Time's Not a Healer (aka, Rou'x comes back)

Western Weyr - Tiki Lounge
The room seems far bigger inside than outside, even when full of relaxing weyrfolk and travelers. Towards the front, in the western corner, is a small stage, providing the intoxicated or just plain brave a chance to display their talents. Several tables with chairs decorate the floor and a small area is open for dancing. The bar is rather long and well stocked, glasses of different shapes and sizes hanging suspended from a rack above the bar. Behind the bar is another open window that gives one a view of the forest behind the tavern. Turning around, one is greeted by a lovely view of the lagoon. A decent breeze helps to cool the room. Up above, rafters provide a perch for fire lizards and local avians. The thatch roof, made of straw, rarely lets in any rain.

Early evening sees a sunset across the Western waters, painting all sorts of pretty colours across the sky. It's an idyllic sort of scene with the water reflecting the scene above, lapping at the Weyr's pale shores while a gentle breeze rustles the leaves on the trees. Perfect, really - until a huge brown comes in for a landing on the beach, whipping the sand into frenzied eddies that blast those sat on the Tiki Lounge's patio. Those in the know will recognise Indianath - how could they not, given his size and his rider's, shall we say, notoriety? And speaking of, Rou'x slips from her lifemate's back, brown as a berry and dressed in a very scruffy-looking outfit of battered, once-khaki (now filthy) shorts, a simlarly-hued shirt that's half-unbuttoned to show a once-white vest underneath, and a pair of boots that are scuffed and have clearly seen better days. Naturally, there's a fedora atop her head, with two long brown braided pigtails hanging down over her shoulders. The brownrider stomps her way up the steps as if she hasn't been practically missing for months, plonks herself gracelessly down in an empty chair, and kicks her feet up onto the table as she clicks her fingers and hollers to get the attention of a server. Drinks are clearly required!

Ir'e really should have chosen another day to hang out in the Tiki lounge after a long sweep. But fruit juice is always refreshing, no matter the time or place, and since he's not really supposed to be drinking anything that packs any sort of punch, well he's sitting back enjoying his juice. Or at least he was until Yiskatiresiath, who was lurking outside instantly makes him aware of an all too familiar brown returning to the weyr. A feral draconic snarl sounds from outside and the bluerider pushes his half-empty glass away from himself before he stands and finds himself looming over Rou. The flat of his hand comes down hard upon her table before words are gritted between clenched teeth. "You.. dare… come back here after what you've done?"

Naris isn't a fan of the tiki lounge. Well, she isn't a fan of cleaning it anyway. But even she, a high strung workaholic as she is, could use some time to relax every now and then. This is one of those rare times. She sits at the bar, nursing a fruity drink in her hands while thinking about her day. There is no alcohol in it of course, she has never been a drinker. Every now and then she takes a sip, savoring the flavor and the feeling of it sliding down her throat. A small smile crosses her face. Yes, relaxation can be nice every now and then. When a brownrider enters and sits down at a nearby table she casts a glance her way but doesn't say anything, not very interested. However, this changes when Ir'e comes over and asks her how she /dare/ come back after what she's done. /Now/ she's interested. Silently Naris turns to look at them, observing without a word.

The hand coming down on the table doesn't phase Rou'x in the slightest. She nudges the dipped front of her fedora up to be able to look at Ir'e, giving him a pouty, challenging sort of smile. "Well /hey/, doll. Ain't nothin' quite like a warm welcome home now, is there?" The once-heavy 'Reachian accent has toned down a little, edged out by a hint ofa warm Southern lilt. Rou'x pats her lap without kicking her feet down from their inappropriate resting spot, gesturing to Ir'e with a tilt of her head. "Y'wanna come sit down here'n remind me what I've done t'get you so het up there, hot stuff?" Suddenly the feet come down, and she leans forward, elbows on knees looking right up at the bluerider with a suggestive waggle of her dark brows - "Or d'you wanna head on up t'my weyr n' knock the dust off've my cot with me?" Does she seem bothered that there's an audience to their interaction? Not at all - her honeyed gaze is fixed right on her clutchmate.

