven. "AAAAAASSSSSSSSSSSSHWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIN!!!!!" She calls happily across the /entire bar/ and in the act of doing so, looses grip on the railing -- rolling down the stairs to land in a heap of skirts. She recovers quickly though, half walking and half stumbling towards the table with the three.
Jandor is busy nodding at what Ashwin says, taking up the glass and tipping it to his lips immediately with no sign of hesitation, preamble or worry. And, he manages not to cough too. Shaking the glass slightly at his hand and nodding. "Aye, s'good..." At this point, the piercing shriek goes out. Jandor frowns markedly at this. "Why do I smell t'trouble and not t'alchyhol?" He shrugs, and tips the glass to his lips again. Drinking this first one quickly.
Ashwin uses one finger to settle the small glass that's bobbing inside his beer, before he downs both in a series of long swallows, mouth twisted to a more definite smile as he sets them down with a clunk. His satisfaction lasts right up until when his name is shrieked, and not a moment longer. His head whips around then, in time to catch the last of the woman's tumble. He doesn't wait to track her progress towards them, but instead turns his head to fix F'sair with a faintly concerned glance. "The fuck? Which one of you's responsible for that? Mine're up there, I can see them. Is she Vej's?" Jandor is graced with another suggestion of a smile for his words, and finally the Captain turns back to glance towards the woman. "Have another drink, you won't be able to smell, either," he advises.
Behind the bar, Girta looks over at the toppling prostitute and scowls. "Told 'er not to drink before she started workin'," she growls, arms crossing over her wibbly-wobbly assets. A few of the other brightly colored women look over, some gasping at the fall, some just snickering at the behavior. Certainly, the looks given to Jandor, Ashwin and F'sair's table are far less discreet now.
Jandor nods appreciatively. Strangely enough, he's not following the woman's approach either. Instead, he seems to be concentrating on reloading his lethal weapon; following almost exactly the motions that Ashwin did. Except a little bit more hurried. The thing is sniffed appreciatively, with that feral grin back on his face. "Nay. Can still smell m'self. Have t'have another!" And he begins reloading again, only once looking between the other two. Ashwin seems to know what he's doing here.
To her credit, the nameless whore manages to reach Ashwin without stumbling more than five times. She draws to a halt near to the trio, arm reaching out to grip -- or attempt to grip F'sair's shoulder for support with the other resting on the table. "Aaaaasssshwwwiiiin." She breathes, cheerfully. Who the heck is she? She reaches out then; leaning forward as she attempts to clamber into the guard's lap. "Don't you recognize me?" A little pout is on her face. "I can't remember if we did anything or not, but I know who you are! You've gotten older! And stronger! Feel those muscles!" She turns her head away to burp slightly, and reaches out -- attempting to palpate his pectorals as a means to stay upright. "Come upstairs?"
Girta watches all of this with deepening frown, but she doesn't break out the frying pans just yet. A couple of the other prostitutes are snickering opening and the twins stand by the foot of the stairs, muttering between one another and making small gestures. One moves her hands as if describing the general outline of someone's body. The other one nods and pantomimes throwing something.
Ashwin nudges his smaller glass towards Jandor in a silent request for a refill, turning his head for a moment to avoid that breath. "'fraid not, love,' he replies, both hands up now to ease the woman away from his lap. "Those're my girls over there by the stairs, looking friendly." F'sair lifts his head to have a good look at the twins, frowning faintly around a sip of his beer. "They don't look that pleased to --" he begins, then halts, thinking the better of it. "I'm down here tonight," Ashwin continues, manhandling the woman beside him sideways, and making a decent attempt to decant her into Jandor's lap. "My friend Jan here, he's a better bet."
"I..." She says, sweetly. "Don't care who's your girl. *I* want to be your girl." Her lips drop into a heart shaped pout, and it seems that she's going to have nothing of the manhandling -- sidestepping almost expertly and lowering her center of gravity to make her more difficult to move. "Come on, Ashy." She insists, reaching out to attempt to take him by the wrists and lift his hands somewhere inappropriate. "Put your hands on me. See? You could have all that! Come upstairs!" And with that, she drops her center of gravity -- attempting to fall into his lap if he won't have her willingly. She knows how to force herself on someone, oh, yes.
