Green-Flight Fallout

Xanadu Weyr - Wanderin' Wherry Tavern

It is often whispered in the crowds that converge here, that a certain Weyrleader was asked what he wanted in the remodeling of the pub that was not so long ago given a refreshing. He muttered back over the rim of his ever-present mug, "I don't care what you do with the place, just so long as there is plenty of ale." With that in mind, cask after cask of ale lines the walls of the tavern, the remodeler's idea of a jest. As they age, the casks bring a real rustic atmosphere to the pub, along with the deeply wooden flavor that seems to be the theme throughout.
The lighting is dim, as it should be in all good pubs, and the tables and chairs are plentiful. A long mahogany bar, intricately carved with runner beasts, stands vigilant duty at the head of the bar, lined with stools for those patrons that seek the bartender's company.

There's been a ripple of current throughout Xanadu Weyr this evening setting many on edge while others simply seem to bask in it. Young weyrfolk go on unfazed, but the rest aren't quite so lucky. It's a greenflight, messy and loud. The contenders, some visiting from elseweyr amongst them, vie physically for dominance down by the feeding grounds while the dragons broadcast their lust on a wide frequency as they beat through the skies over Xanadu Weyr. When it is over, tempers flare, imagined or real slurs and insults given and taken. Some riders are whisked away by the cavern-who girls, while the not-so-lucky spill into the tavern.

Normally Thea keeps to her office or weyrbarn at times like these, but for some inexplicable reason her concentration on her documents is so intent that she is caught unaware by the sudden convergence of riders and rising of dragons. As draconic-emotions roll out to encompass the Weyr, her focus seems to narrow on those papers but she's been plucking at her shirt-front irritably for some time now, ignoring the rising cadence of voices and clatter of cutlery while that flight reaches it's crescendo high overhead. She's just dropped her head her hands, leaning into the planted elbows she's got on the table, raking her fingers through her hair as the tumble of newcomers enters and heads for the bar.

Ers'lan is amongst those who have been caught up in the storm of chasing. He usually is. Zhaoth chases anything that goes proddy and seldom does he win. In fact, Alosynth's the other day had been the first time the brown actually succeeded. Typical perhaps, then again, maybe not. Even so, Zhaoth, with his injuries more or less taken care of, has gone up despite recommendations and nothing Ers'lan could do or say could change the outcome. The brown chased. Then dropped out early. Ers'lan was one of the first to leave the flight cluster, aggravated and heading straight for the bar. The cavern-girls don't catch his eye this time around. He was more in control of losing since Zhaoth did that well and it often came down to a night of heavy drinking to make him forget. Thus, he was there, tossing his thick arm up to get the attention of the barkeep, ordering a couple shots of whiskey on ice for the meantime.

It isn't like greenflights are rare occurrences in a Weyr. That means it can't possibly be the first Matrin has been present for. Just the same, if he had the sort of forewarning riders get, or even the ability to pinpoint the restless, hungry feeling that has him itching for the bar, he probably would have stayed home. Instead, he followed that fidgety urge and passed through the door a handful of minutes before the rush of newcomers. It means that now when they come spilling into the room he's at the bar with a harder drink than he usually chooses and a tavern girl who knows the score allowing him to flirt her up. The entrance of the ragtag group stills his words, and he shifts on the stool enough to take them in before his eyes dart to Thea and her own edgy tension. Huh.

Derin would, normally, keep himself either locked in the mines or in Dersk's den with him during a greenflight, but this time the journeyman wasn't so lucky as he had been caught off guard by the green's sudden takeoff. The emotions might not affect him as much as they would a rider, but then, the fact that Yulsk had risen the previous night seems to have worn the man down. He came a little too late to get a good safe seat, so instead Rin had had to settle for sitting on one of the bar's stools. Already on his second drink..or maybe his third, ha hadn't been counting, the miner has already spent time tugging on his shirt's collar through the flight. Currently he is nursing a nice strong drink and tugging his free hand through his dishevelled hair.

Sitting somewhere in a back, dark corner is Keziah. A basket of mostly eaten fried apples sits to one side and an uneaten platter of well cooked meat, slathered in gravy and a healthy helping of mashed tubers sits off to one side. Instead she too is going over paperwork and details, those of the less confedintial type. Anyone was to look it seems a listing of stone suppliers throughout the north. As the taggle of male riders come in Keziah looks up and then groans. "Great. Just what I need. More idiots." she mutters and slides down in her seet a little. Nope, not here. Not her. Go away. Growl. "Try to get a little light, some windows and what do I get for my troubles?"

