Dunno 'Bout Them Miners!

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.

It's a cold day in Xanadu, with a wind blowing in dark clouds across the Sea towards the Weyr and driving those who
don't have required duties outdoors into the halls of the Weyr proper. The living caverns are one popular place,
the hot-springs another. In the Tavern, the usual group of rabble-rousers has been supplimented by the cold with a
few new faces.

Sorrin is among these, finally having donned a rank knot and taken her place as part of the Weyr. It felt… a
little strange after such a long time. Still, the bar-tender is being social enough to the newcomer, offering her a
smile as he pours out an ale and slides it down to her. "At least I don't have to be out in the stables with the
runners, so I guess it's an even exchange for the weyr duties." She tips her glass forward and drains a good bit of
it. "Not looking forward to the watch tonight though, not with this cold." She shivers inwardly.

Having come to Xanadu to check out the mine, Iforian's ride back to the Hall isn't due to take him back until
later, so the tall miner is getting to know the local tavern. He's settled into a chair at a small table, a mug of
ale on the table before him as he rocks the chair back on the back two legs and just watches the people moving
around. The blond man quirks a brow at Sorrin's mention of being in the stables, stretching his legs out under the
table and slowly tapping one foot where his ankles are crossed. He lifts the mug to take a long pull of the dark
ale, setting it back down with a quiet thump.

Darsce, having wandered in for here her very first mug of klah for the day while avoiding the lunch rush in the
caverns at the same time is seated at the other end of the bar flipping though a magazine and finally looking awake
enough to at least be social, if not pleasant. The blonde is working though a pastry with a fork lifted to her
mouth now and then but her attention is not really on eating or reading. She's bored and the restless way she taps
one foot crossed over a shapely leg is telling of that as is her wandering gaze over the place, lifted from page to
room intermittently.

The tavern isn't Matrin's usual choice of venue, and in fact he hasn't been seen about the place since the
post-flight brawl (not the recent one, the one before) when the Wandering Wherry ended up closed for repairs. A
cozy place, good company and something to warm the belly sounds just about right as evening approaches, so he
pushes his way in, hurrying to pull the door closed behind him before the frigid wind can stretch its icy fingers
too far. He shivers in his heavy wool coat, but starts unwinding the long scarf from around his neck and pulling
off his leather gloves as he heads toward the bar. Quick blue eyes take in at least two people he doesn't
recognize, though as he nears Sorrin's perch he catches sight of a very familiar knot perched on her unfamiliar
shoulder so he gives her a faint smile and a nod.

Enter Derin, the wherhandler is one of those regulars that always seems to prefer the atmosphere of the tavern over the caverns, and this afternoon is no exception. And, as usual, he hasn't bothered to tug a comb through
sleep-tousled hair or straighten wrinkled clothing, he really just doesn't care this early in his 'day'. A glance
shot about, nods or waves to those that greet him, but he's making his way towards the bar as the door blows shut
behind him. "Yo!" He catches the 'tender's attention, and earns a knowing nod as a shot of whiskey os poured for
Rin. Leaning back against bartop, the wherhandler proceeds with his favourite pasttime, people watching.

A bit more small-talk is exchanged between the newest Xanadu Weyrwoman and the bartender, although it doesn't seem
to be anything of great importance. Comments on the weather and recent events - including the brawls which seem
more common than he'd like. She seems content enough to continue along that line until Derin calls out his one-word
greeting that seems to be code for 'shot of whiskey'. Sorrin quirks an eyebrow, her lips curling up into a
half-smile as she takes in the dissheveled form of the wherhandler. "Breakfast of champions, I see?" She offers,
only to catch another motion out of the corner of her eye - Matrin. She catches the shiver as he approaches, and
the smile, returning it easily enough. "Getting colder outside, isn't it?" She is /so/ not looking forward to this
evening. Darsce and Iforian aren't noticed straight-away, alas, although she does turn on her stool now that the
bartender is occupied, letting her eyes track through the Tavern.