Jandor, for his part during this is watching in a sort of amused way. In the way when, for example, someone manages to trip and fall but does a complete three hundred and sixty degree backflip at the same time. It's a mixture of horror, and guilty pleasure. Both of his hands lift, then, gesticulating somewhat. "Nuh-uh, Ashwin. Ye lie inna bed that ya make." He seems to take great pleasure in saying that, too. Though, to cover that pleasure, he pours Ashwin his drink and pushes it towards him.
Help comes in the form of Ashwin's girls. Or they would have been, if it hadn't been for a certain hat. "Hey Margot," the first one offers with a smile. "C'mon offa him. I got a lonely fella right over here'd love to head on up with ya." The other one reaches down to lightly tug on Margot's arm, flashing Ashwin a sudden and utterly bemused smile as she does so. "Heya, sugar. New friends, same trouble, looks like."
"I think," Ashwin replies more firmly now, both hands catching at the woman's hips, to prevent her from landing, "that you heard me say no. Just here for a drink tonight, you'll have better luck elsewhere." He goes so far, even, as to cast a meaningful glance in Girta's direction - the glance of a patron with money to spend, should he not depart abruptly. And then his identical saviours arrive. He's not slow to try and hand her off. "Follows me everywhere," he replies.
Margot tugs her arm away from her colleagues somewhat viciously. "B...but..." She says, voice lowering. It's not a happy shout anymore, it's a sort of mean hiss. A very jealous one. "I'm not lookin' for a paying customer, here. I. Want. This. Man." This is said to her colleagues, whilst still trying to attach herself to Ashwin. "So, you're saying then, Ashwin, that you don't want me?" This is said in a whisper, that is aimed for his ear only. Of course, other things may be thrust at him in the act of moving to whisper in his ear, but.
Jandor is sneaky. Since Ashwin isn't able to drink his glass, due to problems with Margot he does so for him -- not even bothering with the beer portion of it. His lips curl, his eyes cross, toes probably flexing inside his boots. Fingers wiggle, beard twitches and finally his head shakes as he makes a 'blbllblblblbllblb' sort of sound. "A'right." He murmurs, to nobody in particular. "I cannae taste 'r smell anymore."
"Fuck, Margot, you're drunk. Get outta here and sleep it off b'fore you make this any worse than it's already got. He said no is no is no." The first twin is scowling now and the second reaches for Margot's arm to give another sharp tug. Girta is moving from around the bar and stalking slowly towards the table that's causing all the trouble.
"Fuck," Ashwin mutters, tilting his head back, and out of Margot's way. "He said no. He's got a wife he didn't have last time he came here, and a baby on the way, and the only thing he wants to hold onto is his drink." F'sair's watching Girta's approach with a rabbit-in-headlights sort of quality about him, and he takes another sip from his beer, to moisten his throat before he speaks, raising his voice. "Perhaps more beer, my good woman," he tries, optimistically.
Margot is being entirely unpleasant to everyone here, especially huddled down close to Ashwin like she is. "Take yer hands offa me." She says. "Cept you..." This is said to her victim. "I see then..." She hisses in his ear. "That you don't want me. That you think I'm ugly." She tucks her body down in close to his. "Weyr made you like boys? I'll show you... nobody rejects me!" This is all whispered right in his ear. She doesn't hear the statement that he has a wife and a kid on the way. None of it matters. She's been rejected. And so, in a display of acting surprisingly amazing for one so intoxicated she reaches down as though to hug Ashwin, saying loudly.. "Mmmm, Ashy!" At which point she kicks off the chair and suddenly recoils explosively, one hand to her face -- flying out of his lap and landing with a sickening thud on the floor. To anyone watching, unless they were specifically watching his hands, it looks /EXACTLY/ like he just clobbered her. "HE HIT ME!" She screams, at the top of her lungs -- even adding tears. "BASTARD HIT ME! MY FACE! MY FACE!" And then she pulls her head down, covers it with both hands and sobs. At which point, a general murmur of dislike can be heard through the bar. "You can't be hitting women! Hey! Margot was my favorite!" Are just some of the responses. A trio of men from a nearby table crouch beside the sobbing Margot, and then begin to move towards Ashwin's table with hardened faces.