Laera and her Kereth of course joined in the chasers and her boy did last out the flight at least, but once the haze was lifted she sought to remove herself from the group of rowdy chasers and cavern girls to find the one she would like to get relief with! So she finds her way to the Tavern and her emerald gaze scans the room before it falls upon Ers'lan and she all but stalks across the floor to try and get to him. Of course the way is not easy as there is a growing crowd filling the room.

"It's a shardin Tavern, narh an office…" Ers'lan voice growls toward Keziah, mostly because he caught her exasperation after taking his drink from the counter, mingling around in attempts to find a seat. "When ya going ta get that in yer head?" He's a little testy, obviously, pausing only to scowl at her and move on, shuffling through the crowd with a good shove and push here and there for the folks that are just standing there like idiots. He happens to pull up near Derin, yanking out one of those wooden stools by his Wher handling friend, "Ahoy…" spoken in a graiting voice as if he's about to bite someone's head off. He doesn't notice his weyrmate yet joining the crowd, so far just trying to hang onto one of the only seats left in the tavern.

Adding to the chaos is the arrival of a Briana. The junior who has been missing for a couple of sevendays now. The disapearance no doubt sparking old rumours back up to small flames again. Had she abandoned the Weyr to get back to her Renegade Kin? Would she bring them back to rise up against the Weyr? Or did she just take a vacation? Certainly she looks no different from when she left and pauses in the doorway as she notes the usually high amount of people in the Tavern. Her own gaze though wanders until she notes the Senior Weyrwoman at a table and she just gives her a wave, as if to just let her know she is back.

The tumult of voices is loud, carrying a hard edge as the group of several riders, rather than spread out to nurse their loss over a drink, seems to be intent on fault-finding, blaming maneuvers and dirty flying on each other's dragons. Beldar's handing out drinks right and left in his usual get-them-sedated routine, while one of the riders, in an attempt to intercept a glass of whiskey, treads carelessly on Ers'lan's foot, jostles the rider and swears harshly, "Get outta my way!" Another snakes an arm around Matirn's companion, "Hey Baby. Come to Papa." Thea's rapidly realizing she is in the wrong place at the wrong time, ice-green eyes flickering from the crowded bar, which she'll have to squeeze past, to the door from which she'd love to make her escape without causing a diplomatic crisis, catching the eyes of one burly rider in the process. He takes that for an invitation and starts towards her table. "Greaaaat," mutters the Weyrwoman, noting Briana over his shoulder. Her lips move soundlessly in words that look suspiciously like, 'Run. Run while you still can.'

And guess who just so happens to walk in, speak of the devil, or something like that. The arrogant Yulio arrives on-scene, pushing through the crowd which brings him to the bar, right there by the man who was trying to avoid him. Derin turns to greet Ers'lan with a light, "Howdy!" But then there's the problem of an approaching greenhandler who is now beside Derin at the bar, ordering a drink before bending down to whisper something in the bluehandler's ear. Of course, the murmur only causes Derin's eyes to narrow and the larger journeyman whirls around at Yulio. "I ain't goin' nowhere with ya, drunk or not." And then, just because it's one of the masculine things derin is starting to be known for, a fist is aimed right for Yulio's face, knocking the greenhandler backwards, likely stumbling into other folk with equally tense emotions roliing in their minds. Bring on the brawl!

That puts Ers'lan just one seat down from Matrin, and the sea-faring sort of greeting drags his keen blue eyes from the rabble and onto the brownrider instead. This of course means he sees Derin too, and he lifts his snifter of brandy in a gesture that is somewhere between greeting and toast. Then it's up to his lips for a thoughtful sip before he shifts his weight on his stool and drags a hand through his already tousled hair. He is probably the only one present who isn't sure exactly what has made the air so thick with agitation, and that only makes his suprise more marked when some random dude tries to snag his companion. "Hey," he says, but it's low and mellow in spite of his own restlessness. "Easy there, mate. At least ask the lady if she'd appreciate your attention." And smooth though those words might be, he gets to his feet.

