A Dangerous Dance

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.

This is going to be the crappiest set ever because it's late and I CAN'T BE BOTHERED TO THINK TOO MUCH, DEAL WITH IT. It's getting close to closing time, and the tavern is still serving the last of the night's patrons, who are solidly somewhere between too wasted to do anything and drunkenly belligerent. While Nessalyn is not exactly drunk (maybe), the tipsy techcrafter is most certainly belligerent. She has claimed a seat ON THE BARTOP, and is in the midst of an apparently ferocious argument with the bartender. "WHERE IS MY BARTENDER?" That's probably Rhodelia. "SHE'D LET ME SIT UP HERE. DID YOU KNOW YOU HAVE TUNNELSNAKES AND CATS IN HERE?" He's trying to forcibly shove her off the top of the bar, which just leads to Nessalyn slapping him and hissing with teeth bared. "TOUCH ME AGAIN AND I'LL KILL YOU."

There is no doubt Kaellian has more than enough of his own stash to not bother with taverns and be plentifully supplied, but what fun would that be? No, the dark-clad roguish man had taken up residence at a back table with another man who seemed quite familiar with him. The latter takes the last remnants of his beverage and rises, murmuring something to his captain before weaving his way past the remaining drunken bodies around them. The general din of the place is easy enough to lose most conversations in, but it's really hard to miss Nessalyn up on the bartop, and with whatever business he'd been dealing with completed, well, too-light gaze turns to watch the.. show. There's an array of glasses in front of him, one that's half-full. Half-empty, technically, if you ask him. In a simple, smooth, suave motion, the man stands from that dark back corner, removing himself from the feigned privacy of it, and comes to the bar seating just out of reach of Nessalyn. Close, but outside of immediate swinging distance. "I'd recommend not killing that one, lass. Never threaten the one with the supply." He lifts his glass as if to toast with Nessalyn with that ring-accented hand, that smirk on his face cocky as all hell, crooked on his scruffy face that also claims a brow risen. "Although if you wanted to put on a show for the rest of us, by all means." What else is she doing up there?

NO YOU DEAL WITH IT. It makes sense, believe me. In a very tired so this probably doesn't make sense aloud but definitely makes sense in my head kind of counter-insult way. No. We're giving up. We're ENTERING THE SCENE VIA ONE DOORWAY. It is storming outside now because I deem it so, the summer weather bringing summer storms that shake, and rattle, and set the entire weyr to trembling in the wake of each massive BOOM, each CRACK of lightning that splits the sky and tears open more of those clouds so that they can rain all over everything and make it wet. Like Risali. Risali is soaked. to. the. bone when she walks into those doors, and what a sorry sight to see. All of that long, black hair is clinging to her person, and her face, and her clothes like she just crawled out of a TV screen and came to announce that you have SEVEN DAYS. She's in a long coat that probably doesn't belong to her because it drags on the floor, and - listen. She just looks a little worse for the wear. BUT those grey eyes find Nessalyn and Kaellian, focus on Ship Boy and We Need A Nickname For Nessalyn and it's one, two, three moments of too long that the goldrider just stands there, dripping at them. Maybe sanity has caught up with her and she's feeling some kind of trepidation about facing Nessalyn after the Great Chest Faceplant Debacle of 2719, but shut up. How about that. "Kill." Okay, maybe not. Her voice sounds really far away, and she can't hear the conversation but she doesn't need to because NESSALYN IS ON THE BARTOP FIGHTING WITH THE BARTENDER and Risali is there, on Kaellian, pressing in against him and NUZZLING INTO HIS HAIR with an almost-hysterical whisper of, "Why do you feel so good?" But she forces herself away, forces herself to the bar in that giddy, faraway way, waves a hand at the bartender as if to tell him to SHOO, SHOO and then holds out her hands for Nessalyn. "Help me up," she requests. DO YOU TRUST HER, NESS?

"DON'T TELL ME WHAT TO DO." It's unclear whether that's meant for the bartender or for Kaellian, as Nessalyn throws her arms out to the side as an equal attempt to swat at both. Her ire still seems primarily directed at the bartender, whose main fault in life seems to be disagreeing with the woman's ability to do WHATEVER SHE WANTS in the middle of the tavern. "He's not the only one with the supply," she informs Kaellian, too busy being angry at the person on her other side to subject him to one of her usual narrow-eyed stares. Instead she taps the side of her nose, like she's revealing some great secret to him. "I've got contacts." She really doesn't. At this point, the only bartender who tolerates her might be Rhodelia, since she keeps getting into arguments with the rest of them. "I think plenty of people would agree that this is a sho-" Is it just her imagination, or did lightning strike just as Risali entered the tavern? Blue eyes go wide, because SHE KNOWS WHAT'S GOING ON AND SHE WANTS NO PART IN THIS. Still, it's pretty funny to watch yet another guy get manhandled by Risa's sudden fondness for everything soft. "I've never been so glad that I'm not in a towel," she confides in the barkeep, who looks at her like she has two heads because WASN'T SHE YELLING AT HIM A MOMENT AGO? Whatever. Bygones are bygones now that there's a more pressing and immediate issue here. Nessalyn quickly pats herself down, looking for anything on her person that might invite cuddling. Even upon finding nothing, she eyes that hand suspiciously. Alcohol might dull that desire to avoid all physical contact, but the sober corner of her brain is still pretty sure that helping Risali is a REALLY BAD IDEA. Which must be why she takes that hand and tugs.