Jandor is still bubbly over that last drink until Margot goes flying. Happy, intoxicated face suddenly flits to something like serious business as he looks towards the incoming people, then sidelong at Ashwin. "Errr...." He says. "Yer call on this one."
The twins jump back as Margot goes flying and Girta arrives. She stares at the mess as a few of the men push to their feet and the xylophone music comes to a stuttering halt. "Look here," snaps Girta, "I know she was outta line, but you can't go around hittin' my-" "He weren't hittin' nobody!" one of he twins cries. "I seen it and she just threw herself-" "She threw her own self to the ground!" she second twin adds. "Are you callin' Margot a liar?" one of the men asks not of the dynamic duo but of Jandor. "We don't like strangers 'round here," another man notes, inching closer. "And we don't like strangers hittin' our women," growls a third. One of the other girls, a slender blonde, crouches down to try and help the sobbing Margot off of the floor, though for some reason she refuses to rise, wails louder, and keeps her face fully hidden. "I remember them," the blonde hisses. "Weyrfolk. No decency, that lot."
"Upstairs might be best, girls," Ashwin replies to the indignant twins, lifting his chin to indicate the newly made balcony. Even as he speaks, he's reaching over to claim the tiny glass that held the unnamed strong stuff, and dipping it into the jug to scoop it full. "Drink up, friend," he advises F'sair, following his own instructions, and downing the contents of the little glass in one mouthful. "Might be on our way, try somewhere else." Indeed, he's already pushing his chair back with a sticky scraping sound, bracing one hand against the wooden arm of it to rise to his feet.
The greenrider begins to gulp his beer obediently, displaying a surprising turn of speed when pressed. He ends up with a slightly foamy mustache, which one finger gently blots away as he sets his glass down, coming slowly, and carefully to his feet. Like a sudden movement might draw attention.
Jandor is slightly uncomfortable. Not because of the fact that Ashwin hasn't really made a call on what to do in the burgeoning situation -- not because of the situation itself. But he can certainly follow that lead, and dunks his own glass into the thing; drinking noisily. One may notice though that in the act of doing so, he backs around the table to stand beside Ashwin so that there is no empty space between them. "Mm." He murmurs. "Might be best t'move 'long. Try another' place, 'n maybe a bit 'o food.." He's pointedly ignoring the bartender, as well as those among the men who addressed him. Not deigning a single reply. "What say ye, Ashwin?"
The twins might have displayed a bit of loyalty, but that goes out the window as disgruntled men begin to crowd closer. They duck out of the way quick enough, and even Margot and the blonde have the sense to head upstairs quickly. Girta is still standing and still frowning. "You boys knock it off," she warns. But the men begin to close in, a few more adding to their numbers. "Should teach you boys somethin' about respect," one notes. "Can't just come in here like you own the place." "Got no right to've hit Margot." "I won't have no fightin' in my bar!" Girta bellows. But this demand has the opposite effect. A large man with a nose that looks to have been broke several times and a hairline that's run for cover, draws a fist back and takes a swing at Ashwin.
"I say, how many of them're between us and the door," Ashwin replies, moving his lips very little to mutter those words to the healer with whom he now stands shoulder to shoulder. "Trying to walk out now," he points out to Girta, raising his voice so it'll carry to the bar's owner. "Trying?" That's F'sair, increasingly uneasy, and shuffling around until he comes to a halt on Jandor's other side. "No, no, we're going, we're not trying." And it's at that point that Ashwin's forced to duck, which he does with alacrity, straightening in the wake of the swing, without mustering one of his own to return. "Just on our way out the door," he repeats, slowly and clearly. In case enunciating it helps. "We are /not/," F'sair retorts. "I had enough of talk about weyrfolks last time." So, in the end, it's the greenrider who opens hostilities for the visitors, reaching for Jandor's empty beer glass, and tossing it towards Ashwin's attacker.