"Bite me.' Keziah snaps at him. "I know it's a tavern, I'm not blind." Well, honeymoon period is over and she's just as testy as ever, if maybe not more so. What with Alosynth being all tender and dainty and soaking up all the dragonhealing attention and Keziah not making note that most is an act. She does worry about her green. "Thank you for being so observant. I'm surprised the shardin' felines ain't been found yet. I marvel so at your observational powers. As some drunken rider tries to come in for a little 'snuggle' she elbows him. "Leave me alone." and when that doesn't work and he grabs her to plant a wet drunken kiss on her. She takes her untouched plate and smacks it in his face and shoves him hard. Little greenie can be mean. "I said leave me Alone!" Course poor guy goes under feet too. Oh wiat, he deserves it, course some ain't so keen on loosing their balance.

Laera's way is blocked a bronzerider who attended the flight, needing someone to …commiserate with. He tries to wrap an arm around her waist, "Come on darlin, I can comfort you better than that sailor of yours." Laera is pushed into him by the large crowd with an oomph though she looks up to the bronzerider and ever so sweetly, "J'org, from what I hear from the other riders, you have nothing to be bragging about down there." With that she raises a hand to push him away which the bronze just grabs, "Well they were lying , let me show you!" Already he sounds more than a little drunk!

That whiskey is Ers'lan's! While the other rider attempts to steal his whiskey, Ers'lan is already shoving him back with a forearm, growling through his teeth, "Bes ya get back ya impertinent scallywag, befer I start making ya swallow yer teeth!" There is already a leveled fist, a threat that lingers until the other backs down or forces this to get ugly. Abruptly there's someone else getting punched beside him and Matrin is on his feet to protect the lass that has been man-handled out of Mat's lap. Across the way, over the shoulder of the drunk bastard whose trying to pick off his whiskey, Keziah is getting hassled too. There's a good shove to the swearing foot-stepping rider, a hand to press him aside and rather harshly to get him out of the way. He leaves Derin to deal with his fellow Wher Handlers, pushing through the crowd to make it over to Keziah's little problem - of course she smashes a plate in his face. Well, Ers'lan is there to snag the collar of the bloke meaning to get his way with her, wrenching him back and letting him drop to the floor… "Reckon ya best leave me wingleader alone mate." Sadly, he doesn't see Laera's plight or he just might be hopping tables to get to her.

In short, all heck is breaking loose. The jerk that snagged Matrin's companion (off her own stool not his lap, just to be clear) doesn't respond well to the slick words of a Harper, even with his knot prominent on his shoulder and the man gives Matrin a hard shove in the shoulder. He's not quite ready for it and stumbles a bit, planting a hand on his stool to catch his balance. "Alright," he grits through his teeth as he stands and reaches for the girl's wrist, seeking to drag her off behind him, or at least get her enough out of the way for him to grab the lecher's collar. "I said leave off-" but the man only gets half his glare because the chaos finally filters through and he shoots a glance across the room. "What the -" that one is broken off, not by distraction, but by a fist right to his jaw.

Briana notices the growing tensions in the room and her eyes widen a bit before she notices Thea seemingly trapped with the rider. Really she should listen, really it would be better if she turned around and walked away. She has seen this more than once in her time in the Renegade caverns and that generally ended with someone knifed or at least unconscious. Her hands tense in fists at her side as she rises on her toes to try to look abuot the crowd. "Everyone stop!!" Though her voice barely makes it over the din. One of the residents come up to her and grins saliciously as he eyes her up and down, one hand going for a bum pat, "I can take you someplace safe darlin…" Of which she responds reactively by grabbing his hand and kneeing him in the groin.

Thea's busy scrabbling her papers together, eyes having dropped to them in a futile if-I-can't-see-him-he-doesn't-exist attempt at ignoring the burly rider headed her way. There's a crash of glasses hitting the floor as the rider pushed aside by Ers'lan staggers and his arm sweeps across the bar as he flails for balance. The sound of fist contacting flesh, the plate smacking into face both muted enough by the rising pitch of voices, though the Weyrwoman does catch the rider going down near Keziah's table out of the corner of her eye. She blinks and pauses in her paper-collecting in time to see Ers'lan wade into the fray. The fella stealing Matrin's girl merely smiles suggestively at the harper's protest and opens his free arm, "I got enough for you too." And when that doesn't work, well. BAM! Thea's gaze wanders the rapidly deteriorating scene with a weary patience for flight fallout, the approach of the rider zeroing in on her forgotten until he looms over her. "You can have the table," is all she says to him as she attempts to scoot around him, bringing her a step or two away from where Matrin is in his own stand off. Or was. "What's a nice guy like you doing in a place like this?" She nearly shouts to make the words heard in the din, a wry, almost absent attempt at humor as she scans the room and takes a deep breath as she readies herself to give a shout of her own.

