Chatting and Chair Repair

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.

Fortunately for a certain handyman-turned-candidate, he's been allowed to mostly do what he always does around the Weyr: fix stuff. Lyubomir is presently working on a handful of chairs that have encountered some rough times at the tavern. Nothing too serious from the looks of things; nothing that a bit of hammering or new nails won't fix. And while a pair of firelizards - one blue, one green - loiter on a convenient table nearby, their presence seems to be purposeful: they're guarding a very smooth rock that's been painted with the word 'pet'. Also, there are pebbles nearby. These are all marked with the letter 'p'. It's the time of late afternoon shading into evening that isn't particularly busy yet - but it will be and fairly soon, at that.

And one may be coming in early, for the door opens and a dark auburn-haired head pops in…just the head, a rather gaunt and pale-looking head with smokey eyes deepset in the pallid face. "Oh!" comes the quiet exclamation in a feminine voice. "I'm sorry…I guess I'm too early…Grandpa never told me the hours…"

The steady sounds of hammering slow when the door opens; it stops after a moment more and Lyubomir leans back from his seated position on the floor. He looks under the table his firelizards are on to catch a glimpse of the latest arrival. "Nah, it's not too early. Place is always open, as far as I can tell," he calls back. Native Xanaduan, this one; the accent betrays him almost immediately. "The bartender's in the back, I think, but he should be out shortly."

The gaunt form of a young woman slips in, her long hair cascading in ringlets to her narrow waist. Her own accent betrays her as one from one of the surrounding Holds, not the Weyr itself. She is clad in a black halter top and a sky-blue sarong with an abstract gold-silver-magentia swirl design on it, both of which hang a little loosely on her skinny frame. A squarish case hangs around her right shoulder, looks like it's a case for some sort of instrument. "I hope I'm not bothering you," comes the soft voice. "I'm well…I guess you could say I'm new here. Sort of."

Satisfied with the chair - after a good tugging on the leg to make sure it doesn't wobble or shift - Lyu sets the piece to rights and pushes to his feet. What follows is a joint-cracking stretch, arms overhead and all, before he reaches for the second of three chairs that he's to repair. "Ah, no, you're not bothering me anything. This kind of thing doesn't take much to do," he replies with a roll of shoulders. "What brings you to the Weyr?"

Natira hesitates. "I'm coming here to stay here this time. Grandpa was a rider here and he brought me often enough, but now he's gone and it pleases me best to stay where he lived. I have grown dissatisfied with life at Goldstone Hold and Grandpa always told me that the Weyr has a place for anybody."

"Ah." Lyu tilts the chair and finds the source of the creaking and squeaking fairly quickly. He settles on the floor again and ducks under it to start working on the poorly affixed seat. "Well, the Weyr's always happy to have new people, even if the circumstances aren't- ah, ideal. My condolences for your loss." The hammering is muted, a few experimental taps here and there. The blue firelizard yawns and settles a wing over the pet rock and its brood. "What do they have you doing here?"

Natira sighs softly in relief. "Right now I'm recovering…I've been rather ill and I didn't wait to recover before I left Goldstone. Impulsive on my part. But I hope to get work as a harpist. I play and do a little composing. Mayhap I can find someone here who can help me continue my studies, but so far I haven't found anyone. The healers let me out for the afternoon so I haven't had a chance to do much exploring and meeting people yet." She brings herself up short. "Where are my manners? I'm Natira." She'd offer a hand, if her partner in conversation was in position to take it.

"Sounds like you've had a rough go of things." Lyu leans to a side, peering around the leg of the chair and up at her. His expression is a thing of relative neutrality; he is not one who wears his emotions particularly brazenly. "You'll find folks soon enough, I'm sure. When you're clear to go to the Crafter's Complex, that's where you're most likely to find them." Under the chair again, soft tap tap tap sounds following for a few seconds before introductions are in order. He leans his head out again. "Lyubomir. Or just Lyu, if that's easier. Patch and Kludge are on the table there." Blue and green alike lift their heads to look at Natira. The green chirps. "Well met, Natira."

Natira drops slightly in the motion of a courtsey that almost gets her off balance thanks to the black hardshell case. "A pleasure to meet you, Lyubomir. Or Lyu, as you prefer, Mother always said." She staightens back up again. "I'll remember and I'll find it. That was one place Grandpa never took me. He liked to take me here and meet up with his old friends. You might have seen him around though…he always got around and always seemed to know everyone at least by sight. His name was Ky'gur, rider to brown Soriath."