Jandor responds to Ashwin thoughtfully, in an equally quiet voice. "Oh, I dunno. 'Bout maybe fifteen? S'pretty good odds, if'n ya wanna..." And then Ashwin ducks, and the healer tenses; hands balled into fists -- coiled and ready to do battle. Though, the fists lower for a moment as the other doesn't take a swing back. "Right, then, if y'wana wa..." For the second time, he is entirely interrupted. This time by F'sair and his glass throwing. A rapid reconstruction of his opinion of the greenrider is done -- he had him labeled for rather wussy after all -- and then he steps forwards. Doesn't hesitate. The thrown glass is going to start it as he knows full well, and so he aims a broad fist for the mouth of the guy standing next to Ashwin's attacker. If it's going to start, might as well take someone out early.
"DAMN it!" This is from Girta as that first punch goes flying. The puncher bellows as the punchee ducks, and then there is another roar of outrage as he finds himself dripping wet. The man standing besides the soggy assailant was so busy watching his friend that he doesn't notice Jandor's fist flying until it's too late. There is the crack of knuckles slamming nose, and then it's a free-for all. One man dives for F'sair while Ashwin's original attacker goes in for another try. This time he barrels in low, attempting a full-on tackle. The murmur of discontent erupts into a roar and punches begin flying everywhere. Even Girta is forced to duck.
Ashwin swears, but he only has time to do so once. "/Again/," he mutters, right before his man barrels into him, and the air goes out of him completely. Both hands wrap around his attacker's middle, and the Captain swings him over his hip, dumping him onto the floor behind him. He's only half turned to finish the job off when F'sair intervenes, beaning the man on the floor with a chair, so that he slumps. "Watch out for anything coming over the --" Ashwin begins to Jandor, turning sideways to drive a kick into the knee of the man next to him -- "balcony."
A healer's job is to fix broken things, most often. And not to delight in things being broken. Nonetheless, there is a satisfied grunt from him at the feel of something snapping beneath his fist. He doesn't immediately retract his hand after the blow though, grabbing the man by the hair and powering his face down into the table with a meaty sound before turning to Ashwin. "Balcony?!" He says. "But, s'only women up there, and they'd nae..." He is interrupted by someone's fist connecting with his temple hard enough to completely interrupt his vision and skew his head halfway around so that he is blinking at the wall; rocking all the way back on his heels. He doesn't fall though, by dint of superhuman contortions and reaching out with a hand to grab the collar of the one who just clobbered him. "I love ye too." He murmurs, affectionately, and punches him in the stomach with his other hand.
It seems the women upstairs, while they come out to offer whoops and cries of support, do not carry objects to pitch downwards just now. There is a crack as Girta socks a large man hard enough to make him blink rapidly and stagger backwards. "That's it, blondie. You ain't comin' back. Not you or y'friends," she growls. A few chairs join the fray and get thumped over others' heads and a couple men have joined Ashwin's attacker to lie unconscious on the floor. But there are plenty willing to take their place and the next one who comes after the guard does so by leaping off of a table in an attempt to pummel him from behind. Jandor's adversary drops but a man with curly hair and squinty eyes reaches out to grab ahold of that big, bushy beard and YANK.
"Balcony," F'sair agrees, from where he's busy bringing a chair down on his foe's head a second time, just for good measure. "They like him up there, some of them." He spots the man leaping down on top of Ashwin, and promptly squawks and scatters, backing up several steps, and unfortunately onto the toes of the table behind him, who are still slowly rising. This prompts F'sair to charge forward once more, past Jandor, head down.
"I'm trying to leave, love," Ashwin replies to Girta, claiming a jug from the next table, and tossing it past the woman, where it connects with the temple of the man behind her. "Good move, F'sair, thanks," the Captain approves absently, before the greenrider's squawk of warning has him turning. He goes down under the man who flies through the air, and lands on his back, continuing the momentum so he can roll, carrying his new turtle's shell with him, and lift his head to bang the back of it down against the nose of the man clinging to his back.