Now rather than be thankful? Or more like admitting that she's thankful Keziah glares at Lan "What? I can't even take careof my self? Shards! I don't need rescuin" she yells as she gets up and tries to shove past her wingsecond. Course, it turns out she doesn't have to be shoved as some enterprising and /large/ crafter guy sweeps her up into the air. There's an ear pitching scream from Keziah as she goes wildcat, kicking and hitting and biting and as he carries her past the bar and towards the back, she grabs a skillet off the stove, hissing and yelping as the cast iron burns and then hits the man with it. On the back of the head. Down, he goes, down she goes down the skillet goes to the floor.

The poor lass is on her own as Matrin stumbles with fingers to his jaw and shock in his eyes. It doesn't seem to be the worst thing ever though, because the girl is hastily dragging the hulking brownrider toward the door, looking back over her shoulder to shake her head at Matrin in irritation. He blinks, shaking his head in confusion, because he doesn't get that subduing the natives is part of her job, and she has it well in hand. This leaves him to grab his drink and hold the relatively cool glass to the growing bruise on his jaw while he reaches the other hand out to try and gather Thea in. It's a slow motion like you might use on an easily spooked runner, and he manages a wincing smile. "Getting my block knocked off and protecting the Weyrwoman?" He suggests it with a hint of humor, then eyes the room. "What the /hell/ just happened?" Keziah's screaming has him turning abruptly but before he can help, down she and her captor both go, so he goes back to trying to get Thea closer if not behind him altogether.

Laera's overamourous companion just gets a roll of the eyes from the usual flirtatious bluerider. "Maybe another day, when I have had more to drink and you have had less." She teases and pushes at his chest..which just has him falling over the man the Junior just felled in the doorway. She looks back to Briana with a grin before her gaze scans the crowd again, just in time to get caught by a punch to the face. Its going to be a good night.

Ers'lan lets his eyes squint as he glares after the ungrateful form of the wingleader, rolling his eyes with a soft "Whatever…" trailing her. He takes a step back with his hands going up in a defensive gesture as she shoves on by, watching a bit helplessly when the woman is scooped up by some drunken crafter. Well, he watches for a time what happens and seeing that she has it well in hand with a skillet, he's eyeing the rest of the crowd and the gent he yanked to the floor to assist Keziah. That fellow is back on his feet and sizing up Ers'lan as if weighing the outcome of success, with Ers'lan arching a brow in a 'back down' expression. And that guy behind him who he shoved back earlier? Yeah, he's returning from behind Ers'lan with a bottle poised. In a matter of sections, more glass shatters as the bottle is cracked over the back of Lan's head, causing the brownrider to stumble forward in shock and dismay… glass sprinking and shattering all about him. Lan's knee jerk reaction is to twist and elbow the bottle holder in the face… The other guy, Keziah's plate smashed fellow, leap at the opportunity, jumping on Lan's back and trying to strangle him. Ok. Really?!

Seryth senses that Sahazyth sends a swirling wind of thought, «Should we call out to the dragons to settle their mates?»

Briana looks caught between running away and running into the fray. Those old childhood memories of brawls no doubt holding her back a bit. When she sees the nearby rider punched though, it makes up her mind and she steps into things. She never makes it to Laera though as she gets tousled by the crowd of rowdies. Instead she gets trapped between a pair of brawling residents and ducks the punch of one only to get caught by a kick from the other and down she goes.