An awkward, but well-meaning, salute is offered from the handy-doot's position. "Ky'gur and Soriath? Yeah, I know the names." Lyu sucks his teeth in thought, his brow furrowing a bit in the process. "I'm sure I must have repaired a few things for him in the past. What wing was he in?" His problem-solving brain is hard at work now, the chair temporarily abandoned. "Depending on the wing, my brother might have flown with him." And it might help narrow down any pesky memories, if he can dredge anything useful up.

Natira narrows her dark eyebrows, trying to dig up a name herself. "He always said he rode in the Grayhaired Wing…most of his friends were retired and I think he just flew where he was needed, if a wing was understrength or a dragon or rider was out for some reason. I don't know where he was when he was regularly stationed. He did do some work with the Weyrlings since he was an older, reliable rider, if something of an unconventional personality."

A thoughtful sound escapes him. "Well, Y'eirn was a weyrling some- seventeen turns ago? He might remember your grandda." Lyu ducks back under the chair and rapidly taps a few more nails in place before reaching up to test the fit of the seat. "He rides blue Zmeith, if that means anything." It might; it might not. A little more tapping; a little more testing. "I'll ask around if you like, see if I can find a few other folk who remember him."

Natira nods. "Would you please? And I'm afraid I've never met Y'eirn or Zmeith but Grandpa would have known them and probably done some work with them." She moves to a comfortable squatting position on the floor, balancing on the balls of her feet. "He certainly was unforgettable…he could make just about anything into a joke and he loved to laugh and make everyone around him laugh." In such contrast to the polite, shy girl he grandfathered. "And there were always his favorite jests that he told everybody around him. True or not I don't know."

A final tweak of the seat confirms that all's well and Lyu slides out from under the chair, just in time to catch Natira crouching. "Here, this one's good." He sits up and slides the chair over for her. The last chair just appears to be a bit wobbly; another fairly easy fix. "Sure. It's the least I can do for a newcomer to our fair Weyr," he replies with a firm nod. "And, like I said, Y'eirn might know more. He tended to gravitate to a lot of the older riders for lessons and friendship and that kind of thing. Especially riders who could crack a joke or two." Not so with Lyu, apparently; he's a stoic, steadfast sort. "I hope you find what you're looking for here."

Natira is grateful to take a chair and moves gracefully to do so, graceful despite her gaunt form. "Then he probably knew Grandpa very well, and no doubt heard Grandpa's story of how he almost became the first brownrider to be Weyrleader. I'm sure he was joking…I've seen mating flights and browns can't outfly bronzes but the way he told it he almost pulled it off once, when he was a much much younger rider. He never could get through the tale with a straight face."

There's a hum at that. "It's rare, that's true. And I don't think it ever happens for senior flights." Just a helpful aside, that, as Lyu corrects the wobble in the last chair. This takes almost no time at all; a replaced nail and a few solid blows lands the chair into 'repaired' status. "That sounds like quite the tale, though. That'd be something to imagine, eh? A brown Weyrleader?" A faint smile cracks his face, only to fade out again when he catches sight of his firelizards. They're looking entirely too comfortable in a very inconvenient location. "I should probably pack this lot off to the barracks before this place gets busy. It was nice meeting you, Natira. Hope you get settled quickly and that Weyrlife's agreeable to you."

Natira inclines her head. "A pleasure to meet you too, Lyu," she says softly. "And I hope you Impress at the Hatching. Congratulations…I should have said it before." She bites her lower lip for a moment and smiles shyly. "I'll probably be there to watch. I went to many Hatchings with Grandpa…I hope I can get there in time to get his favorite spot. He knew just where to sit for the best view. But the best of luck to you that day!"

There's a brief chuckle for that, little more than a dull rumble of a sound before Lyubomir tips her a salute. "Thank you. I appreciate it." A faint, half-smile is offered and he tips his head to her, then gathers up the whole mess of firelizards and pet rocks to sort them into the appropriate pockets of his toolbelt. "We'll see how it all shakes out, eh? Clear skies, Natira." A final salute and he's soon gone, slipping out before the patrons of the evening filter in.

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