Naris is lucky that Ir'e's attention is completely consumed by the appearance of the brownrider or he'd continue to be mopey at her. But Rou > Naris in the grand scheme of things. Or perhaps it's just his hatred towards the brownrider is that much greater. "Give me my children, you bitch." He hisses, the fingers pressed to the table twitch as if it takes every ounce of control not to wrap them around her neck and squeeze. "If you intend to come back to Western, you sure as hell better be bringing them with you. Or.. so help me, I'll toss your pathetic ass from this weyr with or without Zi'on's approval." He jerks back then, barely sparing Naris a gaze before he takes a few steps away. "You have a sevenday. That's all I'll give you." Perhaps Rhabel is rubbing off on the bluerider because while he would normally stay and probably rip the poor lounge apart, he manages to force himself outside and to his dragon's side before they head back to their weyr. There will probably be a few extra holes in those stone walls by morning.

Yes, this is very interesting. It appears that Ir'e is mad at this woman. No, he is not just mad at her, he is /enraged/. He says something to her about giving him his children, threatens to throw her out of the weyr, and gives her a sevenday to do something. With that he storms off, not so much as saying a word to her. Every part of her is screaming to stay out of this, to leave this woman alone, not to get involved. But her curiosity is too much, too strong. This woman has enraged Ir'e in a way that even she hasn't managed and this intrigues her. So Naris gets to her feet, slowly walking toward her until she is only a few feet away. This is when recognition strikes. The girl narrows her eyes and exclaims, "I know you! You're that woman that got drunk and got someone /killed/." She is silent for a moment as she gazes at her before asking, "what are you doing here?"

If Rou'x's at all bothered by Ir'e's threat, or his stomping off, she doesn't show it. If anything, she watches after him with a little moue of amusement, before turning to see where the heck her drink order's got to. Surely it must be coming? When she turns to look for it and sees teenaged Naris standing there instead, her brow creases in disappointment before she laughs bitterly in response to the younger girl's question. "Ain't a girl allowed home, kiddo? An' you ain't nowhere near old enough t'know what happened, so don't you go bringin' up shit you can't have nothin' of a clue about." A scarred finger wags at her, before Rou'x sinks back into her chair and kicks her feet up onto the table again. "Whatcha gotta do for a drink around here now? Never took this long to get an order b'fore."

Her eyes narrow as the woman speaks, annoyance oozing from every fiber of her being. So this lady, this lady whos mistakes have cost someone their life, claims that she couldn't understand what happened because of her /age/ of all things? A deep scowl finds its place on her face at this as she glares her down. Before she can say anything Rou'x asks why it's taking her so long to get a drink, causing her to snort and bitterly comment, "I don't know, maybe because they know the weyr would safter without you near alcohol?" She doesn't give her time to say anything as she adds, "and no, you /aren't/ allowed home any more. This isn't your home anymore, not after doing what you did then running off like that! If I were you I would get out of here before Ir'e makes good on his threat."

Rou'x isn't sure whether to look amused or annoyed with Naris. So she sits with her fingers laced and hands resting on her stomach, looking at the teen with one eyebrow quirked up thoughtfully. There's silence for a good while, the brownrider's typically warm gaze turning gradually more stony as her eyes narrow slightly and her lips set into a line. When she finally speaks, it's in measured tones that are clearly being held back for the benefit of all, though there's a seething mass of emotion just a scratch below the surface of each heavily accented word; those casual Southern overtones just don't stand a chance against her native tongue when she's fired up. "First, you ain't no-one to be tellin' me what I can n' can't drink. Second, I told you you ain't got no fuckin' clue what went on, n' it ain't none of your damned business. /Third/," her fingers clench even tighter together, the soft lines of her leaner, though still plump figure hardening as she visibly tenses from behatted head to scruffy-booted feet, "who the /fuck/ d'you think you are to tell me I ain't even welcome in my own damned home? 'Cos unless you went'n usurped Enka n' became Weyrwoman wi'out me knowin', you ain't /shit/ on my /shoe/ t'tell me where I am n' ain't welcome, nor t'go stickin' that pretty lil' nose of yours in what's business between me n' my clutchmate. Y'got that?"