Jandor sees stars once again as his beard is pulled on. Really, that hurts. And the hand is going to have a few strands of red for it. It elects a sort of grunt of anger from him as he reaches out, seizing the other's elbow in both of his hands. He takes a pretty good slug in the forehead for it that'll assuredly leave a mark, but he digs his thumbs into the joint until his beard is released. Growling like a bear now he reaches for the table this time, lifting the edge of it upwards into the body of that man and giving it a kick. Won't disable him, no, but he'll have to dig himself out from under it. Red spot visible on him he turns back towards Ashwin, leaving F'sair on his own for a moment as he reaches for the man on Ashwin's back; slipping his arms under his and holding him there, patiently in a full nelson. It's half human shield, half waiting for Ashwin to finish the job he started with the headbutt. "Aye, Guardsman!" He says, cheerfully. "Present for ye!"
The man rolled underneath Ashwin makes that odd 'whooshing' noise one makes when the wind is knocked out of them completely. The slam of head to nose has him sliding sideways until he hauled up and pinned by Jandor, but Ashwin's being down on the ground means several new arrivals to the fray decide that kicking a guardsman when he's down is a good idea. Luckily, one large woman and two large men alongside her burrow into the battle to shove away the men who would rather play dirty. "Try harder!" Girta snaps as she buries her fist into someone's gut.
No glib reply from Ashwin this time, who's busy rolling to protect his kidneys, and grunting as he follows the example of Jandor's recent adversary, reaching up for the long hair of one of the men who are aiming boots at his tender parts, and using it to haul himself up and onto his feet. Every action has one equal and opposite, and the man with hair thumps down to the floor, where Ashwin sinks the boot in himself, nodding to the trio who helped give him the breathing space to rise, before he turns to drive a fist into the nose of the man Jandor called. "Much obliged, journeyman," he replies, lifting his head for a moment to survey their surroundings, then ducking a swing. "The door, I think, if we can find our ride." Their ride doesn't have much technique, but is possessed of a sort of terrifying energy, and has one man pinned, so he can punch him repeatedly. "Immoral? Wham. "There are whores here!" Wham. "We fly Thread for you!" Wham. "You ungrateful bastards!" Wham.
Jandor simply loosens his grip on the man, and lets him collapse like a ragdoll. Briefly touching his own forehead with his fingertips, he sidesteps -- only to have a man who is sitting down at a nearby table take a swipe at him; connecting with his ribs. There is a sharp, hissing breath of air before without missing a beat, he grabs the other's plate. With his left hand, he seizes the piece of bread that was on it and begins eating it, but with his right he cheerfully breaks the dish over the back of the other's head and steps back towards Ashwin, munching on the stuff before the fragments of glass have even stopped moving. He's casually leering about him though, as though daring someone else to try and pick them off as he works his way back towards the two. "O'er there!" He says, finishing the last of the bread. "Pummlin' that gu.." This time, he gets his arm inbetween another swing and thumps the attacker quite mercilessly in the neck. "What'ye think? Grab one arm, I grab t'other an' we run for it? Or, fight some more?" He's not asking in a raised voice at all. It's quite neutral, like asking directions.
The ranks are thinning a little bit. Well, the ranks of people that are moving as opposed to the ranks of men that are puddles on the floor. Girta is doing her best to help clear a path to the door as she mutters something about how she should have grabbed a frying pan again. "Out!" she bellows more audibly. "Everybody out, out, OUT!"
"Might be an excellent time for arms," Ashwin replies, backing up a step to pick up the jug of strong stuff that he and Jandor have only managed to diminish a third or so. Nursing this in the crook of one arm, he half-turns, kicking out again, once then twice, to connect with a pair approaching from behind. "Arm each, and out we go." He raises his voice for Girta's benefit, finding the parade ground bellow that so belies his usual, soft-spoken murmur. "On our way, ma'am." F'sair has no such intentions, kicking out as he's hauled off the unconscious butt of his fury, and freeing himself to begin stalking towards healer and guard. "Right! Who's next, then?"
