Seaside Serenade

Xanadu Weyr - Docks
The main dock of Xanadu Weyr has a T shape, the central pier extending out and then splitting into two branches. That central dock extends slightly past the branching, making a square often used as a staging area for supplies or simply as a spot to sit and relax.
Pointed away from the main beach, there's the dock where ships moor. The fishing vessels who make their home here are joined by trading ships and the occasional personal craft, bobbing on the waves.
In the other direction, there's an area used by the dolphineers. There's a shack with supplies, extra fins and breathing gear hung against the outside, and a large raft moored to the dock near a ladder. It floats low in the water, easy to clamber on or off, and on it is a Dolphin Bell, the rope dangling into the water to let the dolphins summon their crafters.

IT IS NIGHT TIME. I deem it so because you let me set and so here we are: Rukbat has sunk low below the horizon, giving up her place among the stars and yielding to both Timor and Belior who reflect her light out across the water — a disc of light that's accompanied by those man-made lights woven along the dock to keep people from being too blind and falling into the water. The Weyrwoman is here, having traded her riding leathers for an nondescript black dress, whose only attributes are perhaps the low cut (BUT NOT SO LOW, RELAX) of the top and the length of it. It's not long at all, nowhere close to hitting her knees. She is in a fitted leather jacket, and she's in thigh-high, black socks that leave about two inches of space exposed between them and the dress. And she's in her boots. It's still modest, but certainly not as modest as she usually is. And that hair? Down, pulled over her shoulders. That's not really the noteworthy thing though; no, the thing that might make Risali seem ridiculous (you know, if yelling at dragons in the middle of the night is not) is that this time she's on the docks, once more sans her knot, and she's standing on the edge of one of those docks. STOMP, snap, snap, snap, snap, snap, snap, snap, snap, STOMPSTOMP. "I can hear it coming in the air tonight." Yeah. Risali is singing; she's snapping her fingers, stomping her feet to make a melody as she sings to… the water? Probably not, because Leirith's still broadcasting to everybody, that usual rambunctious sound of bass and drums and wubwubwub tweaked to something else — something that accompanies her rider's song. And Risali? She either doesn't care or is oblivious to the fact that she's making herself a spectacle. BUT SHUT UP, AT LEAST SHE CAN SING OKAY.

Fortunately or unfortunately- the jury is still out on this one- nightfall bids return of Kaellian to the docks, just as it had before. This time he might be less drunk. Not sober, mind, that's really not a condition he's familiar with. But closer than usual with business at hand. Among the various trading vessels that have moored for the night is his own, a few men on its maindeck moving crates back and forth of (surely legitimate) cargo. Those few seem to disperse after a few minutes, disappearing into the inner workings of the ship proper, in consequence of being finished or because of the serenading.. well, it's probably not hard to guess which. Night is comfort, bathing his path ahead in moonslight and behind covering boot-tracks with the eb and flow of darkwaters which fade them away seconds later. He carries a net over a shoulder this time, the webbing holding dear what appears to be a number of various fruits. More fanciful tunic is overlaid with a light brown, rather raggedy cape that's bunched at his squared shoulders, the hood of it fallen back to let his messed black hair be exactly that. Kaellian's going to hear her long before he sees her, and of course, the broadcasting that gave some hint of what's to come. The gentle melody of the docks- the water against the pillons, the gentle clinging and clanging of the riggings of the ships as they sway against their ropes or anchorings- is somewhere beneath all of this. Light seablue eyes look up 'neath dark, heavy brows and stray lengths of black hair as he arrives, boots loud on the wood planks, but still not really comparable to the concert before him. It's an odd grin on his rugged face, sort of amusement mixed with the charming smirk he always has, "M'lady," Honey'd venomed voice arises, interruptive but testing with the doubt it would earn him a interlude in this program. Regardless, he continues briefly, "Are you trying to sing your way out to sea?"

Along comes Nessalyn, who is definitely not singing, unless one considers ceaseless grumbling to be some sort of musical score. "LEIRITH." She bellows the word into the night air, because it's dark and she's lazy and WHY ARE THERE ALWAYS NOISES IN HER HEAD?!? She's considering going to the healers about this chronic pain centered over her left temple that she's absolutely certain is caused by Leirith alone. But while she might not be able to spot the dragon just now, she does see the Weyrwoman belonging to said dragon. So instead, she settles for, "RISALI!" She doesn't have the ear to appreciate musical talent, apparently. One hand is still wrapped up in a bandage, but her injury doesn't seem to keep her from excessively gesticulating along with her words. "I'll show you what's coming in the air tonight. Some of us are trying to SLEEP." Out near the docks? In her usual shirt-and-pants combo, with tools still stuck in that messy bun? Kaellian's proximity is noticed and dismissed, because he's not singing.