Gloves go in one of Matrin's pockets, but the scarf will have to stay draped loosely around his neck for want of a
better place to put it. He gives Derin a nod and a flip of his hand in greeting, and the 'yo' that brings whiskey
deepens his own grin. He flashes it Darsce's way if her restlessness brings up those big blue eyes, then his focus
goes back to getting a drink. "Just ale for me, please," he says to the bartender, fishing a mark bit out and
sliding it across the counter before edging onto the stool he stands near. "That it is," he replies to Sorrin,
bright eyes sliding over her. "And welcome to Xanadu?" The words are clearly a question, offered along with a hand.
"I'm Matrin, Journeyman Harper."

Iforian just sits quietly, narrowing his eyes a little at the sight of the other miner looking like he just crawled
out of bed and appears to be getting ready to pour himself back into it in a few hours, "Hope ya ain't on duty
tonight, son." Not that he looks any older than the other man, but he sure seems to think that he's got the right
to lord it over the other journeyman miner.

Derin has the unfortunate luck (or is that fortunate? hmm) to take a seat next to the stool Darsce occupies. Her
periodic sweep 'round the room ended after Matrin's entrance, a smile sent his way before her eyes once more
dropped to her magazine, now lifts to give the man settling next to her a glance, then a doubletake as she gets a
better look at him. This time, instead of dismissing him out of hand, she takes in his wrinkled and rumpled
appearance and smiles sweetly at him. "You're… one of those miners, aren't you?" One delicate and well-manicured
finger reaches to flick a flake of stone off of his shoulder. "I'm Darsce." Her back is to Iforian for the moment,
but she does notice the junior weyrwoman beyond Derin and gives the woman a cool once-over before nodding at her.

Derin lifts the shot to his lips, downing it easily before settling the empty glass upside down on the bartop.
Sorrin's words get a grin from the wherhandler, "Indeed, best thing t'warm a guy up, doncha know." As the tender
sees the upside down glass, he gives a nod to Derin. Matrin's ale is poured and offered, and the 'tender tends to a
few more customers before he moves to refill whiskey glass. "So, that's what colour yer Yumeth is, hmm?" He grins
as he eyes her knot. "'nother new goldie fer th'bronzers an' brownies t'play with." Iforian's comment is heard,
noted, and promptly..ignored! Derin's so sweet isn't he? And then there's the blonde gal beside him flicking that
bit of rock from his shoulder and the man grins a little. "Aye, miner an' wherhandler t'Dersk." Never forget the
bondmate, that's the first rule of wher-club.

A brief scowl shows on Sorrin's face at the harper's weather report, although it doesn't linger long. Instead, her
gray-brown eyes range over him for a moment, then find his face as she gives a nod, "Mmm. Just my luck to get in
right when it's about to get cold." She does extend her hand thouggh, taking his in a firm, comfortable grip.
"Sorrin. Yumeth's rider." Once it's released, she has the opportunity to take in the other patrons. The miner's
retort gets a soft laugh from the weyrwoman, who shakes her head with amusement. "Give me a few hours out in the
cold and I'll probably be the same." As for the color of her dragon, she does give a sheepish sort look, offering a
shrug of her shoulders. "Yes, and I'm quite sure she'll enjoy every moment of it." Sorrin, on the other hand,
doesn't sound terribly thrilled by the idea. She, too, catches the comment from Iforian, but other than quirking an
eyebrow in his direction and giving foreign crafter a long look, she keeps her thoughts to herself. As for the
blonde girl, Sorrin meets that gaze if only for a moment. "You look familiar." She starts, trying to place it.
"Spent much time at Ierne?" It's a guess, but she throws it out there, trying to place the girl.