Jandor is fairly lucky in that he doesn't have to defend himself again, at least for the next few seconds as he makes his way to Ashwin's side. Fortunately, F'sair is moving before he has to manhandle him out too far. "T'door, m'good greenrider, t'door is next." Eyes flit to Ashwin as though for approval. "I think ye, t'guard and I have done 'nough damage 'ere. C'mon, let's get outta 'ere before they catch on tha' I'm t'only healer in here. Be a wee bit awkward." He still has both hands up, ready to intercept whatever might come his way. So far though, he's clear. Likely won't last.
There are a couple brawlers along the way that could pose as potential interference, though quite a few are too busy clobbering one another to bother trying to clobber the trio everyone originally wanted to beat up in the first place. One man on the floor, near-passed-out, does reach up a hand to wrap it around Jandor's ankle. And a fighting pair crash down in front of Ashwin as they struggle to see who will ultimately get the chair both cling to tenaciously. Girta is helping as she can, bellowing and punching and fuming as she goes.
Ashwin stomps on a nearby hand, and as F'sair goes to bowl past him, he hooks one arm - the arm not wrapped around the jug - through the greenrider's, so that the guard faces the room, and the greenrider faces the door. "Arm please, Jan," he calls, as F'sair tries to wrestle his free. The premise is obvious: that the healer should take the other of the greenrider's arm, assist in turning 180 degrees, and march him along the path Girta's clearing for the door.
Jandor is fairly quick on the uptake and, after kicking his leg free and jamming his boot heel into someone's solar plexus he takes position off of F'sair and, unceremoniously grabbing an arm begins to walk. Or rather, drag, depending. "Ye know we'll have t'make 'im sane tae fly us outta 'ere, right?" He asks of Ashwin, across the greenrider's body as he heads for the door.
Girta is breathing heavily, eyes narrowed, chest heaving more than usual. She stands by the door, hands clenched at her sides, watching intently as the three strangers creep closer to leaving the premises. For a fuming F'sair, she offers a solid pair of backhands, one for each cheek. "Fight's over. Pull it together." A quick glance to Ashwin and Jandor as she notes, "Works better'n water."
Ashwin spins and joins in hauling F'sair back to the door, cradling his jug in his other arm. From F'sair, stunned silence in the wake of those slaps, and then a more subdued, "Ouch". "Many thanks for your hospitality," Ashwin replies, angling past Girta, and leaving her behind to guard the door. There's a rather agitated green dragon outside, head swinging, eyes whirling orange, and more than anything, this seems to settle F'sair down. "And they say /we're/ immoral," he mutters to himself, ceasing his struggle. "They're the ones who punch from behind." From Ashwin there's a snicker, as he nods to Jandor to release their companion. "Up on the dragon, lads," the Captain instructs. "Exit, stage left."
It is late and sensible people ought to be asleep. Certainly, Tialith is asleep, curled up on her couch and breathing slowly. Her rider, on the other hand, is wide awake, though her hair is down in a single braid and she wears the loose top and pants she tends to sleep in. Whether Roa is waiting up for her weyrmate or simply kept up due to the rather demanding bulge that dominates her profile, the little weyrwoman paces around the perimeter of the north weyr slowly, reading from a hide held in one hand as she does so. The other hand is pressed against the small of her back where a dull and insistent ache has taken up residence.
There's laughter outside on the ledge, and the curtains move as F'sair's green makes a landing, drops her passengers, and makes a takeoff. From the greenrider, in the interim, there's lots of the sort of shushing that ends up being far louder than anything it might have smothered. The curtain shifts aside once more, this time at the Captain's prompting, and he so titled appears at the entrance to the weyr, a jug cradled in one arm, the suspicion of a smile still on his features.
Jandor enters a few seconds after Ashwin. Ever the gentleman he lets the Captain lead the way, especially given the relative privacy of this place. He stands mutely a pace behind and to Ashwin's right. He's mute, arms folded behind the small of his back. He has the signs though, of having been in a tussle. A couple of bruises on his forehead, and one on his cheek. He doesn't say a word though, waiting for Ashwin's lead.