If Risali were not right in the middle of this really kick ass song and Kaellian addressed her as, 'M'lady,' Nessalyn would not be the only one shouting names and gesticulating wildly with hands. Of course, Risali would have more fingers to do it with, but… (BADUM TSH). AHEM. The point is that the very man who made every hair rise on end the first time Risali saw him has no differing effect now; what's different this time, perhaps, is Risali's mood. The words she's singing form around a smile, the beat picked up by Leirith as Risali moves instead to Kaellian and greets a total stranger with small hands that fall on his shoulder and drag along, bumping over the net, tracing over clavicle and shoulder blades until fingers press into his sternum again — all while she sings, all with too big of a smile on her face that only grows as she steps into his space like this is a dance. And it is a dance, one that she executes too close in proximity whether he moves his body with hers or not, one that she abandons when Leirith's name and then her own earn another wicked, deviant smile that sees her spinning away from Kaellian, that sees her catching Nessalyn by the hip with one hand and her gesticulating injured hand with the other (very gently) to pull her into a bit of a spin-dance while she keeps singing. "I remember. I remember, don't worry~" HOW COULD SHE EVER FORGET? And maybe she is pulling Nessa closer to Kae, swinging from the woman, back to the man, away to where she can clap and stomp and keep singing because she's rude. Leirith? SHE POPS UP HER HEAD FROM THE WATER. HELLO NESSALYN. HELLOW KAELLIAN. A BOOP TO YOUR BOOTY IS DEFINITELY A DANCE-MOVE, RIGHT? Right.

Distraction in the form of shouting and angry grumbling draws Kaellian's attention away from Risali to the one approaching the docks in a fabulous display of gestures and words. The other is recognized, and a huff of a breath denotes an.. almost amused sound, though his free hand, the left wrapped in black cloth, rises to rub roughly over his face. It's an abrasive noise over his scruff, or would be, if it wasn't nigh inaudible in the wake of everything else. The man goes to shrug the weight from his shoulder, which only really gets him as far as letting the cape fall askew over the side of him before the Weyrwoman is abruptly all the closer to him. He's not drunk enough for this- and he's fairly certain that was his conclusion for last time too. Given he considers himself gentleman enough not to drop the fruit on her, it stays in place as he turns his head to follow her. A brow is risen once she's at his front again, curious, that devilish grin a touch wider in its slightly crooked way. Although he doesn't greet her move for move amidst that dance, there's a shift of that poised, imposing posture of his that follows the goldrider as she goes. "As much as I always enjoy a spectacle by the water, surely there are better-" Alright, well, whatever seedy or clever wisdom he wanted to impart is thoroughly interrupted by the fact that he was booped. In the butt. That's not the sort of booty that's supposed to be involved here. Or maybe it is, but not like this. That will make him move, quickly in fact, to face Leirith. "Poor form, dragon." Did he just tell a dragon- "…Is this… common?" That question was probably to Nessalyn while he's staring at the cause of the unending noises in his head.

Nessalyn no longer expects Risali to call down the full power of her authority at the reproach, but she's certainly not expecting the woman to attempt to engage her in a dance sequence. There's a faint smirk on her face as Kaellian becomes an unexpected dance partner, and this amusement in another's unfortunate accident is (again) what causes her to miss that she's to be the next victim. She flinches as she's swept up in Risali's arms, that smirk dissolving into something close to panic. "What are-" At least she can play it off like she's afraid of her hand being re-injured, right? "What is wrong with you?" That's probably a question for the ages right there. Leirith's helpful contribution draws an undignified yelp as her booty is booped and WHAT IS GOING ON, SERIOUSLY. She makes an attempt to thwack all invading forces away by waving her arms, heedless of the fact that her poor bandaged hand is probably going to be smacked in the process. "HANDS AND NOSES OFF THE GOODS, RISALI-AND-LEIRITH." Hyphenated for their equal culpability in this mess. "Yes," is the short answer for Kaellian, distracted as she glances between Weyrwoman and gold for further advances. "Excessively."