Given that Kaellian might just be risking his life here with provoking Nessalyn, and he knows this, and there's certain things that are far more scary than what he gets himself into out there on the water doing all those things that he does- he doesn't look at the door right away. Doesn't see the nightmare inducing soaken black-haired woman entering in with a storm at her back, menacing thunder following her wake before the door closes to mute it once more. He is almost to the point of being quite drunk (and that takes a whole lot of rum, mind), the tan of his complection, kohl-rims of his eyes and dark scruff all hiding the flush of inebriation on his face. His accent is too dense when he gets like this, almost too much, making the slurr of words that were already inflected oddly in his gravel-touch voice all the moreso. The man straightens from his slight lean against the bar top at the generalized swatting. "Do you now." In regards to having contacts, that is. He has doubts, but he is amused, and he really has no inclination to want to stop her in anything but killing the man on the other side of the bar. "Aye, I would agree. Or, 'least, the start o' one." He finishes his sentence, but it trails off in volume as he follows that wide-eyed stare of the tech crafter. And that gaze follows Risali right up until she's nuzzling him, curious, maybe a touch confused but the whole of him particularly drunk is naught but shadow-masked, amused nonchalance. There's a quiet chuckle from his chest, always a sort of sinister note to it, that rocks his form lightly. "There are many ways I could answer that question."

"DON'T TELL HER WHAT TO DO," Risali reiterates, and maybe she will come to regret inadvertently using her authority to give Nessalyn unchecked privileges in this here Tavern, but until it burns to the ground, it's not anything she needs to worry about yet. Yet is for this moment, when Nessalyn FORFEITS HER OWN SANITY IN PURSUIT OF THINGS and makes one very fatal calculation: she assumes it's the soft things that Risali is after, and it's not. That's probably why thumbs and fingers curl over hands, why Risali makes a sound akin to a whimper in her throat before she jerks her own hands away from Nessa's and focuses on the bartender. "You," she says, with a point of one finger holding very little conviction. "I'm coming over." And there Risali goes, onto the other side of that bar, earning herself LOOKS and DISAPPROVAL from the 'keep because WHAT DOES ONE DO IN THIS SITUATION? Do you tell the Weyrwoman, in her own weyr, to get the hell out? OF COURSE YOU DON'T. And that is why Risali is grabbing bottles. Lots of bottles. So many bottles that D'lei and K'vir are probably going to have to pitch in on the bill that she's racking up as she juggles them in her arms over to the counter, sets them down as gently as she can (which is not very gently, because she's a mix between giddy and drunk), and then she clambers back up onto the bar. Those grey eyes find Kaellian again, focus on him with lips parted, lips that stay in that almost-shocked-but-softly way when she looks to Nessalyn and then… grabs a bottle. "We're going to dance," she tells them breathlessly. "We're going to dance, and we're going to drink, and then Kaellian is taking us to his boat." IS THERE ROOM FOR ARGUMENT? Possibly not. Risali is already opening up one of those bottles, taking a long drink from it, and then holding it out to one before opening up another bottle, taking a drink of that, and extending it to the other.

"YEAH, DON'T TELL ME WHAT TO DO." And now Nessalyn is ALL-POWERFUL. At least within the confines of the tavern, with this particular bartender, and until Risali comes to her senses and realizes that Ness will absolutely abuse that power. At least burning it to the ground hasn't crossed her mind yet, since this is where the alcohol comes from, and AS FUN AS IT WOULD BE TO WATCH THAT ALL EXPLODE, the loss would be too great. That faint flash of panic makes itself known in her eyes when Risali makes that sound, caught entirely off-guard by the other woman's reaction. She's relieved when attention seems to fall away from her, even going so far as to move those bottles placed on the bartop over so that Risali can gather even more if she so desires. One gets knocked over, and she grasps at it frantically to keep it from tumbling. For a moment, Risali's assertion is met with nothing but a blank stare. Then, "Okay." She takes one of the bottles, swaying over into Kaellian's space to stage-whisper, "One of her weyrmates will come collect her first, I promise."