At the laughter and shushing, Roa lifts her head and smiles faintly. But she waits for the Captain to come to her, rather than heading out to the Captain, and her wait is soon justified. The weyrwoman seems about to say something when...oh...there is somebody else there. Somebody red and furry and bruised. She blinks and then puffs out a sigh. "Oh no. You didn't."
"A little," Ashwin is forced to admit, crossing over to set the jug down on the table, and peer into it for a moment. "Didn't spill," he informs Jandor over his shoulders. "Had to, a little. I was defending my honour." All this is delivered quietly, with a small, private smile for the Weyrwoman that differs entirely from the gleam of anticipation that had his mouth quirking back at the bar.
Jandor quirks his expression at Ashwin, for a moment. "Weyrwoman." He says by greeting to Roa, before he smiles. "An' here I was expectin' ye t'say we fell down a flight 'o stairs." He seems to find this a pleasant surprise. And seems to prove that he has Ashwin's back, for he nods readily at Roa. "Aye." He says. "And yer honor, actually. Had a drunken whore tryin' t'get 'im t'play with her." He gives a bit of a smile beneath the beard. "T'was a lil' bit 'o good fun. Can we do it again sometime?"
"What, just one this time? At least last fight he had the decency to get into a brawl over two." Roa glances towards the pitcher and then back to the men. "Any lumps or bumps or cuts that need cleaning? Is F'sair all right?"
"They were there," Ashwin chips in, as though he thinks this will help. "Tried to defend my honour too, actually. Thought that was quite nice, didn't you?" This last is for Jandor, to whom he turns for confirmation. "Got a bit of a kicking, but we're okay. F'sair's more than."
Jandor glances to Ashwin thoughtfully. "Nae sure." He says, honestly. "Was payin' attention to t'others tryin' t'kick yer teeth 'n jewels in. But, if'n ye meant t'twins that were scowlin' at ye when y'had the one in yer lap that was.... yeah, pretty cute 'n there, I s'pose." He rubs at his forehead. "Lil' bruise here 'n there. I can get Ounari at t'infirmary t'wipe it up, without 'er askin' too many questions." He glances to Ashwin, thoughtfully. "Y'know, I've got jus' one question. I'd have yer back either way, but... did ye smack t'girl, or not? Dinna see."
The weyrwoman, of course, wasn't there. She wasn't even remotely close. And yet still she answers, as calm and sure as if she had been an eyewitness, "No. He didn't. Do either of you want something to eat?"
Ashwin only lifts a finger to point at his weyrmate, as she supplies the answer. He evidently considers this sufficient, and Roa is on the receiving end of another quiet smile. "Wouldn't mind a bite," he replies. "Had planned to stick around, order a big meal, some of those little things they bring you on plates to go before. Proper table settings, I know how you feel about cutlery." That for Roa, rather than Jandor. "Ended up leaving a bit early, though."
Jandor waits for Ashwin to speak, once again. "Wouldn't mind a wee bite." He says. "But, s'no need tae get it fer me. Tell me where t'find it and I'll get it myself." Far be it from him to make a heavily pregnant woman wait on him. "I might add, s'well... t'was totally yer fault." He rubs the mark on his head. "Do ye have t'foggiest idea who that woman was?"
Roa arches her brows upwards at that. "No, it's fine. I can't sit down anyhow. Go, at least wash up a bit. You both smell like..." her nose wrinkles as she moves to draw down some leftovers from dinner as well as some simple snacks that just tend to be around the weyr. The end result are a bowl of nuts, a pitcher of juice, some slices of cold meat, rolls of bread, six redfruits and a jar of hard candies.
"Yes ma'am." There's washing up on the part of the menfolk, and then for those who find it comfortable to sit, there's sitting. For those who don't, there's at least a little perching on laps. And talk, and recounting, and hand gestures, and eventually the use of food and drink to reconstruct what was, overall, a very entertaining night.