Thea ducks flailing Kezi-feet, the greenrider carried past her nearly kicks her in the head. Distracted (Beldar's roaring must surely be more effective than she would be anyway), the Weyrwoman lunges to grab an ankle and prevent what must certainly be the inevitable defilement of Beldar's kitchen or back store room. She misses, but Keziah's managed nicely on her own with that pan-whack. Matrin's question penetrates the din, or perhaps it's the hand to elbow is felt when she's no longer quite so worried about the greenrider. In answer to Matrin's question, of what happened, she says simply, "D'had must have won." Because the Weyrsecond is not here in search of her or throwing himself into the melee. Bottles are whizzing through the air, tables overturned, Beldar is hauling people out the door two at a time. By now this is getting out of hand (ya think?), so she lifts both hands to her mouth, takes a deep breath to emit a piercing whistle but never gets to it. "Don't want the table," mutters a voice behind her as a hand reaches for her shoulder.

Sahazyth senses that Seryth soothes with the coolness of wind off fresh snow, « Their riders, mine says, must work things out for themselves. They will not hear them at the moment anyway. I've told them to be calm. We will keep them so. »

And who comes back up fighting after going down? Keziah, that's who. Now she's got the skillet, though it's in her other hand, seeing as that one's a bit burned, but she's pissed enough that she's going to fill it in the morning. And even though she gets testing about someone helping her, that doesn't mean she's not going to help back, and if anyone usually needs less help than her, it's Ers'lan. Not that that is going to stop her. Course, she's a little distracted as she goes to hit the man on Lan's back as she see's Briana go down. "Brie!!!" she yells out and… Whack! Her pan hits.. but alas instead of hitting the man on Ers'lans back.. she gets her poor Wingsecond himself. Well.. Laera wanted him to get more rest…right?

D'had must have… ah. It's obvious when the glows go on over Matrin's head, and his eyes widen a little as he slowly nods. It all makes sense all of a sudden, and he scrubs a hand across the stubble on his wounded jaw. "Any way Seryth can help with this?" He ducks as a bottle goes whipping by, but it shatters and he gets hit with the shrapnel. Most bounces harmlessly off of his now-beer-spattered shirt, but a few embed themselves in the back of the neck. That's just about enough of that, and between Briana going down and some jerk grabbing Thea's shoulder? Done. He's got her elbow so he gives it a harder pull - hopefully not enough to upset her balance and gets right up in that guy's face. "Don't touch her," he growls, and with all those broadcasting dragons amplifying their riders' agitation, he's riled up enough to slug the guy right in the stomach and follow it up with a hook to the face. Maybe that will leave Thea free enough to work on settling things down - looks like he's not so much help.

Ers'lan's thick hands are trying to grapple the arm from around his neck, swinging his form this way and that in attempts to dislodge the fellow who has taken to just holding on for dear life - maybe he knows that the brownrider wouldn't be good company to keep toe to toe. Face turning red from the exertion of trying to lodge the bastard off him and keep the other one at bay - with a kick or two - he doesn't see Keziah coming. He also doesn't see the skillet coming. Circumstances as they are, by fortune and bad luck, he pivots the moment that Keziah swings - effectively taking away her aiming lane on her target. With a GONG like sound, the frying pan hits him square in the face and levels him almost immediately. He's out cold and the lout on his back leaps off as if someone had set him on fire, darting through the crowd to get away from Keziah's crazy skillet swinging self! The brownrider? He's flat out on his stomach, out cold. Zhaoth, for those dragonriders present, is outside almost immediately, howling with anger and frustration … even putting his teeth at the door entrance, clattering them as if he would tear someone apart - a let me at 'em sort of response!

Laera puts a hand up to her now bleeding nose and just shakes her head, "Oh no you didn't…" She mutters and she makes a grab for the guy's groin who had punched her. "You don't do that…you don't punch a girl in the nose…" She says in an admonishing tone as he goes still and starts to whimper at the iron fingernailed grip at his groin. She gives him it a real tight squeeze before releasing him and turning and ducking between another fighting pair to make her way behind the bar. "Ice and whiskey…now where were they…" A glass gets thrown in her direction and she sidesteps and it shatters on the wall behind her.

Briana for her part, might be down, but she is not out. She is making her way to safety, by crawling through the shuffling feet. Ducking when a foot comes too close. Catching a few kicks here and there before she ends up in Thea's area of the room and looks up to the Senior rider and notes the man going to grab her and actually ducks in to bite his ankle. Well its the only weopon she has on tap and well rennies are taught to fight dirty.

