I Came For You (Jaune is Searched!)

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. Behind it are drinks for those not inclined toward ale, as well as a door leading to the small kitchen where snacks are made and a back room that probably holds yet more ale.

The day ticks onwards into the evening and the Wanderin Wherry Tavern begins to fill up, the tables around the outskirts first, and then the stools as individuals seek to drink the woes of the day's trading or attempts to understand new technology. An older gentleman seems to be in command of the Tavern itself, but Jaune is flitting between table and stool and taps to keep drinks moving more than the gentleman is.

The watchful eye keeps Jaune busy. Ish. But there is only so much to do before the rush really starts and occasionally he dawdles here and there after delivering a tankard to a customer.

Individuals seeking to drink away their woes are not the only ones seeking drinks - OR ARE THEY? There's a commotion from outside the tavern's doors, a sweeping rush of sound that swells into something bombastic and bright to any minds receptive enough to pick up the deafening roar or beat, and bass, and drums projected by one entirely too enthusiastic queen. « MINION! IT IS IN HERE. » And from outside comes Risali, a tiny woman who looks pained enough to not want to be counted among those trying to forget what trading and technology even were to begin with. So much black hair is pulled up into a messy bun at the back of her head, riding leathers hug her hips, and a loose, short-sleeved tunic that clearly belongs to somebody taller falls to just above her knees. Grey eyes seek faces, confidence borne of authority and the ability to still somehow manage an edge of threating cruelty despite the fact that her complexion is too pale and her steps a little too tender carrying her on booted feet through those amassing. And then there's a great golden (well, mustard colored) SNOUT attempting to shove its way in through physical doors much the same way her mindvoice pounds against metaphysical ones. « HAVE YOU FOUND IT YET MINION? » Some people wince into their drinks, others remain blissfully unaware of the mental onslaught even if they have eyes enough to witness Leirith's attempts to bring the Taverns down, and Risali has enough good grace to shoot a look over her shoulder that says, 'Leirith, stop,' (not that Leirith can see it) because we NEEDED A GOOD REASON FOR THE JUNIOR QUEENRIDER TO WALK RIGHT INTO JAUNE. KAPLOW! Okay, so less KAPLOW and more, 'Mmf!' when bodies meet and the tiny woman is stumbling with a waspish, "Ow." It's almost accussational. "Faranth. Are you okay?"

Jaune is confused…by what seems to press upon his consciousness. And divert him from getting a nice lass his age to stare into his eyes over the bartop. His eyes flutter close and shut tightly for a moment or two before someone else is calling for his attention. Across the bar. So Jaune moves about the outside of the counters and begins to thread his way past tables of people mixed with confused folks and a smattering of people with expressions as pained as the one that is creeping its way over Jaune's face now.

A tankard of pale ale was being brought with him, its easy to guess what someone needs when this tavern has a famed ale that everyone seems to prefer. Even over the stouter stuff that Jaune brought along from Fort Weyr. Thats it though and his eyebros furrow together. He has to stop and trying and get his bearings. Just as a dragon needs to get attention and a dragonrider pummels him with her body. He bobbled the tankard a bit but manages only to douse his hand with a bit of beer.
"Holy cripes sakes, lady." Probably not the best words to use towards the rider of a Queen, but she did just WALK into him. But she seems unsteady and he grabs out with a free hand to grip her elbow. To steady her, of course.

There's a flicker of something in Risali's eyes (ire, a swath of anger tempestuous in nature) that manifests in the set of her lips and the pull of the goldrider's brows. A beat, in which she seems to tamp down so much undeserved contempt aimed at a man who was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time and surely does not deserve it. "My name is Risali," the queenrider manages on an exhale, the arm-grabbing-to-steady drawing grey eyes to fingers wrapped around her person before she pulls her arm away in a manner gentle, but quick. "Thank you." She doesn't sound grateful, but then it doesn't matter because Leirith is back, a proverbial house-party that's leaving inside windows and doors to shudder with every pulsating beat of bass, excitement carried through smells of funnel cake and spun sugar, heedless of the recipients. « SHOW HIM TO ME, MINION. I CANNOT SEE. » So much giddy, efferevescent joy, delivered indiscriminately as that blocking-the-way-in-and-out snout WUFFLES with anticipation. Risali's face crumbles into something akin to a grimace, confidence flagging in the face of what she's about to do as her hands come up and she hesitates with a, "I'm… it's her," before she's catching the stranger's face between her hands (assuming he doesn't pull away, of course). For a moment those grey eyes are unfocused, then too focused, delineating the lines and planes that make up Jaune's face, intent in a way that might be unnerving to some and right uncomfortable to others. A blink, owlishly slow, and Risali is jerking her hands back as if scalded. "What is your name?" At least the question is asked softly, gentle, so at odds with the deafening roar of her lifemate's mindvoice and her own impossibly unfriendly demeanor.