For his part in the beginning of this, Kaellian really just watches. With approval, one might add. He may not be in charge of this space in technicality, but his poise, his posture might put that into question. He's not going to intervene either, because comandeering an entire tavern is something he's not yet done, but he's fully in favor of. The glass he has is finished in the span of time it takes for Nessalyn to help get Risali up on the bar, and is set off to the side further down the tabletop, taking up the space of the bar-goer next to him. This results in some grumbling and abruptly more free space as they disperse and/or evacuate.. probably more for their safety than because of Kaellian's disregard for their personal space. When Risali sets those bottles down, he's watching Nessalyn scramble to catch one, then he minds another as it threatens to be lost to gravity too. It's caught just as it teeters on its hard wobble from the weyrwoman's non-gentle set down, taking it by its neck with full intent to keep it rather than just protect it from toppling over and spilling its precious contents onto the unkind floor. The butt of it is set on his thigh, seated now as he is, thumb and forefinger working the cork with too-practiced ease. "Is that so?" To Risali first as she announces this plan, "Are you certain you can handle all that?" Partially earnest, partially licked with his devilish sarcasm, entertained by her prospect of trying to take over his ship amidst this night of partying. At Ness's reassurance, his brow rises again, amused doubt settled there as his gaze shifts to her as she bares closer for it, "I imagine that depends on how long you can distract her with the first part of her plan." Yes, you.

You better hope the weyrmate doesn't decide to join her for dancing, because while one of them is always prone to joining Risali in her terrible ideas (D'LEI), the other sometimes makes exceptions (K'VIR). AND ANYWAY, Leirith just might be leading anybody looking for her lifemate on a very extensive and merrily pointless search all over Xanadu Weyr (and enjoying it entirely too much). SHE HAS ESCAPED. GIVE HER PEOPLE FREEDOM. AND BOOZE. AND DANCING. And when Nessalyn agrees, stage-whisper to TAKE AWAY THE MAGIC OF HER AGREEMENT OR NO, Risali looks back to the techcrafter like Turnover just came early. She even reaches out as if she means to touch her, closes her hand into a fist that finds its way between her lips and pressed to her teeth, and this is the expression she fixes onto Kaellian when he goes about using thumbs and forefingers to open bottles and asks that question. "Yes," Risali answers as she slides from the bartop, as she does it in a controlled roll of hips and chest and one hand that moves to drag down Nessalyn's thigh as she does it. CONTROL YOURSELF NESSA (by which we mean RISALI); the contact is brief despite the alarmingly provocative nature of it. And there Risali goes, a saunter right up and into Kaellian's lap because the Weyrwoman is proddy and - who are we kidding - might just do this sober anyways. And in she leans, until her lips are close to the curve of Kaellian's ear as the fingers of one hand curl around the neck of his commandeered bottle and the other comes around his neck to help with her balance. "I think the question is whether or not you can handle us." And those grey eyes lock on Kaellian's as she brings his bottle to her lips, and takes a long drink that might be a challenge. And then, despite the fact that her hands linger, and it takes effort for her to force herself away, she does. With his booze. "Come on, Ness. Let's dance." Annnnd there she goes, striding to an area of bar less populated (possibly because more people got smart and fled) then turning expectantly to look at the techcrafter. And then she drips at her. Because she's still wet. WELL? YOU PROMISED HER A DANCE. AND SHE GOT YOU AN ASSORTMENT OF BOOZE.

"Distracting her is not on me. One of her weyrmates rescued us before." Ergo, one will rescue them again! At least this is the hope she's clinging to, and the main thought that prevents her from running far, FAR away from here. Soon Risali will be gone again, and she'll have all this alcohol to herself. In the meantime, she needs to consume far more alcohol than initially planned to get through this encounter. She flinches as Risali drags a hand down her thigh, not actually jumping away from her, but still twitching beneath her hand. "At least I'm not naked this time," she comments, words which were likely meant to be spoken under her breath but are plainly audible. "Why don't you just go have a good time with him and leave me out of it?" Her lower lip is coming very close to a pout, and she takes another swig from her bottle to disguise the fact that she's absolutely sulking over her continued participation in all of this. While this may be her first rodeo with a proddy Risali, it's not her first rodeo with a proddy rider in general, and the best strategy she knows is to simply go with it until you can go no further. Or run away, but again… alcohol. She tries to arch a single brow as the goldrider takes up residence on Kaellian's lap, but coordination is more difficult than she expected, and both brows lift instead. At least she's spared watching things become any more questionable, since Risa is off to the dance floor, and Nessalyn drags herself off the counter with a groan. "Fiiiiiiiiiiiiine." Yes, she does sound like she's being tortured. Bottle still in hand, she slinks her way over to the 'dance floor'.