As eyes go wide, Keziah watch's Lan go down. Hard. Then there's Zhaoth. "Oh shardit all, why'd you have to get your face in the way anyways?" she mutters. And then she turns "You! Watch where shardin' step!" she screams and brandishes the skillet as someone 'bout steps on Ers'lan. Outside is the bugle of Alosynth. THere's authority in her voice, that of a dragon that has brought weyrlings back to task, as she tells dragons left and right to take care of their riders. Though there's more towards Zhaoth to stand down. "Move out of my way!" she snaps at another man and threatens him and snags yet another to grab Ers'lan. She'd do it herself, but well. She's touch, but she's no Wonder Woman. "Get him out of here now, or I'll you in the same boat." And then Keziah is shoved as some people try to push past and out in a bit of a panic and shes rams a hip into table…

For a moment it's a tug-of-war with Thea the rope. Her eyes widen, with the help of the harper's pull, she then yanks her shoulder from the rider's grasp. Riiiip! Her sleeve is left hanging, but she's unmindful of that. Pivoting to dance away from the persistent man, she's now to the side and slightly behind Matrin, backed up against the bar. "Seryth's working on it! She's got the golds calming theirs." She barely manages to get this out before he's punching at the brawny rider, who barely seems to register the hits; he just looks at Matrin, glances down at the ankle-biting Briana and… laughs, not altogether pleasantly. "Use this!" A barstool is shoved at Matrin while the Weyrwoman scrambles onto another, using it to get up on the bar, hopefully out of arm-swinging range where she finally makes that piercing whistle heard.

The guys that were threatened to move Ers'lan outside or become skillet-faced themselves, well, they move him a ways, but end up dropping him hard when they're attacked and launched over a table and chairs. Somewhere in the fray, the out cold brownrider is sprawled next to that turned table and chair. Despite Alosynth's words, she's not a gold. And Zhaoth, he's not calm at all. He takes a chunk out of the door trying to claw his way inside, to get to his rider, and he BLOCKS the exit doing this.

As the Weyrwoman makes a seat out of the bar, Laera is holding some ice to her nose and is about to take a sip from the whiskey. The bluerider laughs and passes it up to the Weyrwoman, "You look like you could use this more than I right now." She teases even as she ducks another thrown glass. She reaches for an empty bottle and breaks it over the head of the guy who threw the glass at her, reaching over the counter. "I haven't seen a fight like this in turns…" She seems to be taking things all in stride until she spies Ers'lan sprawled out by a table and makes her way to him.

Sahazyth and Zhaoth sense that if dragons could swear, Seryth would be doing it. « Sahazyth, focus on Zhaoth, pin him to the ground mentally with me…one, two, NOW » Her breath of thought is no quiet eddy as she turns it on the brown. It's a glacier of weight that ought to freeze the upset dragon in his tracks and if that doesn't work, her bulk landing in the clearing beside him with yellow-whirling eyes that bore into him might. « DON'T make me sit on you, Zhaoth! » Because she will if she has to.

Seeing how ineffective his fists are, Matrin starts to bend for his boot, but catches Thea's suggestion out of the corner of his eye. So he straightens in time to snag the barstool and whirl it around, using the momentum to smash it up into the brawny rider's face. It catches him just right and knocks his head back before he crumples. By that time of course, Thea is out of harm's way, but you have to teach people a lesson sometimes. Of course in the midst of this there are glasses being thrown and people leaping over tables, not to mention a brown dragon trying to eat the tavern, so Matrin's look of smug satisfaction only lasts long enough for him to take a heavy low-ball glass to the temple. It leaves him stunned and stumbling, and he drops the stool. Hopefully Briana will be quick enough to dodge both it and the falling rider above her, plus Matrin, who trips over her feet and falls awkwardly into the nearest group of chairs.

Seryth and Zhaoth sense that Sahazyth sends a mental blast to Zhaoth on the third count, «You must stay calm!»

Briana catches a leg of the stool on her back with a yelp, but quickly she has her back to the bar. Her eyes unfocus as she tries to help concentrate with her lifemate on the task they need to perform. Her arms are up to try to protect her face at least. Even as she sits there someone grabs at one of her upraised arms and pulls her up, her immediate reaction is to punch his face with her free hand, right in the nose as she brings a knee up to the groin. Who'd thunk the sweet little Briana could fight dirty.