Matrin takes his ale with a smile of thanks and is quick to take a slow sip of it. A hot toddy or klah with brandy
might have been an ever better call on this blustery day, but the crisp pale ale seems to work well enough,
stealing a bit of the shivery tension from his shoulders. "Well met, Sorrin. At least there are plenty of places to
get warm here, and Beldar's fried apples are legendary." He offers the newcomer a wink, then turns on his stool to
better survey the room. It brings Iforian into his sights and though he doesn't actually comment on the other
miner's scolding either he eyes the man consideringly. As for Darsce and Derin and their part of the conversation,
even if his keen blue eyes are on his ale rather than on them, there's no doubt he's listening with an
eavesdropper's ear to the talk happening beside him.

The tall miner's eyes narrow when he's ignored and he sits up, leaning hard on the table, "What am I invisible
here?" He's apparently pretty far into his own cups, judging by the way he sways slightly when he pushes himself to
his feet, "You s'posed to be workin' tonight, boy, or did ya get lucky and get the night off?" One would hope that
he's being so beligerant only because he's been drinking. He does hear that Derin has a wher. He just doesn't care.
"My ma'd skin ya if she thought ya were neglecting your wher just so's ya could get drunk."

Darsce actually turns her head over her shoulder at quirks a brow at Iforian's comment to Derin but as she wasn't
addressed, makes no comment for the moment. "Is he… your supervisor or something?" This asked in a puzzled aside
to Derin as she turns back around, withdrawing her hand back to her own space and casually flipping a few pages of
her magazine. Sorrin's question draws her back up from the half-hearted attention she's giving to that page and she
purses her tinted lips in a wry half-smirk, "Only my whole life. I live there. My mother is Asher, gold Quirinth's.
Maybe you know her. Everyone says I look just like her." There's a disdainful snort as though the teen totally
disagrees with that assessment. She flutters Matrin a wink as he's in her line of sight, then back to Derin she
sort of cringes at the mention of a wher. "Does ahh, Dersk…" She rephrases to, "like to be pampered?" Okay, yes,
she's going somewhere with this.

Derin does regard Iforian now, he hasn't much choice now does he? "R'ckon it ain't none of yer bus'ness iff'n I'm
workin' t'night or not, Sir." And he lets the 'sir' hiss from his lips. Ohno, Derin does not like being treated
like some subordinate boy as he squares his shoulders. And then the other miner dares mention neglecting his wher?
Drunken Iforian or otherwise, that comment gets his eyes flashing even as he downs that second shot of whiskey.
"Dersk has ne'er been n'glected a day in 'is life. An' I do b'lieve..Sir..that yer speakin' outta yer arse, y'ain't
got no rank on me an' I r'ckon 'tis none of yer bus'ness what I do with m'own free time." Tone is a growl of
warning as hands curl at his sides. Hey, Rin's KO'd a journeyman before, he just might be willing to do it again in
a heartbeat, especially when his wher is concerned for anyone in Xanadu can tell you how he dotes on his wher, The
Hero Dersk. And, well, with the 'handler gettin' worked up, poor Darsce's question about pampering Dersk gets
overlooked as the man's full attention is on the swaying miner before him.

"Apples, huh? I'll have to give them a try." Sorrin shoots a look towards Beldar, who seems to take this comment as
a signal. She can't help but respond to that wink with a smile, tipping her mug of ale lightly towards the harper.
"And it's certainly my pleasure to make your aquaintence." No stuffy goldrider here - nope. The realization of just
where that familiarity came from with the blinde-haired girl catches her mid-drink and she has to force a swollow
before she can speak, pressing her lips together momentarily. "Ahh. That would be it, then. Yumeth an' I lived just
outside the Weyrhold. Came up sometimes for trade, or gathers or the like, or when she need to clutch." She seems
to look a little more closely at her, though, and shakes her head. "Hrmph. You're a far bit more fair than she is,
I'd say." Sorrin half-shrugs again, as if her opinion didn't matter for much.