A glaring conflict underlies all of this. Where typical mannerisms have been somewhat kept in check while on these shores to not (yet) cause waves, to mind his tongue in the face of certain company where it would otherwise be far less appropriate, and/or more incriminating. BUT RISALI MAKES IT FAR MORE DIFFICULT THAN IT SHOULD BE. Kaellian's tongue traces his lower lip while the weyrwoman makes her way down the bar, glancing away briefly with a spreading roguish grin, and back when Risali is making her way up into his lap. The hand of his that remains on the bartop taps his ring'd fingers on its surface, before settling on her back to support her there just as her fingers curl around his neck. And his bottle. She may have bought (stolen?) it for them more or less, but that's beside the point. He wouldn't try to take it back, rather he just watches as she takes that long drink and keeps it. "Poor form to take a man's drink, you know." Kaellian's voice is no more than a low, hummed tone at this distance, but aside from his comment, he doesn't move to take it back. He'd probably care more than she's the weyrwoman as he usually does if he wasn't drunk, too. Challenge accepted. When she leaves- with his tunic and pants now damp from rain water left behind- he quite readily grabs the next closest bottle. This one isn't rum, sadly, but it'll do. He rises shortly after Nessalyn is taken in tow to the dance floor. "Hardly would be a good time leaving you out of it." He comments a few strides behind them both, surprisingly not at the previous naked remark, though that surely has something to do with being engaged enough to see where this goes. He's unlikely to have had all that much experience with proddy riders, of course.

DON'T WORRY, YOU GUYS. Risali might really enjoy touching and being touched when she's proddy, especially when Leirith eggs her on and influences her in ways that would be Unacceptable to a Risali not under the queen's influence, but Risali is not so lost in the haze of want, need, yes that she retains none of her control. She doesn't want to sleep with everybody, she just wants to RUB HERSELF ON THEM - NOT LIKE THAT, GEEZ YOU GUYS - AND CUDDLE. But Kaellian is right. Leaving Nessalyn out of the fun is no fun at all, and perhaps that's why Risali is taking another drink of the one she stole from Kaellian, why she's moving booted feet forward to meet the techcrafter half way to this destination and setting that drink down on a table as she goes. That wetwetwet jacket is shrugged out of, and Risali is back in riding leathers and a shirt that also probably doesn't belong to her, but it's dark, so the fact that it is SOMEHOW WET just means that it clings in that uncomfortable way that wet clothes do. Now she's on Nessa, a smile gone wicked fey pursuing her lips as one hand drops to Nessalyn's hips, fingers dragging as she walks around her and pauses only because Kaellian is on her heels. There's a hiccup of giddy laughter, as Risali grabs Nessa's hand, pauses to enjoy the contact, and then pulls her towards HE WHO WILL ALSO DANCE. Yep. And Risa's already starting to move her hips - not so much provocative as fun, letting go of Nessalyn to drag fingers around Kaellian's hips this time, until she's behind him and peeking out from around him to beckon Ness forward with a crook of one come-hither finger. THIS IS FINE, RIGHT? JUST. DANCE ON THE POOR MAN. It doesn't have to be sexy dancing, okay. BUT DANCE DAMN YOU. Or mayhaps they can sandwich Ness between them. Now there's a thought… RUN FOR YOUR LIVES.

"I'd certainly have a better time being left out of it," Nessalyn assures them both, but it seems her desires are falling on deaf (or just drunk/proddy) ears. Someday maybe karma will come back and bite her in the ass for rolling her eyes so hard at the proddy goldrider, but nothing's going to stop her right now. And did anyone thing Ness would be a good dancer? It's not that she can't dance, but she's stiff even with the amount of alcohol flowing through her veins, and that awkwardness only becomes more pronounced as Risali lays hands on her. With one hand captured by the goldrider, she uses the other one to lift the bottle to her lips, because SHE'S NOT DRUNK ENOUGH FOR THIS. She twists a little, trying to make a bid for low-contact dancing, but thankfully Kaellian is there to provide a distraction. "She's proddy, by the way," she utters in sotto voce, although given her level of intoxication it may not be quite as sly as she thinks it to be. "Leirith said something about needing to check out baby-making abilities." That's almost what Leirith said, but once again the truth is slightly distorted leaving her lips. She stumbles a little when she's pulled closer to Kaellian, but draws herself up just in time to prevent any kind of collision. SHE KNOWS WHAT YOU'RE ABOUT, RISALI. Her version of 'dancing' turns out to be more like swaying, keeping time with minimal movements. Did anyone really think it would be easy to get Ness to shake her ass in public?