There is a reaction outside from the brown as something occurs in the dragon world. He slinks back like a cowarding canine and if he had ears, they would be flat on his skull. As it is, his wings are furled in and twitching constantly, with his tail slithering like a whip out behind him. His lips are still pulled up and showing teeth, but he at least clears the exit so the wounded and the fleeing can get out. Signs of dragon blood dribble from his mouth and down his neck - looks like eating the tavern might have cost him a tooth in the process. He's still in a frenzy, despite the bulk of a gold boring her yellow-whirling eyes at him. Lan, for his part, is still as limp as a wet noodle, kicked accidently as people scramble to get out. Thankfully, he can't feel a thing.

Laera takes the bundle of ice from her nose to place it on ERs'lan's nose ever so gently. As people suddenly start to scramble out with the release of the dragon doorman, she bends over him to try to protect his face and torso at least from the onslaught. She gets a few kicks to her legs and side in the process, but she manages to keep her position. "Lan, speak to me…"

Somewhere in the process off hitting table and trying to get Lan out, Keziah has lost track of him in the fray. Sometimes it sucks being short. And now she's trying to make it to relative safety, limping in the process. There's a wince at the whistle and she tries to slip out the door, but alas, once again. Greenrider is snagged, and skillet is wrenched out of her hand "Little girls shouldn't be messing around with weapons." says a brawny voice. "Maybe you need a spankin'?" Uh oh. It's the crafter she had originally felled with the skillet. He didn't stay down. Course, seeing as there's no brown dragon in the way, the man carries the now screaming and cursing greenrider out the door. Course, that's not to say that there's not an angry green sitting off to the side that lets out a roar, and well she just recently ate fish too. Eww? Kezi's dropped and the man runs. Alosynth curls protectively around her rider, softly growling at anyone coming near.

A silence that may have more to do with the ear-shattering sound of giant teeth grinding on stone than the Weyrwoman's whistle finally descends on the tavern. One last crash of bottle hitting the mirror behind her draws a glare towards the shadowy corner from where it came, but from where she's standing, Thea can't really see who threw it. Of that whiskey glass, she says, "Thanks, Laera" as she takes it, but doesn't drink, merely holds it. "See to the wounded. Somebody get the healers in here. Belly!" Her voice lifts a fraction towards the end and she's hopping down to the crunch of glass, directed by the dragon-assisted knowledge towards the door to oversee Zhaoth's submission. "Get the dragonhealers too." It's only then that she scrubs a hand over her face, muttering, "Ma said there'd be days like this."

And so, as abruptly and out of nothing as the brawl erupted, it slunk back off into nonexistence. Matrin could just see the words he would pen later, unless coming out of this daze more fully made them sound weak and lame. Which come to think of it, are two good adjectives for the Harper himself as he blinks and shakes his head, and hauls his sorry self up out of the wreckage of chairs splintered and whole. He has the decency to look at least a little chagrined, and gives the still-sprawled rider a wide berth as he heads for the bar. "You ladies alright," he asks, mainly to Briana and the departing Thea, though Laera down with Lan gets a narrowed look as well. He utters a low oath and peeks over the bar for some still-whole glass or bottle, then just knocks a hip into the bar and leans his weight there instead with a sigh and a rub at his throbbing temple.

As the chaos dwindles, Laera sits up again and nods to the Weyrwoman. Her eyes unfocuses as she passes on the requests through her lifemate. She for one, is going to tend to the patient she has right here, moving the ice to the lump on his head. Her free hand going about the business of checking for other injuries.

Briana stands up and dusts herself from any broken glass. She looks to be mostly intact though there is a cut on her cheek and some bruising starting to come up. There are a couple of men nursing bruised groins as they leave the bar and perhaps a healthy respect for Briana's knees from here on out. This will probably not help her rennie rep, but well…sometimes old habits die hard. "Yeah, I am alright…" She says to Matrin with a nod of her head, "I should help get people to the infirmary." She says as she takes a breath and ends up helping one of the guys she earlier felled.

