Fort Weyr - Shenanigan's Lounge
The natural walls of this cavern have been completely covered and replaced by straight and sometimes curving walls of brickwork. There's a method to the madness of covering stone with stone. It's as simple as the electric buzz in the room. New grade electric lights dot the fancy brick-worked walls, with wires cleverly hidden behind, allowing more focus to be centered on the rest of the room rather than the numerous strings of wire needed to operate the lighting. Each bulb roosts in a bronzed metal flowering fixture, giving the room a rich atmosphere. Still, the walls are not the only place which has stone on stone appeal. The floor has been run smooth, the surface now slate rock, creating an imperial cast.
Beyond the actual foundations of the lounge, the luxury continues. High backed wooden chairs with padded white seats have been stationed all around the room. Between the individual chairs are benches fashioned out of the same rich wood with pillows made to flatter the cushions. There are low lying coffee tables or end tables near the individual chairs, while there's larger dining room sized tables with chairs to match scattered as well, giving much variety to those who find themselves in the room. Decorative hangings and framed artwork has been neatly hung around the room, but to offset the meticulous method of the room, there are some pieces that give a sporty feeling to the room - such as a fishing rod or a snowshoe.
Of course, the final appeal of the room comes in the form of its purpose; athletic competition. There are several games of darts lining the walls, various decks of dragon poker cards available, a large velvet lined pool table centered to one side of the lounge, a mat area surrounded by ropes, and an area that keeps track of all the runner races around the world via radio signal, giving constant updates on the status of the runners.
Over the turns, the use of Shenanigan's as the in-Weyr watering hole has seen the bar expanded and expanded again. Now, the brick of the bar has been built into a rectangle broken at the narrow ends and surrounding a free-standing wall of brick and mirrors that holds all the supplies the on-duty bartender(s) could wish for. Stools hug the bar for those who are here for the drinks, but bar food can also be ordered there to be run by the bartender's assistant(s) from the nearby kitchens.
Maybe Risali just wanted to escape the heat of a Xanadu summer for the winter climes of Fort. Maybe Risali is here on dignitary business, representing her Weyr in some kind of important something-or-other despite the fact that she's sporting no knot to denote her origins or her rank. Whatever the reason might be, Risali is, in fact, here. In Fort Weyr. In the flesh. … RUN FOR YOUR LIFE!!! Ahem. So as we were saying, Risali is shouldering her way into the lounge, wrapped in her leathers (which is the only real indication that she's any type of dragonrider at all) and holding herself together with an air of agitation that speaks of needing a really strong drink. That's why she orders one with a tight smile and quiet words from the bartender on duty, and then leans against the bar as she waits for whatever alcoholic concoction she's bid to be made. Grey eyes wander the lounge, falling on patrons and activities both, but only for a moment. It doesn't take long before her attention falls to a small stack of papers in her hands, brows drawn together in consternation before her lips form silent words that look suspiciously like a slew of cusses.
One of those patrons, dressed for the cold more like this is High Reaches than Fort, just happens to be sitting alone at a table with a half full mug of… ale, maybe? Well… Velorn is sort of alone, anyway. There's also a green firelizard that seems determined to destroy a heavy bone that's almost bigger than she is. With his back to the door, the blond young man doesn't notice the rider's entrance. Not until his Clio suddenly stops her vicious chewing on one knobby end of her bone to hiss in Risali's direction, "Hush." The quiet command is given absently, and promptly ignored as she growls and spreads her wings wide to, apparently, try to hide her prize from this newcomer. There's a quiet sigh and the computer crafter finally turns to see just what— or who— has his little monster friend riled up, "Sorry. She's crabby today." Blue eyes roam from the top of the woman's head down to her feet and back again before offering a flirtatious smirk. Which is ruined by the absolutely rediculous floral blanket he's wrapped in, "Need any help, beautiful?" The words sound slightly forced, as though they're said more out of habit than anything else.
Risali's attention is drawn by that first hiss, but it's the movement that pulls her eyes up from that paper to take in the fierce little green defending her food. Quiet amusement crosses Risali's face, a hint of it peaking in the upward tilt of her mouth just as that humor hits her eyes. It stays muted, even as grey eyes blink once and shift to take in the blonde addressing her first with apologies, and then with — ha. For a moment, just one moment, color rises in Risali's cheeks and the weyrwoman's smile gutters, crumbles into something surprised before she presses her lips together again, brows drawn in. "Beautiful?" But then that smile returns. Risali's lips press higher this time, one hiccup of amusement escaping her. And then she's laughing. It's not cruel; it's not the kind of laughter borne of dismissal, but it is disbelief, as if Risali can't quite fathom compliment offered her from a complete stranger and has opted to take it as a joke instead. A beat, two, three, and Risali's nose scrunches before her eyes drop back to those papers. Another beat, and she taps them on the bartop to realign them and folds them over once before bringing her gaze back up to Velorn. "You can tell me if that line ever actually works for you," Risali breathes, the words harboring genuine curiosity (and yes, a hint of laughter) in lieu of agitation or scathing regard. "Does it?"