"*Lady* Risali." Jaune is quick to respond with when she gets snippy at him. Maybe he would keep moving, but now that he isn't distracted by being tackled he is quick to note a snuffling snout through the door of the tavern. It causes him to halt in place and stare a bit. Usually you don't get to be smelled by a dragon this up close.

He reachs out sideways to settle the tankard he was carrying upon any old table. Just in time for his jawline and face to be grabbed up by the lady. In his life, hes made it a rule to let pretty ladies do what they want to him. At least at first. He is still distracted now that his mind shifts to accept her voice more and more easier. Its *that* loud. So he doesn't quite get the question the first time. He'll return her blinking with his own blinking before shaking his head, free of limiting hands. "My name is Jaune, Risali." He has manners though, doesn't he? "Have you come for ale?" That tankard he had placed down is snatched before someone can pick it up and he offers it towards the grabby dragonrider.

Lady. The expression that crosses Risali's face says MANY UNPLEASANT THINGS and threatens SO VERY MANY DIFFERENT TYPES of physical harm that it's almost amazing Jaune doesn't go up in flames for having dared address her with a title. The wrong title, but a title none-the-less. But Risali shifts her hips, attitude generated and expelled in the gesture, grey eyes tracking Jaune's line of sight back to Leirith's maw and another grimace that says she's kind of sorry for the gold's antics. Clearly she's not sorry enough to make Leirith stop. « IT IS HIM, MINION! AHAHAAHA! » Baboom, badum, BOOM BOOM BOOM. Loud, loud, louder. But despite the increasing din of bombastic gold dragons who are dams to the eggs currently baking on Xanadu Weyr's sands, Risali remains steadfast. Those grey eyes seek out keen eyes and hold, pensive in her attentiveness, brief in her assessment as a softly spoken answer comes: "No, Jaune. I suspect that I've come for you." And there's a hint of a smile at the corner of Risali's lips, diminished as she drops her gaze and shifts to push fingers into a pocket and pull out a white knot. She's grabbing his free hand at the wrist, pulling it into the space between them so that she can press it to his palm and hold it there. "What I didn't tell you is that the snout trying to be small enough to fit inside is my lifemate, Leirith. She has eggs on the sands - which is really where she should be right now - and she happened to see you come here." A beat, grey eyes jumping back up to find his as the goldrider hesitates long enough to pick out her next words carefully and - "Would you stand for us? She — we — would be honored to have you." And now the most awkward part of all: waiting.

A visible wince runs through Jaune's shoulders at the Gold's reaction to whatever wrong thing he had said. Theres a lot going on for the poor young man, and the grip on the tankard is becoming increasingly unsteady as it is untaken by the dragonrider. His other hand gets the white knot pushed into it and his fingers close around it. Brain starts cranking on cylinders again, moving to catch up to what was said and actually make considerations of it. Jaune's gaze drifts from Risali back towards the door to the snout of the Gold, snuffing and making a very large scene.

Stand for us. Lifemates….Risali is a dragonrider, and the gold is her dragon. And she has eggs. "You want me to *stand* for the dragons. Like, be there when they hatch and try and impress one?" His eyebrows furrow deep now and he has to consider it. Not much though. He didn't like smithing, well, he didn't like the people. He enjoyed the learning, and VintnerCraft had the same problem but even worse. People not willing to give chances. This is a chance though. "Certainly. I'll stand for you, and you, Leirith."

Questions come, Risali offers a half smile and nods her head, patient in her waiting as Jaune calculates and comes to a decision on whether or not he'd like to attend the hatching of her dragon's progeny. "Well good," Risali says, another exhale conveying relief. "Leirith was going to make me carry you if you told me no, and I somehow doubt that would have worked out well - for either of us." Letting go of the knot, Risail withdraws her hands back to herself, arms crossing over her chest as she shifts her attention back to the gold and then back to Jaune. "You need to tell whoever is over you in your craft. Get the proper paperwork together and some of your things. There will be someone to fetch you and show you to the barracks. Just… pick a cot. You'll be fine." But Risali's rocking on her heels. "I have a newborn and two weyrmates that are probably contemplating creative ways on making me go home and lay down, so I have to go." And THERE SHE GOES, taking strides that… halt as she baps a golden snout and Leirith retreats from the door way. Hesitation, and then Risa is turning to face Jaune with a genuine smile this time. "And Jaune? Goodluck." And out she goes, ducking free of the Taverns and out into Xanadu Weyr's summer.

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