He could have stayed behind at the bar and watched. Enjoyed. He's in it for the entertainment, afterall, and this already has the makings of a fantastic demonstration compared to the typical bar brawls of most tavern evenings. Yet, cold eyes are warmed, ocean waters in the depth of summer. The storm's seige becalmed, the danger of it waned at it surface. At least, so it seems. Promote the bad choices, enjoy the outcomes. Fan the cinders, watch the fire go. Whatever his typical pause is at causing too many upset on this shore so early on, it's slaked in the face of this.. whatever this is. Kaellian's steps, while much longer than Nessalyn's, are plenty slow to leave a gap to grow between. The clear liquid of the bottle swishes and sways in his natural swagger, and amidst the transition from bar to 'dance floor', he takes a long drink of it. The grimace is longer, heavier than normal since it's not his favorite, but he's far enough in this particular vice that it no longer particularly matters. Ring'd fingers drag back through his hair, messing it further just as Risali aims to circle behind him. Seablue eyes watch her trail 'round his hips, that arm staying up slightly to not impede her peeking. Allows it, for a moment. And then reaches for that hand she's left at his hip, only to step away from her, turning to face her with Nessalyn inbetween- even closer now than he was. "That doesn't seem to be a bad thing." This proddiness, that is. Ignorance is bliss, btw. Unlike Nessalyn, Kaellian does dance. Quite smoothly too, though he looks like the sort that would be more proficient at formal dances than wild swaying to the beat, since he raises the hand that had tried to hold to Risali's to twirl her. Twirl her into Ness? Maybe. Probably. "And how is she to go about checking this baby making ability?"

If Risali were of a sound mind, she would totally be catcalling Nessalyn right now. There would be booze, and boots stomping, and hands clapping, and lots of encouragement thrown the other woman's way. But Risali is not of sound mind; in so much as she has control to not do things she might regret, there's a push behind every impulsive thought to react, to do; there is a drive to touch, and be touched - to enjoy contact and skin, regardless of context, regardless of why. It's a curse that only exacerbates the closer to flight Leirith gets: Risali feels like every nerve is open and on the surface, like every touch is a caress and it is just as terrible as it sounds and probably even more unpleasant. Tie that in with the fact that sometimes it's hard to think through Leirith being so LOUD, and sometimes her body feels like it has electricity going through it and you have a very real recipe for disaster. It's why the hands - Kaellian's, Nessalyn's, it doesn't matter - earn a hitch of breath and an almost pleading sound every time; it's why it takes Risali a moment to recover, and even longer to will herself away. Because she has to catch up. And so there is a moment between letting go of Ness only to be grabbed by Kaellian when the goldrider looks like she isn't going to make it, and then she's being spun right into Nessalyn and catching at the techcrafter so that she doesn't fall over. But LISTEN, YOU GUYS. She is in there enough to laugh - even if the sound comes near hysteric because that's a lot of contact and, "You… feel really good," slips out before Risali can think to temper it back. And then she is dancing, a sway of hips that does have rhythm because Risali was a harper and while she's not a trained dancer, she certainly learned, and HER POOR WEYRMATES ARE SUBJECT TO RANDOM DANCES ALL THE TIME. But it's still fun — or at least, she tries to make it fun, by catching at Ness' hands to pull her into a twist of sorts, pulling and pushing with opposite hands at the same time, a moment of clarity coming in that smile, in the scrunch of her nose as grey eyes find brown and hold. And, Ness willing, Risali holds up one of Ness' hands to skip, spin, hipshake under and then around her. Right back to Kaellian, whose arm she's hooking one of hers through to force him into a kind of do-si-do with another laugh. AND THEN MAYBE SHE TRIES TO SQUISH THE TWO TOGETHER. Because they should dance too, okay.

It's questionable whether Nessalyn has any sympathy for Risali, since the techcrafter rarely seems to have sympathy for anyone, but she does at least have some modicum of understanding. She grew up surrounded by this, watching her father become someone else whenever his green was on the edge of rising. She, unlike SOME PEOPLE, does her best not to encourage the touching, and not merely because there's a distinct sense of discomfort about her for the sudden close quarters. It's certainly not kindness that drives her to watch where the goldrider steps and try to thwart hands before they come to rest upon her body so as not to exacerbate the woman's condition. It's self-preservation. She twists her head to scowl at Kaellian as he spins the Weyrwoman into her arms, her free hand automatically coming up to catch the woman lest someone stumble and they all end up in an intoxicated pile. That would not end well. "Yeah, yeah," she grumbles, taking a step back to put some distance between herself and the proddy goldrider, always wary of how close her movements place her to Kaellian as well. "I know I feel amazing, but I'm not here for you to feel." A sharp look goes to the dark-haired man. "Or you, before you open your mouth and say something you'll regret." She is armed with a bottle, after all, and she's drunk enough to justify smashing it into someone's head. Another swig is taken from said bottle before Risali manages to catch her hands, as the techcrafter moves her hips just a little more, attempting to find that minimum amount of effort to satisfy the whims of the woman before her. SHE TRIED IT, WE'RE ALL GOOD NOW, RIGHT? "Well, it's Leirith who's going to be making the babies, so…" A shrug, as she leaves that up to Kaellian's imagination. You're welcome. She doesn't try to pull away from that grip the goldrider has on her, even allowing the woman to spin under her arm and around, and, "My arm doesn't go that way, Risa-" OOP. And into Kaellian she goes as she stumbles after her arm, trying to get it back before Risali runs off with it.