I mean, that is something at least. Risali might be small, but don't let that fool you Kaellian. You drop that fruit on her, and you just might learn the hard way that this itty-bitty force of nature packs a punch. But THERE ARE NO LESSONS TO LEARN AT THE ENDS OF SMOL FISTS TODAY (even if, realistically, Kaellian would probably kick her ass in the long run), simply dancing. Dancing, and booties to bongo if your name is Leirith. "Don't finish that sentence." Risali says to Kaellian, breathy, delighted, pulling too-long hair from her lips because it got caught there during one of her spins. And then it doesn't matter anyway because he can't because LEIRITH WITH THE SAVE. But then those grey eyes jump to Nessalyn, the smile still intact, no hint of apology or chagrin found in the expression she fixates on the less-than-amused journeyman. What's wrong with her? "Many things," Risali intones somberly, fighting a smile that quirks at the corner of her lips even as Leirith's laughter BOOMS and eddies out, unfiltered, absolute exaltation that interrupts their beat, and their song and leaves Risali to look from Kaellian to Nessalyn and back again. "But not deafness. I am here, you know," she informs both from around another hint of smile — and then she's jumping, reaching out to grab Kaellian and Nessalyn again, ducking in and then peeking between them before bubbling over with laughter. She lets go, she runs, and…! SPLOOSH! INTO THE WATER THE WEYRWOMAN GOES. Why? That's probably apparent seconds later when a very tall male is striding forward this time, exasperation in the half yelled, "RISALI!" There's just a burble of more laughter from the water, and a string of soft curses from behind. THIS ISN'T FUNNY. But it is, isn't it? "What if you get hurt?" and then: "It's just water, Kyzen." But WORRY NOT. Leirith's coming up from beneath Risali, lifting the tiny woman with her as she heads towards land and the weyrwoman, soaked, waves to both Ness and Kaellian with too big of a smile. "Goodnight!" she calls, THE MYSTERIOUS KYZEN MOVING TO MEET HER ON THE SHORE. And then she's hugging him, getting him wet, and holding on amid more laughter (and his curses) as they head off in a direction together, with Leirith on their heels. NO MORE BOOTY BONGOS — FOR NOW.

There are many instances he's been told to stop talking by women, but never in a moment quite like this one, but there's no time to remark on that. Kaellian's composure is quick to be regained, readjusting the net to better sit on his shoulder now that everything is less than, well, ship-shape. There's no doubt he's somewhat perplexed by this tiny tornado of a goldrider, though his expression returns to a calculated amusement. Where thoughts lie deeper, even if sense can't exactly be made out of.. this. A grimace complicates his features, drawing dark lines more dense until the mental booming subsides to whatever degree it would. "Aye, that you are. I'm quite certain that is a fact nobody has missed." His dry sarcasm is thickened by the accent that draws heavy on every word. There is a bit of a start when she jumps at them, the muscles of his jaw working in a lick of tension that subsides with the seamlessness of a wave's rise and fall. Somehow, surprise doesn't follow the fact that she runs for the water instead of the beach, though his attention trail after her. The exchange between the tall man and Risali is, for the sake of entertainment alone, watched to its completion. And in the passing of her farewells, from the dock, Kaellian bows slightly- a dip of his head and slight of his shoulders, the hand holding his anti-scurvy-cargo already at his chest. "You seem more than friendly with the weyrwoman." To Nessalyn now, the side-long look that follows that comment to judge her reaction to him delayed until he's sure Risali isn't coming back, and Leirith remains in sight for some distance yet. "But I didn't know you were such a dancer. Hard to tell from last time, I suppose."

"I don't know how I could've forgotten with you manhandling me," Nessalyn grouses, a spike of discomfort shooting up her spine which causes her to do a little shoulder-shimmy. IT'S NOT A DANCE, RISALI, but she does shake it off as best she can. There's a little shudder for the fact that she so narrowly escaped, only she hasn't escaped at all. A sound very much like a growl leaves her as the goldrider tugs her in again, and she'd have a great deal more to say if the woman weren't making for the water seconds later. AT LEAST THERE'S A RESCUE EN ROUTE, which saves Nessalyn the trouble of worrying for the woman's mental (and physical) state. "Finally." One of the designated Risali Supervisors. FREEDOM. That farewell isn't echoed by Ness, who stubbornly turns away from the retreat of Risali and Co. in a silent show of her displeasure. At least her headache seems to be abating, although she does press her good hand to her temple for a moment as the chaos of the gold pair's presence gradually subsides. "She set me on fire." That's not even a little bit true, but Nessalyn has a near-flawless poker face and the thoroughly bandaged hand to aid in her tale. "It's less friendship, and more self-preservation." Any comments about dancing are summarily ignored, because no.

Significant questioning of his choices have come into play here, now that this has been established as the normal. And the fact that he's clearly made multiple return trips to this port, clearly in danger of being a more recognized entity at least around the water. A thumb traces the ridges of the fabric of his hand before some unspoken thought bares of a faint shake of his head, and Kaellian observes Nessalyn a little bit closer than he's had any sort of opportunity to before. At least, an opportunity that doesn't involve ducking and shielding. It's that kind of look that travels up and down, but no more than that. No more invasive than that, not this time. Most of that grin has subsided, though it lingers in the traces of shadow among the rapscallion's rugged jaw. "Is that so." He's all for a story, and the non-inflected question at least sounds relatively earnest, in that cocky, always-amused manner he has. "By the sounds of it, self-preservation in the tides of that-" a slow tip of his head in the general direction Risali et al has disappeared into- "is hard to come by. You've done well by it tonight." Except not at all.