Rou'x is pushing her buttons, but Naris refuses to let it show. Instead she sinks into the chair across from her, a mostly blank look on her face as she listens to her rant. She doesn't blink or look away, just stares at her with unfeeling eyes. Once she has been quiet for a moment Naris asks, "are you quite done?" Without giving her a chance to respond she adds, "first off, I think I am someone to be telling you what you can and can't drink. I live in this weyr and it seems when you get drunk it effects everyone, which would eventually include me. Besides, we don't need a raging alcoholic down here. Second, I do have 'a freaking clue' what's going on. In fact, I'm pretty sure everyone does by now. You got pregnant, gave the resulting twins to your family, ended your relationship, got drunk and got someone in your wing, /the wing you were the leader of/, killed, were stripped of your rank, and ran off. With what he said just now I'm assuming that Ir'e was the father of the twins. Sorry, pretty sure it's everbodies business now. Third, I don't have to be Enka to know that you aren't welcome. I've heard the whispers, how people talk about you, how plenty of people are /glad/ that you're gone. It's not just me saying it, this isn't your home, not any more." She kept a calm face the whole time, talking as if simply stating facts.

The best response the increasingly irate Rou'x can give to Naris is a disgusted-sounding snort - at least while she holds herself back from what's likely her true reaction. As to what that might be, the flexing of her fingers, and the white-knuckle clench she's holding them in across her lap, is a good giveaway - though if Naris is sitting down, that particular detail is likely hidden by the walked-smooth soles on the rider's workboots. Luckily, a distraction arrives in the shape of a drink; a short on the rocks, by the look of it. Rou'x knocks it back while watching Naris, hands the empty glass over to the waiter and orders another. "/You/ are not a rider. /You/ are not a member of Archipelago, /nor/ are you someone I debriefed on the incident. That gives you /fuck all/ authority t'be talkin' to me about it, cos - n' I'm repeatin' this f' the last time b'fore I get up n' ram m'damn words down your shit-speakin' little throat - you ain't got no fuckin' /clue/ what happened between me n' my wingmates." She exhales with bullish heaviness and a flaring of her nostrils, before shetugs the brim of her fedora low over her eyes. "The only reason you ain't got my first crushin' that nose've yours yet is cos you tryin' t' talk smack's got me hot, n' I ain't gonna go whackin' the shit outta some kid on my first night back."

It's never a good sign when your usually cheerful (and incredibly stupid) weyrmate comes home in an absolute /rage/. The bluerider's response to his meeting with Rou'x had been to ruin a couple of their weyr's walls, and despite Rhabel's best attempt at calming Ir'e's fury, he'd been met with an impenetrable wall of anger. There was no getting through, not even to get a partial story, and Rhabel was forced to string together pieces of nonsensical shouting that landed him here, in the Tiki Lounge. He's just come through the doors, green eyes sweeping over every occupant, until two of his (least) favorite people come into sight. Shuffle, shuffle, pause. For a moment, Rhabel doesn't say a word, completely ignoring the fact that Naris exists in favor of fixing those… emotionless eyes on Rou'x. "Not even back for a day and you mess everything up," the teenager says, though he sounds… bored, as is his usual fashion. "What did you do this time?"

Rou'x's words do not scare her, not in the least. They don't make her respect her any more, don't want to make her obey her. For a little while she is silent, just gazing at the brownrider. Then a sound begins to leave her chest, faint at first but growing in strength by the second. Naris is laughing, actuallty /laughing/ at the rider. With a shake of her head she exclaims, "you don't get it, do you!? I have a clue, shards, everyone does! /Everyone/ knows! There is no privacy, no your business and my business. Everyone knows and everyone is judging you for it." Fort now she doesn't say anything about the drink that was just brought to the rider, deciding that she is probably making her mad enough for now. A annoyingly familiar voice sounds behind her all of a sudden, announcing Rhabel's arrival. With a sigh she comments in a almost bored sounding voice, "it seems like she's trying to just waltz in here like nothing ever happened."