And then there is the conflict that seemed inevitable between the two minecrafters. A secret part of her just wants
to sit back and watch the festivities, but that wouldn't be too dutiful of her, would it? "You might be best
watching your tongue, Journeyman. It ain't yer place to go tellin' our ranked crafters how to be keepin'
themselves." She's not drunk, but her natural accent sneaks through the training she's ahd over the years. "Those
are fightin' words, about his wher, and as much as I'd like to see him mop the floor with ya, I wouldn't be doing
'm job if I didn't tell ya to knock it off."

And there goes the prospect of a nice quiet afternoon with ale and company. Matrin's smile holds long enough to
meet Sorrin's but then Iforian and Derin's interplay trumps introductory small talk and he sighs, running fingers
through his hair. "At the very least you boys should take it outside. I for one would rather not have our poor
Beldar deal with any more repairs this month." And then since Sorrin seems to have things well in hand, he leans
behind her to try and catch Darsce's eye. "You mention your father like he's the scary one and completely forget to
add that your mother's a goldrider?" There's amusement there in his eyes and the lilt of his voice. "It's a wonder
any man's brave enough to say hello." Though Matrin himself is making conversation and she certainly hasn't ever
seemed lacking in suitors.

Darsce snickers a little when Sorrin presses her lips together, "Yeah my mother isn't all that easy to get along
with." Transation: impossible. Which might be an indication of why she is here rather than there. The new junior
totally wins points with her 'fairer' assessment though, drawing a beam of approval from the teen. And the looming,
growling, fist clenching going down between the miner duo right beside her is Darsce's cue to exit stage right. She
doesn't really seem to care that her questions have been ingored; they weren't so terribly important after all and
she knows where to find the miner if she really wants to know. Chances are the prissy Iernian isn't really all that
curious about whers to begin with. With one hand she snags her plate of pastry, the other her magazine and she
slides down off the stool, scooting over to the other end of the bar, seating herself beside Matrin on the side
furthest away from the potential fracas, after making sure there's an empty table behind him that she can dive
under should things erupt. "My mother isn't scary, she's just a pain," she asides to Matrin while keeping a wary
eye on the pair over there. Someone's a touch gun-shy it seems.

Iforian folds his arms over his chest and looks down his nose at both Derin and Sorrin, ignoring the fact that the
woman isn't just your run of the mill tevern patron, but is a weyrwoman, "I'm makin' it my business. Ya don't just
go off and leave your wher sleepin'. That ain't how it's done." Or so he was lead to believe, anyway. He narrows
his eyes and looks over at Matrin for a moment, "Stay outta it. Ain't none of your business here." Much like
whether or not Derin chooses to spend his time off duty drinking isn't any of his, but that doesn't seem to be
going to stop the blond man, at the moment. He doesn't make any truly threatening moves, though he doesn't bother
to try to make himself loom any less, either.

Derin eyes the taller miner, this man's not going to be the one to back off, that would go completely against his
instincts. "M'partner is well an' truly capable of sleepin' on 'is own, s'not like he's some young weyrlin' or some
baby. 'Tis nay a requirement t'remain with 'im twenty four seven." As a matter of fact, Dersk really does enjoy his
alone time and probably pushed Derin to go enjoy himself a bit. Those fists remain clenched though thankfully they
haven't flown just yet, but Derin does get to his feet, he's not the tallest miner, but he makes up for it in bulk.
"An' iff'n y'got a prollem with th'way I spend m'free time, I'll bet ye've 'ad just as much as I..Nay, prolly
more'n I have." And, indeed, Rin doesn't seem at all affected by the two shots he's already had. darsce's moving
away is noted briefly, as are Sorrin's words. "Y'may want t'listen t'th'lady an' leave me th'hell 'lone, I've taken
on a journeyman b'fore, and I am willin' t'do it again." A challenge? Perhaps.

