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 Wanderin' Wherry Tavern is better known for its beverages than solid foods. However, that isn't enough to stop Zalulia. The redhead sits at a small table, lazily picking at what looks like something fried. Her hair is pulled back in a sloppy runner's tail, her torso adorned with a long-sleeved light green shirt, touching upon an airy pale blue skirt. A bronze firelizard sits in front of her. Occassionally he reaches out to snab something from her plate. This results in a playful scolding from the harper and happy chirping from the flit.
Gerazal comes into the Tavern and he heads over to the bar, "Can I get an ale please." He orders as he looks around and he spots Zalulia. He gives her a nod, "Hello there." He pays for his drink, "Thanks."
Zalulia looks up, this new voice addressing her having caught her attention. She looks around for a moment before zeroing in on Gerazal. "Hi!" she chirps. With a wave of her hand she gestures for the stranger to join her. "Don't think I've seen you around before. New here?" A casual curiosity laces her voice.
Gerazal moves over with his mug of ale, "I am new here, I've been here a month or so. I'm Gerazal, Journeyman weaver, if you need clothes come to me and I'll fix you up."
A grin lights up across Zalulia's face. "Nice!" She leans back in her chair, a hint of smugness beginning to touch upon her features. "I'm an apprentice harper. Come to me if you need… songs, I guess. Songs and flute stuff! I make stuff sometimes as well." Never mind that Zalulia getting inventive is… ahem… discouraged by the general public.
Gerazal takes a sip of his mug and he asks softly. "Nice if I have need of songs or flute I will let you know. Do you mind giving me a little sample of what you can do?"
"Oh, I don't make flutes," Zalulia clarifies, "I just play them. Although… do you think I could whittle? I could probably whittle." Now she's likely going to try whittling sometime soon. Be afraid, Xanadu, be very afraid. Thankfully the topic is put aside for now, the harper instead choosing the zero in on the request. "Either way, I don't have a flute right now, but singing I can do. Any song suggestions? Action-y, scary, slow, bawdy, silly, whatever?"
Gerazal ahs, "Well that's good to know. Well you probably could it just takes a sharp knife and practice." He says, "Sing a baudy song those tend to be the funniest."
The grin that spreads across Zalulia's voice could be described as devilish, more or less. She takes in a deep breath before shamelessly singing, in a surprisingly smooth voice at that, "Any old storm, any old port/ Life is long, love is short/ Better get a woman, get a woman if you can/ If you can't get a woman, get a clean old man.
Do they hang too low, do they swing to and fro/ Can you tie 'em in a knot, can you tie 'em in a bow/ Can you swing 'em round your shoulder like a Fortian soldier/ Do they hang too low in the mornin'?
Do they feel too tight, do they rattle when you fight/ Can you keep 'em out of harm, can you throw 'em o'er your arm/ Do they irritate your knees, do they tear your BVDs/ Do they hang too low in the mornin'?
Do they hang way down, do they drag along the ground/ Do they feel so cool and nice when they slide along the ice/ Do they irritate when you snag 'em on the gate/ Do they hang too low in the mornin'?
Do they hang too loose from self-abuse/ Do they tangle in a knot, do they bang around a lot/ Do they twist a key, do you wish that they would shrink/ Do they hang too low in the mornin'?" This was sung loudly enough for all to hear. No shame. None.
Gerazal laughs as he hears the song and he stomps his feet along with the beat. He takes a drink of his ale and manages to get it down before he laughs out loud. "That's a good one. Very nice."
A hearty laugh bubbles up from Zalulia's own throat. "Thank you, thank you very much!" As she stands up to take a sweeping bow Aang lets out a loud warble. Firelizard applauds? She likes to think so. "I'm afraid I have to go, but spread the word, yeah? Maybe if enough people hear about me I can reach infamy." The word 'infamy' is accented by her slowly waving her arms across the space in front of her space. Infamy was never the goal, in fact she isn't sure what her long-term goal is, but hey, it never hurts, right?
Gerazal nods, "Thank you again for the song." He says as he gives his applauds. "I will tell others of your singing. It was a delight.".
Zalulia grins and rewards him with another chirp of, "thanks!" With that she gestures for Aang to follow and saunters out. So much to do, so many things to whittle, and so little time.
Gerazal smiles, 'You are welcome." He says as he continues to drink his ale and enjoy it.