Thea remains by the door, just inside where she can keep an eye on both the shambles of a room they used to call a tavern and the clearing where gold dragons both bar the way to escapees and keep a brown dragon from further damage to himself. "Get the name of every person who was in here tonight," the Weyrwoman tells Beldar tiredly. The 'keeper knows the drill - if he wants the repairs paid for, it's coming out of the pockets of the ones involved in the brawl. When the Healers arrive, they're directed to the ones most in need of it, then and only then does the Weyrwoman head back towards the bar, crunching nearly every step of the way, moving right on behind it to sift through the bottles, coming up with one of Belly's finest reds, cork already pulled and airing back there in readiness. Well, there's no more wine glasses, shoot. She'll make do with whiskey glasses. She plunks three on the bar, pours and offers them to whoever is right there, eases back around to snag a stool with her toe, hopping up into it. And Matrin, if he's still there, he gets a quiet but sincere, "Thanks."

There's a few healer garbed fellows who come in with a stretcher. They're there for the folks that are out cold. They start with Laera's patient, since it would seem they came at her beck and call. The quickly lower the stretcher and work together to stablize the brownrider and set him upon it - granted after they've checked for any other serious injuries that could be escalated by moving him. In the end, nothing untoward other than a broken face and lump on his head, seem to afflict the man. He's thusly taken outside, where his brown slithers up quickly to follow the healers back to the infirmary, where more dragonhealer staff will wait to see to Zhaoth's broken or missing tooth.

Outside the tavern, safe in the clutches of her green. Kezi hides out from the healers as they start carting people off to the evil infirmary. They're not taking her alive. Nope, she's not going anywhere. She's staying right with her dragon. Her poor clawed dragon. Alosynth, just growls in a low tone, almost subsonic as she keeps people at bay.

Matrin is still there, indeed, and by the glazed look that swims through his eyes every now and again it's less because he wants to be and more because he's not sure he can make it out of here upright. On top of the spreading bruise on his jaw there's a nasty lump forming on his temple, and the exploration of his careful fingertips makes him flinch. Thea gets the tail end of that wince slowly transforming into a wan smile, and he drops his hand to one of those wine filled glasses. "Oh no, Weyrwoman. Thank /you/." He holds it, not to his lips but to that lump, sighing when the relatively cool glass touches his skin. "I'd like to think that ass would have had the presence of mind not to actually harm you but…" he trails off, making an expansive gesture with the whiskey glass before taking a sip out of it. "This happen often, ma'am?" He eyes the departure of Ers'lan and the guy he felled with the stool with a sigh. "I guess I should help drag people to the infirmary.

It's only when that glass is applied to Matrin's jaw rather than drinking it that Thea notes the darkening bruise, lowers the glass she's about to sip from and peers more closely at the harper. "You should be IN the infirmary, not helping others to it." Though most of the injured have been taken or made their way there already. With a slight growl, she declares, "That's it. No more flights. Ever." As if she has the power to prevent them! Surveying the room with a black look, she merely shakes her head. "Not… this bad. There are usually enough willing folks hanging around…"

Jaw and temple both look in pretty rough shape, but Matrin shakes his head. "Nah, I'm alright. I've seen worse, and the least I can do is help shovel this place out." He takes another sip, then sets the wine down with a wince. "Is it safe for you to go back on your own? What about any other guys lingering who didn't get it out of their system with this?" Concern touches his eyes as he straightens enough to look down at the fierce little Weyrleader. "I think no more flights ever might actually end up worse. And I speak from the experience of living in a dorm full of celibate teens about to walk the tables." The wink he gives her is just a bit rogueish, but that's all he can manage through the faint haze of pain. "I'll bring a shovel tomorrow. The Weyrsecond will, I think, not be pleased if you don't have some sort of escort back." And if Seryth has it under control, well then he'll just escort himself.

Right. He's fine. Thea gives the bruise on Matrin's jaw a final skeptical eyeing, one brow twitching up fractionally, but she doesn't argue or otherwise mother him. Instead she snorts a soft laugh, amused and concedes him the win with, "I can't argue with that, having never lived in a men's dorm." She leaves the bottle and glasses there, sliding from her stool. "Tell you what," she says of those would-be rider-lurkers. "You see me safely home, and I'll give you some of the willow salic tea I keep on hand for D'had's healer-avoidance." Yes, we'll call it that.

Willow salic tea? All the more reason to not come out of hiding from next to her green. Evil healish medicines that always taste funky. Nope Kezi's staying right where she's at.

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