The stare that lingers on Risali is a bit more intense with each of those sounds she makes in echo of the contact, but it doesn't stop him from the gesture that lends one move into the next. Once the weyrwoman makes contact with Nessalyn, his hold of her hand releases, and he stands there. A slight step back grants room for all the spinning and hipshaking, though his (somewhat blurred) focus remains on the pair of women. Kaellian's head tilts just a bit again, his now-free hand scratching 'neath his earring'd ear. The man's experience is vast in many a'thing, but this is new, strange, novel. For one that does as he wishes, pursues vices to the ends of the earth, takes his horizon and whatever comes with it as a treasure to stash away as trophy forever more, the limitations, the considerations are a touch beyond him. Only now, focused so on this shore, this place, does he dabble in the matters of Weyr and dragon, of the beasts he'd only seen a'far in the sky above. Avoided, for all intents and purposes. The sight of a dragon meant opening sails to block view of the decks, and for certain crew to make themselves scarce below decks until the skies were clear once more. To him, a tavern is drinking, dancing, and deals. To enjoy, to forget, to make that last night a'shore one to remember. But he'll learn. And, at least, his best behavior is one salved with honey rather than vinegar, even if it just happens to cover poison. For now, though, there is nothing so daunting, dire, or dangerous, for the man is enjoying himself, somehow prepared for exactly that moment when Risali returns to him to link arm and arm. He walks with her as that center of her circle, his smile touching the corner of those eyes in his alcohol-seasoned amusement, glittered in Rukbat's morning presence a'top each ocean wave. Mischievous, pleased. Then Nessalyn is against him, and his hand is at her back in 'catching' her, but not exactly letting go all so readily. "I don't have regrets." That's a lie, but true in this particular instance. "And it's only fair I get my turn." To see if she feels good? He must not be worried about that bottle in her hand, or else he's just that bold, or drunk or both. He chuckles, a low quiet sound but not nearly as brief as before, "I think we've seen enough of the human sort for a little while, aye?" Human babies, that is. He's not looking to repeat that event ANY TIME SOON OR EVER.

Wrong, Ness. SO WRONG. EVERYTHING IS HERS TO TOUCH. EVERYTHING THE XANADU TOUCHES. Maybe Risali catches Kaellian's lingering stare, maybe she catches the intensity of it, because there is just a moment when teeth come down on her bottom lip, when she smiles around it with the kind of look that's gone fey and is gone just as quickly. Because NOW is the time for dancing, now is the time for Risali to appreciate Kaellian and Nessalyn for so much more than just how good they feel pressed against her, beneath her hands (WHICH SOUNDS SO WRONG, BUT CONTEXT IS IMPORTANT PEOPLE). Now she's watching them both move, something in grey eyes that's muted but heated and probably doesn't bode well for anybody. It's probably why Risali steps back, why she brings Kaellian and Nessalyn together to dance while she moves to her own rhythm. She's all hips, and shoulders, and half steps. She's arms up by her head, hands in her hair, losing herself in that melody that beats - that becomes louder because of course Leirith's mind is made up of bass and drums and everything Risali needs to find a beat. And Leirith SHARES IT. BECAUSE DANCE, MINIONS, DANCE. IT IS A GOOD PRECURSOR TO BABIES. And comments about babies go unremarked upon, mostly because Risali's laughing as she lets the beat dictate each movement. AND THERE SHE GOES. Behind Nessalyn and then away, to a TABLE. AND ONTO THE TABLE SHE GOES, with little kicks of booted feet as she shakes hips, and rolls them, and leans down to pick up her TWICE PILFERED BOTTLE OF RUM, to drink from it as she moves and to just keep dancing. AWWWYIS. GET IT NESS AND KAELLIAN. LEIRITH THINKS YOU SHOULD WORK IT.