Oh, look who's come out to play. Rou'x turns her honey-coloured eyes to Rhabel, a slow, crooked smile curving one corner of her mouth up and out of the sullen, tight line that was all for Naris. "I had a feelin' you'd come out t'say hi." Her thick 'Reachian accent has been softened by Southern tones, though it's no less rough. She winks, raising her hand to her lips to blow a kiss at the violinist. "Didja come down to take me up on what I offered that weyrmate've yours? 'Cos I'll swap you for him t' dust off my cot any day, perky." Rou'x clicks her tongue in her cheek, beckoning Rhabel closer with the curl of a work-roughened finger. The laugh from Naris is met with narrowed eyes, all the warmth (and there /was/ warmth there for Rhabel, even if it was a… strange sort) disappearing in one stony gaze. In a matter of seconds her feet plant solidly on the ground and she's standing up, hands slamming down onto the table in front of her as she leands across it to get up close to the teenager, all the better to snarl at her. "The Weyrsecond don't share no confidential information, n' he's the one who knows the full fuckin' story of it. I told you," one hand leaves the table, balling into a fist that's waved menacingly under Naris' nose along with her hissed words, "you fuckin' shut up talkin' shit about what you don't know /nothin'/ about, or I ain't got no qualms about /forcin'/ you silent."

Oh, Rou'x. Always with the lewdness! There's not a change in Rhabel's expression as she croons, and clicks, and beckons him closer. In fact, if anything, he looks even less interested in what's going on /now/ than he did when he arrived on the scene. "I already told you, Rou'x. I'm not interested in sloppy seconds." And then Naris is laughing, and Rhabel is turning his attention onto her, and he's opening his mouth to say /something/ scathing when the brownrider is suddenly invading Naris' personal space. The teenager moves without putting too much thought in it, catching Rou'x's raised fist 'round the wrist and jerking her backwards with force. He might not be /Ir'e/, but Rhabel is by no means a small guy. "I don't really have any invested interest in your wellbeing, but I'd like to know what you've done to screw up Ir'e this time before you get tossed back out." No, he doesn't know the /full/ story, but Rou'x can count herself lucky. There's actually some /emotion/ behind those words, crumbling that impenetrable mask of nothingness. For once, Rhabel looks… angry.

Naris' eyes widen as the violence commenses and without a word she gets up and sprints away, making a mental note to thank Rhabel later.

The fingers closing around her wrist seem to bring Rou'x back to her senses; she at least doesn't resist them, save for a tensing of muscle beneath the grasp. When Naris makes the probably wise decision to get up and make a run for it, the brownrider draws a long, deep breath, huffing it out through flared nostrils with her lips drawn into a pout as she shakes her hand to try and free it from Rhabel's grasp. As she straightens up her shoulders remain defensively squared, the hand that wasn't used to threaten Naris planted firmly on her hip. "I din't do /shit/ other'n come home, sit down n' order a damned /drink/, Rhabel." For all her stance is still tensed, she does seem to be more relaxed around him, than she was with the unknown entity that was Naris.

When Rou'x attempts to free herself from Rhabel's grip, the teenager lets her go without incident. He doesn't, however, back away, and he doesn't grant the brownrider her space. In fact, when he'd grabbed her by the wrist, he'd stepped in alarmingly close, and he remains just there, a mere breath away from intimacy. "And what happened after you ordered your drink, Rou'x?" Rhab's voice comes out husky with anger, sensual in its own right if you consider that the bookworm hardly ever emotes a flicker of feeling. It's evident that he doesn't believe her, though her lacking response does seem to give him enough sense to rebuild that crumbling wall of boredom slowly, slowly, piece by piece. He moves away, green eyes dropping to the table moments before he settles himself into a seat and then shifts his body so he can stare in wait. "Well?" Nothingness. Back to that perfect void of emotion.