Why is nothing ever simple? Sorrin sets down her half-drunk mug and gets to her own feet as she's so pointedly
ignored by Iforian. "I think that's quite enough." Stepping up next to Derin, the weyrwoman raising one hand to
point at the door. "And I think you've had quite enough. You're a guest of Xanadu, which means that right can be
revoked. So I suggest you go get some air and cool down." She holds a more serious expression than normally graces
her features along with a more proper way of speaking. She reaches a hand out, trying to lay it on Rin's shoulder.
"Come on. Let it go." She's definitely on the Xanadu crafter's side, her eyes locked on Iforian, waiting to see if
he decides to push matters. The others get lost in the background, at least for the time being.

When Iforian snaps, Matrin is quick enough to lift both hands, palm out, and lean back against the bar. So long as
it doesn't come to blows and Sorrin continues pulling rank, he's content to do just as the miner suggested and stay
out of it. Particularly when the surly younger man doesn't seem the sort to be swayed by words, no matter how
convincing Matrin's can sometimes be. So with sidelong glances keeping the unfolding scenario in his peripheral
vision at least, he knocks an elbow back on the bar and gives Darsce the benefit of his grin. "In my experience, a
woman is far more dangerous, no matter how the father might growl. They are far more skilled at finding things that
hurt even more than a fist in your eye." He says it with that teasing lilt, then tips his head toward the sparkling
bottles on the other side of the bar. "Buy you a drink?" In spite of the fact that she seems to be eating
breakfast. And perhaps in her experience, markedly lacking a leer or even a truly flirtatious glint in either eye
or tone - he's charming but friendly instead.

Iforian's lip curls in a sneer at the suggestion that he back down. There's no way that he's going to step back and
let more sober heads prevail, not since Derin's just issued that nice little challenge, especially. Then Sorrin is
stepping in and demanding that he back off, earning another long, narrow eyed look. After a moment, he gives a
mocking little bow, almost tipping over on his head, "Whatever ya say, ma'am." He stumbles forward a step as he
rights himself, "Just lemme finish my drink and I'll be outta your hair. I'm goin' home t'morrow anyway." He turns
and starts to sway back to the table where he'd been sitting and his half full ale.

A shame that the other man backs off finally, Derin was so looking forward to a good fistfight before work. As the
taller miner staggers forward, Derin looks as if he's ready to knock him backwards, but the hand on his shoulder
stops him short, good thing too probably. At the weyrwoman's words, Derin growls, "Shardin' disrespectin'
Dersk…Best be backin' off, bet I coulda taken 'im." Mutter mutter mumble grumble. "Yo, gimme 'nother." He barks
the command towards poor Beldar who was likely just about ready to throw the both of the miners out on their ears.
"Come t'm'home, disrespectin' Dersk an' m'friends." Growl growl grumble, so much for the wherhandler looking
forward to a good night tonight. He does turn to Sorrin, as well as Matrin and Darsce, as Iforian heads off back to
his table. "S'rry, didna mean t'cause a scene." The man is getting his head together, at least enough to be
respectful to his fellow Xanadians and visiting Darsce. Thugh his fists remain clenched until he recieves his third
shot and loosens one just enough to grab the drink and slam it back before he'll slide back onto his stool, though
the tenseness desn't go away, and probably won't as long as the taller miner remains in the tavern.

Darsce gives the visiting miner a look askance but otherwise he's really not worth any further attention - as long
as bottles, chairs or his hands don't come anywhere near her person. She does, however, give Sorrin some silent
applause in the look awarded to the weyrwoman for both putting Iforian in his place and keeping Derin from doing it
instead. "In my experience, most women are much more interested in gutting each other open than hurting men. Unless
they're jerks, then all bets are off," she replies to Matrin with a semblance of nonchalance returning to her
demeanor as the two men back off over there. She seems preoccupied enough that she accepts his charming at face
value, shaking her head and declining the offer, lifting her mug towards Beldar for a refill of klah instead.
"Thanks, no, I have to wake up yet."