NESSALYN IS NO ONE'S TO TOUCH. The techcrafter doesn't miss that look Kaellian is giving to Risali either, and she is 100%% ready to just slip out of the picture and let all that touching lead wherever it will. Without her. But it's hard to escape when people keep grabbing her and putting their hands on her, and she finds herself tugged back into place as soon as she tries to leave. It almost looks like a dance move rather than an escape plan gone horribly wrong. "Everyone has regrets," she answers with a harsh snort of laughter. "Like Risali is going to deeply regret it if she drinks everything she stole." And so will Nessalyn, but SHH, THIS ISN'T ABOUT HER. Given the amount she has managed to consume from the bottle in her hand on top of whatever she already had, she's definitely going to have a rough morning. "Life isn't fair, Boat Boy. You can't always get what you want." (Insert song lyrics here.) Like her, for instance. The mention of human babies is also ignored on this end, because she's trying her hardest to forget she ever experienced that particular part of the human life cycle. As soon as Risali is distracted by tables, Nessalyn takes the opportunity to put a couple of feet between herself and Kaellian. But. BUT. She is heavily intoxicated, and that beat Leirith is laying down sounds less like a pounding headache right now and a little more like an invitation. Risali must be getting into her head. Whatever the reason, her hips shimmy, and she does a little side step, alcohol making her movements loose and somewhat exaggerated. SHE'LL WORK IT, LEIRITH. BUT SHE DON'T NEED NO MAN TO SHAKE HER ASS. "If you fall off the table I'm not saving you," she calls to Risali, before lifting the bottle to her lips again.

"I thought you were certain her many weyrmates would come collect her before the worst of it." His dry sarcasm colors his teasing. However, his low rumbled voice too-thick in drunken'd accent is not only hard to make it out in full, it also makes him sound all the more insidious, sinister no matter the intention of his statement. The edge of his grin flickers, those light eyes searching Nessalyn's for the passing seconds that he has a hold of her. He even leans into her to add, closer to her ear, "Aye, life isn't fair, but I can assure you, I do always get what I want." Then she's working on putting space between them, and Kaellian lets her go without struggle, his hand falling from her back. BUT DOES THE PIRATE SHIMMY? No… no, disappointingly, he does not. The beat that resounds in his mind is not only less startling with appropriate amounts of booze in his system, it has a similar effect to him to linger, to stay, to partake further in this. He takes a step to the side, and in the same motion, that bottle he's holding becomes quite a bit more empty. Further, the clear liquid is drained as its pressed to his lips, lowered with a delighted hiss of a breath as his free hand steadies himself on the back of a chair left askew towards the middle of the room. He's been working on his level of intoxication for while, mind! He'll argue he can hold his damn alcohol. And he is shameless in appreciating the dancing on display in the middle of this bar.

EYOOOOOO! Maybe it's Risali that needs to go get the squirt bottle, y'all! DAT TEMPERATURE THO. RISING TO 8 HUNDRED MILLION DEGREEEEEEEEEES. "Good," Risali tells Nessalyn about the whole not catching her. "It probably wouldn't end how you'd expect." Cryptic, and faraway, and whatever that means. But okay Risali. OKAY LEIRITH. And those grey eyes fix on Kaellian, on the lack of SHIMMY IN HIS MOVEMENT (and the very much intoxication of his movement). Risali is starting to get a little bit tipsy, but most of her antics are pure, proddy delinquency. CUE THE RESCUE (BUM BADA BUUUUM)! But it doesn't come in the form you might think. It's not K'vir who walks through the door, or even D'lei (which is probably a good thing, because Dash would just get on the table with her and THEN WHERE WOULD WE BE? UP TO OUR EYEBALLS IN HIP SHIMMIES) because D'lei has been Curiously Absent from all of his Weyrleading. No, it's probably the last person somebody wants to see when their dragon is about to go up: Ila'den. Pirate Boat Boy, meet Mistaken For A Pirate Often Because Of Dat Eyepatch. Yeah, Ila'den's disheveled from head to toe: unruly hair sticking out in gravity defiant angles (even wet), one grey eye that holds some kind of predatory intent when it falls on Nessalyn and lingers on Kaellian, and then the manner in which he speaks to his daughter. "Risali." MAYBE IT IS A THING WITH YOU RENEGADE TYPES, but Ila'den's voice is gravel-rough, raspy and husky and marred by the curl of an accent that only sometimes affects Risali's own words. Sometimes. But there is agitation in Ila'den, an unwillingness to get closer to his daughter, a tautness in every line of muscle and the set of his jaw that bespeaks a man ready for a fight. There's really nothing about Ila'den that might redeem him as somebody friendly. The only hint he's somebody is the fact that he's in riding leathers, but there's no knot to help with origins or to denote an occupation. And Risali stops, blinks grey eyes to her similarly colored father and… breaks out into a smile… and then a grimace. "You… shouldn't be here." And Ila'den's patience comes and goes on the pull of lips as his attention goes back to Kaellian. And back to Ness. "Get down, Risali. We're leaving." Give the goldrider a moment, maybe two, and then she's stumbling down onto a chair, then down onto the floor and pushing the rum back into Kaellian's chest. She's retrieving her coat, and scrunching her nose in a drunk-giddy-proddy smile and breathing out, "Keep dancing like that, and you're going to change the world." And there she goes, towards Ila'den who waits until she's past him to turn away, to look away from the other two with the same kind of regard a wolf might give to his prey. And there he goes, following far behind Risali as she is guided home. AND THEN ILA IS PROBS GETTING THE HELL OUTTA THERE, Y'ALL.