With Risali gone, Nessalyn feels significantly more in control (and significantly less likely to be butt-booped by a dragon without notice), though there's still a fidgety effort to regain her sense of a personal space bubble. Her clothing is checked, her own inspection occurring even as he looks her over. It's not vanity, but rather the need to reclaim what is her space that has her making small adjustments to her person. There's a significant side-step made as well, as she puts a decent amount of distance between herself and the faintly familiar man, since Risali apparently forgot the mantra of 'Stranger Danger' and left a sister in the lurch. "I'm not just wearing these bandages because I enjoy a lack of manual dexterity," she comments dryly. There's just enough truth to the circumstances to lend her words conviction. "The Weyrleader helped, too. We're all going to die." She doesn't sound deeply troubled by it, though. Either Stockholm Syndrome has already set in, or she's just accepting her inevitable demise with the sort of grace she doesn't accord anything else. "I consider the fact that I didn't end up in the water with her to be a major accomplishment. You learn pretty quick not to set your standards too high."

Kaellian on the other hand, makes no effort to give her space. But, once she's reclaimed it, he doesn't demand it back. Rather, the figure of him stays put for a few moments, watching her expression as much as her general reaction. His own, while often a schooled sort of sinister bathed in the humor he derives from the events that unfold, isn't quite so under tightly command at this second. Or, at least, it doesn't seem so, being that a grin is more malleable, more responsive to the things she says. A low, brief chuckle follows her comment on bandages. The chill in his eyes remains there, though, haunting, warning. Ocean's edge left to winter's bite even in such a southern place. "Could have fooled me, love. If that's true, at least it won't be boring." How could it with that sort of leadership? It will all fall to fire and song. Potentially even in that order. He leaves her be, then, as a man comes partially down the gangplank nearby. Kaellian hefts the sack from his shoulder and tosses it to the other who looks between Nessalyn and his captain and then carries on back up to the deck, disappearing below it a minute later. "If you fancy a reprieve, you could always join me." A hand extends to encompass the path up to the ship that sits docked there. "It would be brief." As if that's consolidation, "Or long, I suppose." This is a strange offer that he has to feel as he says it, some form of self-amusement mixed with it. It's lost as he continues, though, more matter-of-fact then, "We're heading out at first Rukbat's light. And, besides, enough rum might even quiet all of.. that." The dragon-broadcasting, should it come about again, which he no longer doubts. It almost.. almost sounds like an innocent offer, a kind thing, a string-less thing. But nothing out of his mouth sounds anything more than a serpent's offer of the apple, as interested in the consequence as the choices that lead up to it.

The twist of Nessalyn's lips and her raised brows fall somewhere between bewilderment and amusement, with just a dash of her ever-present frustration with humanity. "First of all," she holds up her good hand to count off, "don't call me 'love'. You don't even know my name, so maybe clue in on that before you start trying out the smarmy nicknames." There's no mask to be seen here, no secondary motives hidden beneath her blunt honesty. Her temper is exposed for the world to see, and she makes no attempt to disguise the sharp edges of her personality behind false kindness. "Secondly," first as the thumb, now the pointer finger, "does that actually work? Come on, get on my ship, we could make your visit brief… or long." Her voice drops at the end in a mockingly 'seductive' tone, accompanied by an excessive amount of eyebrow wiggling. "I'm just waiting for you to tell me that the visit won't be the only thing that's long, that's how bad that was. And lastly," she holds up her middle finger to join the rest, before dropping the other two with a smirk. "Lastly, I don't particularly like you. Was throwing things at your head not clear enough last time?" Seemingly from nowhere, she has yet another cog in her hand, and she flings it at his person to emphasize the point. "Hope that helps. I'm out." And with that, Nessalyn strides off to seek sleep as far away from any gold dragons or riders as the confines of Xanadu allow.

There's really no desire to clarify if anything she says is wrong or right, a part of his offer something that fully anticipated some sort of wrath from this one. Kaellian lets her tick off her reasons without interruption, not bothering to answer in the aftermath of her mocking, only the remnants of his smirk left to detail whatever reaction she may have won. The cog makes a dull sound as it hits the rumbled cloth of his chest, resonating slightly louder as it strikes the wood at his feet, bounces once and comes to a stop against a booted toe. "As you wish." Resounds after her, followed only for a few heart beats of time by those eyes of his. Those words are low enough that they could be all but lost against the much more subtle sounds that come with being at the docks when most have fallen to slumber. To what he's specifically saying that particular phrase for, is not clear either. He starts to turn, but pauses just long enough to look down at his feet where his movement had pushed the bit of metal a few inches, reminding him again of its existence. He'd pick up that cog, his hand and the object tucked beneath the cloak as he ascends onto the maindeck and through a door to the stern of it, flanked by a couple of men who look all the worse for wear.

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