Growl, hiss! The very obvious 'mine, don't touch' from Clio gets a much put upon sigh as Velorn pinches the bridge of his nose for a moment before reaching over to tap her gently on the top of her head, "Stop it." A startled squeak meets the headtap and… she's gone, gnawed glean bone abandoned in her shock. With the pest green gone *between*, he half turns in his chair and pulls the blanket closer around him, "Just calling it like I see it." There's a wink at the blush. When he's called on the horribly bad flirting, the smirk turns into a grin and he shrugs, "Maybe once or twice." But only if the guy was really, really shallow and desperate. He sobers a little, leaning his jaw against one fist, elbow propped on the table, "Really, though. Do you need help? You looked like your papers there did something to personally offend you." A ghost of the grin returns at that last, "I've been here long enough I can probably give you directions," at least, "if you need to deliver them somewhere."
More of that amusement hits Risali's eyes despite the increasing theatrics of possessive greens and their fierce shows of badassery. "I see," she breathes. Whether she means about his own perceptions or the fact that his not exactly terrible line only worked once or twice in his favor, she doesn't say. Instead, Risali turns her body just enough to receive that drink she'd been waiting on and, in a show of distinctly unlady discipline, she downs the entire thing with one tip of the glass and chin. One swallow, three, and she's setting the glass back on the bar, smiling her thanks to the bartender as she passes off her marks and, much to Velorn's probably very poor misfortune, the goldrider crosses the space between her and Velorn so that she can lean much too close without being close enough to touch him. That smile holds mischief, a kind of challenge as she says, "They did. Offend me, I mean. By merely existing, but that can't be helped. What's your name, if you don't mind my asking?" She could ask him for help, but it seems like help is very, very far from being at the forefront of her thoughts.
Color Velorn impressed! Most women would sip daintily at their drink. Or at least take the time to actually enjoy it instead of just putting it where it'll do the most good. Up close, under all of those warm clothes and hidious blanket, there's probably at least a passing resemblance to a certain brownrider with… anger management issues. Not that Vel would know that, though. He blinks a couple of times, sitting up and leaning back a little when she's suddenly right there, "Yeah. I've been there before." Offended by inanimate objects. His expression turns wary and he reaches for his ale to hide behind a few gulps. He takes a deep breath, chin tilting up slightly, "Velorn."
Risali laughs again, head tilting back, too-damn-much hair tumbling over her shoulders as if bonding over offensive objects that have no business being so offensive on account of the fact that they can't even talk has been the highlight of her day. And, if we're being honest, it probably has been the highlight of her day. "Well met, Velorn," comes soft, as Risali comes down from the high of that laughter, her smile going somewhere warm even as that mischief lingers. For a moment, too long of a moment, Risali's eyes study the blonde's face, taking in the way he breathes, the way he drinks, before she says, "There is one way you can help me." « BOTH OF US. HE CAN HELP US BOTH. » Yep. Here comes the giddy, bombastic, over the top bass and drums of (one of) Xanadu's notorious queen(s). "You can help me make her stop yelling." « MY FRIENDS LIKE IT WHEN I YELL. OR, AT LEAST THEY WOULD. IF I HAD ANY FRIENDS. » Risali's brows rise, and those grey eyes roll from probably where her dragon is back to Velorn. "I'm Risali," you know, Xanadu's Senior Weyrwoman if anybody has ever smacked Velorn in the face with a Current Events book. "And that's Leirith, and she thinks your beautiful line was badass and I could use a kindred soul that knows all about offensive papers. So." A beat, as Risali digs in pockets and — well. Comes up empty. "I'd have to take you back to Xanadu, but would you like to stand for us?" IT'S NOT VERY TRADITIONAL, BUT THEN… THIS IS RISA, and she is from Xanadu Weyr. What is tradition, even?
At the mention of his offer of help possibly being accepted, Velorn tilts his head slightly. Only to wince when the Xadian queen shouts at them. Owwww… He pales a little and coughs, blue eyes wide, "Uh…" Wait. "What?" Give him a minute. He's got to catch up. Wait. "Learith?" And Risali. Don't forget the Weyrwoman, Vel! "I-" He gives himself a shake, almost looking like a wet canine for a moment, "I'm sorry, ma'am. I wouldn't of been fooling if I'd realized." No flirting with the Senior Weyrwoman of another Weyr! Bad boy. No- Wait. "What?" His voice rises an octive, "But- I-" And he suddenly slumps back, looking for all the world like he was just slapped, "I mean… it'd be an honor." And the perfect excuse for a change of scenery, "Thank you, ma'am." With that, his smirk returns, though it looks a little strained, "And I'm always happy to commiserate over offensive papers."
"Don't stop now on account of me — and please. It's Risali, not ma'am." NEVER MA'AM. At least, that's what the exasperation on her face says. Still, she waits out his reaction and than that smile blooms again. "Excellent choice," Risali breathes, nose scrunching as she says the words before she leans away from Velorn — finally. "I have to go take care of these, but," those papers are held aloft, "if you meet me in the clearing in twenty minutes, Leirith will be happy to deliver us back at Xanadu, and I'll drop you off with the weyrlingmasters." So that they can give him the rundown of expectations and give him that knot she seems to have forgotten (probably because she's not really a searchrider). But, with that, she's backing away one step, two, then turning on her heel, waving the paper over her shoulder in goodbye. "Twenty minutes, Velorn! You called me beautiful; don't disappoint me." Is that laughter chasing her back out? Yes. Yes it is.