"That's not creepy at all." This sarcastic rejoinder is offered to Kaellian as Nessalyn does a little spin, stumbling a little as the room continues to spin without her permission. NOT A GOOD IDEA WHEN YOU'RE DRUNK. "And I can already recall a couple of instances where you haven't, so…" Lips part in an 'o' and her eyes widen mockingly as she holds one hand over her mouth, feigning shock at her own audacity. How dare she! She flashes a smirk in his direction and goes back to dancing, arms up in the air, bottle dangling loosely from her fingers as she forgets she has an audience and just enjoys herself. With a little more alcohol, she might even join Risali up on that table, but thankfully EVERYONE IS SPARED THAT MOMENT. Because here's an Ila'den! "Told you there'd be a rescue," she crows, overly proud for having called the obvious. "It's the one-eyed dad who impregnates other men!" The title gets better by the day. She wiggles her fingers in his direction, throwing in a ridiculous eyebrow wiggle for good measure. Why? Because alcohol, that's why. "I guess the weyrmates were busy." She doesn't seem the least bit put off by Ila'den, or his stare, or the fact that Risali is being carted out of the tavern whether she likes it or not. The goldrider's last comment leaves her slightly affronted, because, "I've got a lot of other, better ways to change the world." Like by taking another drink, before waving the bottle in farewell. "TAKE GOOD CARE OF HER, DADDY." Look, she's drunk, no one make that weirder than it already was.

"You've no idea, love." Kaellian murmurs at Nessalyn, holding his bottle up towards her in a toast-like motion. However, he doesn't drink after that toast. Doesn't bother yet. He's just barely gotten down the last drink he'd had. There's no minding of the use of his favored petnames. Not when he's multiple bottles down this evening, and not yet done. There is no change in the contents of a room without Kaellian noticing. Even intoxicated, even needing that chair to keep himself steady in the moment, when such things detail survival, there can't be a lapse. Thus, he doesn't miss the moment when another predator enters the space. Someone that surpasses the typical drunkards that deteriorate bar evenings into brawls and collateral damage. It doesn't really matter if he carries a knot or not. It doesn't change the fact that Kaellian's gaze hardens, his expression and his residual, cocksure grin darkening by muted degrees. "Aye… so y' did." His response to Nessalyn's confirmation. There's no loss of amusement, for everything about him glares authority where there isn't any, and callous disregard for anything that should tell him otherwise. He owns his space, and right now that's this tavern, and more accurately, this chair right here. While usually he is more than supportive of being given free information to do with as he may, that tidbit that Ness gives is more than he particularly thought he might obtain, and for a second or two, a raised-brow look is given to the tech crafter. It's a look at war between disbelief and surprise at her knowledge of this man. The glance is broken by the pressure of the rum bottle being placed back into his care, for which his left hand wrapped in that black cloth, takes it reflexively. And keeps it, possessively. What's his is his, afterall. Twice pilfered, once given. That makes this legit, and he can walk out with it without anyone saying otherwise. Because he will. However, it's brief that his stare leaves that rider. Curiosity colors him 'neath his shadows, as much as some sort of vague recognition does. Hazy (he's drunk, okay) memory of that conversation, but dots aren't quick enough to connect. Kaellian shifts his weight, straightening from his lean as best he can, and only glancing back to Ness when the pair are no longer visible before he starts away towards the door. Bottles in each hand, and maybe not the straightest of strides. Over his shoulder, his departing words, "My offer still stands if you want company tonight, Nessalyn." He doesn't wait for an answer, a bottle raised in some sort of farewell from behind, and then he's out the door and heading back towards water.

Once Risali has been removed and Ila'den is no longer around to stare at — because look, men with eyepatches are meant to be stared at — Nessalyn simply returns to dancing whether or not Leirith is still contributing to the situation. She's drunk, her body is in motion, and an object in motion is going to stay that way. With the tavern mostly empty (THANKS, RISALI!), who cares? Eventually, though, she'll come back to herself, probably about the time that Kaellian takes his leave and she realizes that her company is going to end up being that bartender. The one who hates her, and will probably try to make her pay for drinks. But he seems otherwise occupied for the moment, and so Nessalyn makes her way up to the counter, snagging as many of the bottles as she can carry. Some of them might not make it all the way back to her room, because it's a precarious thing and she's not exactly sober, but she's determined to get out of here with every last bottle that was pulled off the shelf and not claimed by Kaellian. He might've gotten a couple, BUT SHE'S TAKING THE REST. Look, she had to deal with proddy Risali twice already, she deserves ALL THE ALCOHOL. "I've got company, see?" Her new friends are cradled in her arms. "You'll have better luck when Leirith goes up." And with that parting shot, she's taking her contraband and following him out the door, pointedly headed in the opposition direction whether or not that direction leads her home.

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