Slowly, Sorrin's own fingers curl into a fist, and there is that brief moment where /she's/ the one considering
decking Iforian. Luckily, there is a little voice in her head which talks some sense into her, and it has nothing
to do with her conscience. It takes Yumeth reminding her that punching a visiting crafter probably is not a good
way to make first impressions on the weyr. Damn. She draws her hand away from Derin, nodding slightly and speaking
in a lower, conspiritorial voice once Iforian is out of range. "Yeah, well my marks would have been on you
anyways." She downs the last of her own ale, looking at Beldar. "I've got to head up for a word with the guards
anyways. I'll send a pair down. They'll make sure he doesn't start anything." She /tries/ to be reassuring. Sliding
a mark across the bar, she pays for her drink and then nods to Matrin and Darsce. "T'was nice meeting you both,
hope next time it's under better cirucumstances." Pulling up the collar of her jacket, Sorrin sinks into it and
then stalks off towards the exit of the Tavern, not looking forward to an evening on watch duty.

Matrin's distracted by the quick ramp up in tensions and then abrupt deceleration caused by Sorrin's firm reply. He
shoots Iforian a less than complimentary look but wipes it quickly away in favor of a smile up at the goldrider.
"The pleasure was mine and I'm sure we'll see more of each other. Bundle up." A lift of his ale will serve as
half-toast and half farewell, then he pitches his voice lower to say to Derin, "No need to apology to me. I
think you could have taken him." He simply nods to Darsce's polite refusal of his offer, then finishes off his ale.
"Much as it is nice and warm and all in here, I suppose I should get back to work." Xe'ter's task of setting up
safety protocols is enough to have even Matrin grimacing at the thought of work, but he starts pulling on his
winter gear just the same. "See you all later, I'm sure." And in the spirit of good craft relations he even dips a
nod to Iforian on this way out.

"Some people just can't stand up for themselves…" Iforian drops down into the chair where his ale was left and
kicks back, smirking nastily at the group at the bar as Sorrin leaves. Particularly at Derin… Matrin's look is
ignored, for the most part, at least, while the tall miner gulps down some of his drink, rocking back on the back
legs of the chair again as he goes back to mostly just people watching. Well… Sneering at people while he
finishes off the latest mug in a series of mugs. When the harper leaves, Iforian just makes a rude gesture in his
general direction and once again crosses his ankles with his legs stretched out before him.

Derin grins as Matrin echoes Sorrin's comment about taking the other man, though he hides it carefully, but at
least the wherhandler's tension is melting, slowly but surely. Eyes continue to flick towards the other miner, but
since he's no longer seen as a threat for the moment, Rin allows himself to wave to both Sorrin and Matrin. "'ave a
good night y'two." And then there were three, hmm, and Darsce earns his attention again, the wherhandler leaning
back to watch her with her klah. Hey, no one said he can't enjoy the view right? At least the man has stopped at
three shots, at least for now. Well, so much for that tension dissipating, as iforian makes the rude gesture, the
wherhandler's eyes narrow again. Derin catches the attention of a passing man, who's way too jolly already from his
own drinks, and whispers something to him. The inebriated patron cntinues on his way, making his way back toward a
table way back over there behind where Iforian's settled rocking in his chair. And as that drunk man passes, he
gives a kick at the back legs of the chair that has the miner perched so precariously aiming to knock the chair
over backwards as he slips away into the shadows. Derin lets out a whoop of laughter, he'll have to make sure that
drunk man gets his bribe money later, he wasn't sure the man'd go through with the action.

It's been this way all afternoon - the tavern fills, the tavern empties. As both Sorrin and Matrin take their
leave, Darsce sends both off with a causal, "Seeya. Same here." Oh not one bit formal since she has no rank to
worry about. Not that she's being disrespectful, mind, just not one bit meek when it comes to goldriders since her
mother is one and she's… probably cheeky to boot. Iforian's rude gesture to the departing draws naught but a look
of cool disdain; it's nothing to her whether he likes them or not. Where was she? Oh yes! Pastry. Her fork lifts
another bite of the buttery, flaky stuff into her mouth and she lifts her napkin to dab the few crumbs that stick
to her lipstick, iceblue eyes catching Derin's agent aiming that kick to Iforian's chair. It sends the blonde into
a fit of coughing as she inhales that dry mouthful but soon after she's letting herself give in to a snide
cackling. Good one Derin! You may be covered with rock dust, but you're clever. Kudos!