Being close to Rhabel doesn't bother Rou'x; they've been closer than they are now, after all. She stares up at him with part-narrowed eyes, bottom lip pushed out in the slightest of pouts. "I asked him the same thing I went'n asked you, Rhab, what I just /toldja/ I offered him - t'come on up t'my weyr n' knock the dust off've my cot. An' then? Ask him. He were the one tossin' the threats about." She huffs out a whisky-tainted breath, the spirit a delicate hint in the air between them. "I've come home, Rhabel. I ain't come f' trouble, I ain't come f' nothin' other'n to be /home/, cos I'm sick've Southern 'n spending days diggin' up Ancients' shit." Another huffed breath, this time accompanied by the sinking of her shoulders. "An' I ain't never told him he cain't go visit 'em. They're there for their own good as well as f' his - how's you two meant to've looked after two little babies, plus helpin' wi' Kee's tot on /top/ of everythin' else?"

Rhabel is silent for the duration of Rou'x's explanation, and when she's finished, he breathes out a simple, "Idiot." It seems he's heard all that he wants to hear, because the teenager is getting to his feet, and moving to step around her. "You're pathetic," he offers her, monotone, "if you think that he would entertain the thought of touching you again." Rhab pauses just before he hits the door, long enough so that he can take in the sight of a brownrider who, for once, isn't spitting fire and throwing fists. In fact, she looks… defeated, if the teenager could give the sink of her shoulders a name. "If you cared about Ir'eand spare me the bullshit about it being for both of usyou would have kept those children here. You did what was best for you, and only you, and Ir'e suffered because of it. Stay away from him, Rou'x. You're a disease, and Ir'e doesn't need you."

"Fuck, Rhabel, you're thick as pigshit if you think I woulda thought he'd actually /go/ for it anymore'n I thought /you/ would. Much as I'd like your man t' feel for me like he usedta, I ain't gonna lose no sleep over not gettin' t'share his bed. He weren't nothin' more'n a friend I were crushing on." Those shoulders square up as Rou'x puffs out her chest and draws herself to her full height - still a few inches shorter than Rhabel, which the top of her hat almost makes up for. "You want them kids back? Tell him t'go n' get'em. Indy'll give Yiska a reference if he ain't got one already, 'cosI ain't gonna stop him - but I'm tellin' ya that's where's best for 'em." The disease insult rolls away like water off a duck's back; Rou'x doesn't even bristle. "Matter o'fact, Indianath's relayin' it t' Yiska /right now/. The jump reference, what we're talkin' about, all've it. You want a lift up there t'go join Ir'e on a kid-fetchin' jaunt, just you ask, but don't you go sayin' no shit about me not carin' for Ir'e. If I din't, I wouldn't've gone between's soon as I found out - yet I carried 'em through n' gave him /two/ kids've his own, despite me not wantin' it. So don't you say I don't care about him."

Rhabel just watches her, simply /watches/, without even a hint as to what may be going through his head. Rou'x talks, Rhabel listens, and when she's done, the teenager says absolutely /nothing/. No, there's not a bit of remorse, or anger, or exasperation, or even amusement. He's simply blank, as if he doesn't recognize the woman at all. And then? After a long pause, after giving Rou'x /nothing/, he's turning away from the woman and pushing open the door. No. It would seem he's dismissing her attempts to defend herself altogether, as if he simply doesn't have the time or the energy to waste on correcting, or arguing, or trying to understand. Just like that, he's gone. Vamoosh! Back to his raging weyrmate, back to broken walls and making sure the nanny has what she'll need for Idrea overnight. She's started shrieking when Ir'e started having his fit, of course, and Rhabel is a good daddy!

Rou'x watches him go, not taking her eyes off him even when her second drink's delivered. She takes the tumbler, drinks the whisky as quickly as she did the first shot, and hands the glass straight back to the waiter. "Ain't no fuckin' use tryin' - mebbe I were better off in Southern." The brownrider glances sideways at the look the man gives her before he takes her empty glass away; she then rubs the back of her hand over her mouth, glowers at the occupants of the next table over who've been treating the whole spectacle as entertainment, then stomps her way down to the beach and across to Indianath, who takes off and wings his way over the Weyr - most likely to their long-vacant home.

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