Iforian is just minding his own business, slowly rocking his chair back until it's leaning dangerously without any
help what-so-ever. The moment that the other drunk man kicks the chair out from under him, a look of stunned
surprise flashes across the big man's face; his eyes widening and jaw dropping a little as he seems to hang there
in the air for half a second with his mug raised part-way to his lips before he comes crashing to the ground on his
back with ale splashed all over his front and in his face. There's silence for all of two seconds before he comes
up with a roar, mug crashing against the floor and breaking, "WHO DID THAT?!" He has to blow out through his nose
to try to get the sting of alcohol out of his sinuses, glaring at everyone in the tavern, the entire room laughing
at his (well earned) misfourtune.

Derin can't help it, at the thud of miner against floor, alcohol splattering him, and then the outburst, the
wherhandler starts laughing madly. Oh yes, that was so worth the marks he'll have to hand out later. "Balance
much?" Rin quips tauntingly at the bellowing and snorting man. Oh that was so good, and the whole tavern laughing
just makes it all that much sweeter. Yes, Rin is proud of his agent's handiwork. Oh, he is enjying this too much,
laughing so hard it brings tears to his eyes damn near. He glances to Darsce and her cackling, and that just cause
more laughing. "Y'like that?" He asides to the girl with a smirk.

At least Darsce can say the entertainment in here has been better than watching snow drift past the window? But the
tinkle of breaking glass coupled with that roar from Iforian has her slipping down from her chair, snagging her
coat from the back of it, magazine stuffed under one arm while she drains the last of her just-poured klah from her
mug, wincing at the heat. Her pastry is snagged and she's preparing to beat a hasty retreat. Recent events after
the goldflight still too fresh in her mind. Derin's question draws a conspiratorial grin, "From a safe distance,
you bet! Later Derin." Later because, yes. She was asking him something before Iforian sidetracked the miner.
Coatless, she heads on out. Yeahhh, she'll make tracks for the cavern quick-like. She slips out and should be
alright without bundling up for the few steps it takes to get there. She'd stay and watch? But there's no sense
bringing a vengeful growling D'had in here should his daughter gets grabbed… or worse… again.

The taunt from Derin has Iforian practically snarling as he stalks towards the other miner, eyes narrowed with
rage, "I dunno how ya did that, but you ain't gonna get away with it." That's all the warning he's willing to give
before he's pulling his arm back to aim a swing at the shorter man's head as Darsce leaves, all of his attention
focused on the miner he has, apparently, decided is responsible for his humiliation.

Now this is more like it, isn't it? The stalking approach has Derin immediately off his stool and holding himself
squarely to meet the oncoming rage. And the first swing is thrown and with a smirk, the wherhandler tries to grab
hold of the offending swing. If successful, Rin will aim one right back, though the 'handler doesn't back his own
swing with his full strength, at least not yet, perhaps this can be an easy win for Derin, or perhaps the other
miner will eventually succeed in catching some hits on the shorter man. Either way, there is definitely going to be
a fight tonight in poor Beldar's tavern, though hopefully with less..brokenness.

Iforian's reactions are slowed a bit by the alcohol in his system, so his swing is caught and the other miner's
return blow easily lands, sending the tall man staggering backwards several steps. He lands on a table, managing
not to break it, but knocking it over as he lands in a heap.

Derin advances, but he doesn't throw another punch as the taller man lands in a heap. Well, this fight was over as
soon as it started, really, I mean, probably pretty close matched in strength, but Iforian just happened to be a
might bit more drunk that Derin. And once the wherhandler realizes the fight is done and over with, he moves back
to the bar to settle his check, best to get the heck out of here before attention is brought to the weyrleaders.

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