Space Invasion! (Leeta is Searched!)

Month 11 of Turn 2716
Half Moon Bay Weyr - Tiki Lounge
As one walks onto the wood panelled flooring of the patio, they are greeted with the scent of burning oil, the likely source the various torches burning along the perimeter of the flooring. The flooring is littered with tables shaded with umbrellas, matching chairs tucked beneath when not in use.

The inside of the Tiki Lounge 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, generally occupied by harpers. 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.

It's her first time at the Tiki Lounge, Leeta trying not to hang around the Weyr much, except for when she needs to or really really wants to. This time, the cautious woman is being a little more adventurous, drinking closer to the Weyr. Her short-haired (it's growing, though!) person is tucked into a seat by one of the umbrella-shaded tables…the one as far at the rear of this particular section as possible…her lurid green eyes looking out over all in this lovely climate. Occasionally, she glance behind her in curious, mellow fashion, though the lion's share of her regard is given to her tall, froo-froo berry daquari drink (heavy on the booze), and the magnificent sunset just starting to take place. Mmm.

Is it though, Leeta? Is it? Are you suuuuuuure you weren't here before, peeking over a healer's shoulder at a book on anatomy that nearly ended in a duel with a greenrider? As it just so happens, the other half of that potentially-hypothetical shall-not-speak-of-it duel is, at this very moment, coming up the stairs. There's a haggard, somewhat disheveled look about R'sner; hair a bit messier than typical, clothes a bit looser and more rumpled; shoes lost along the way and pants rolled up to the knee. Like maybe he just rolled out of bed, or threw yesterday's clothes back on. Unclear. What IS clear is that he needs a drink, and until he's got one in hand, he's got a single-focus toward the bar. And then, once something of amber hue over ice is acquired, those blue eyes of his skate around the joint and land on Leeta. Ooh, but that is not a welcoming look in the least; all narrow-gaze and tight jawed. He's close enough to eyeball her drink as well, and though there's a snort of derision, it's unclear whether it's for the /drink/ or the /woman/.

She didn't become an exceptional guard for no reason. One of those reasons is 'Leeta' more often than not gets that hair raising feeling on the back of her neck when she's being observed, even when being talked about out of her sight or hearing range. With R'sner's unkind focus settling on to her, the woman fidgits in her seat a moment, then starts surreptitiously looking around from under the cover of heavy, white-blonde eyelashes. When their eyes meet, there's a flash of small, inner 'lightning' down the ex-guard's spine that makes her sit up straighter…and *smirk* slightly at the dragonrider, lifting her glass to him a bit…and then setting it back down again. Nope, not gonna drink to *him*.

"That's a bold choice, given how close you are to my Weyr." His Weyr. As if R'sner has some sort of claim on the whole place, and not just his leeeeettle corner of the training field. Unclear, too, is whether or not he's referring to her fruity drink, or her lack of propriety. Either way, he's totally invading her space. Or at least snagging a chair and dropping down into it well within conversation distance. Friendly? Not so much. Eyeballing her like she might spring a knife on him? Ehh… not quite. But there's certainly long and lingering looks for the Blue Fire Hold Securities person, and not all of them are pleasant. "Why're you here, Leeta? Come to see the eggs?" Come to drink the booze? "Or perhaps you're helping to investigate the whole glittering-sands debacle?"

"I didn't know you or anyone laid claim to 'owning' the Weyr…" Leeta murmurs almost lazily back to R'sner as he approaches her, settles down across from her at 'her' table. "Wouldn't you say that's rather…audacious?" Arrogant even, her low alto seems to intone. Sip. His eyeballing of her brings a faint smile to unpainted lips, a glitter of unvoiced, cool laughter to tsavorite eyes, and finally an alto, "Wanna pat me down, 'rider?" Smirk. As for his questioning of her, there's a small lift of her chin, and a quiet though firm, "Are you formally investigating me for some obscure…or maybe personal reason?" Sip. "I don't have to tell you anything." Shrug, sip.

R'sner lifts his glass to take a sip, the chink of ice all that is heard from where he sits until he's swallowed. "At least I wear a knot that shows I belong here," said most unapologetically. "S'more than you can say." A snort, and a roll of his eyes for the laughter, the comment bringing a low, "Don't tempt me," from behind another sip of that amber-hued liquid. A slide of blue eyes toward the beach, lingering for a moment before he frowns and peers back at his potentially unwelcome companion. Nevermind that HE sat at HER table. "Investigating? Nope. Though apparently, I'm hunting." Don't have to tell him anything? "Interesting choice of words. Who says you even know anything worth telling about, hm? Sounds like a guilty conscious to me." And yet, oh, so relaxed in that chair; wearily draped within it as though he hadn't the faintest desire to move anytime soon.

"Sounds like you base yer' worth off of the place you live at. Trying ta' prove something to yourself?" Leeta smoothly ripostes to R'sner's first words, the blonde then outright laughing — a bit nastily — to his words of being tempted. As for hunts and guilty consciences: "I've yet to meet any person over the age of about 7 that doesn't have at least one reason to possess one uv' those." Her response is almost rapid-fire, the woman's delivery hard-accented and glib. SHe's not disguising the fact she's not a local. Sip. Those incisive eyes scrape along R'sner from head to toe..s, her regard not an easy one to bear, as it seems to be silently weighing, infering… judging. Finally, "You look like shit, compared to the last time we met face ta' face." Grin. "Got a vtol in your bonnet?"

"Nope. Simply stating that I've more right to be here than you do," but there's very little venom in that tone, and certainly no defensiveness. R'sner's gaze turns to the beach, briefly ignoring the woman at his (her?) table in favor of the sunset. Or maybe the dragon lounging in the sand, soaking up the last rays before night descends. He lifts his glass, lets the rim rest on his lips briefly as he shoots a sideways glance at her reply to guilty conscious, and then takes a slow sip. The scrape of eyes; the weight of judgement. It does not ruffle feathers so much as hang heavily on his shoulders. He's weary, and it's apparent in posture and expression; inclined to pick and argue if just to interact with another human rather than sit alone. "Toith is going to rise soon," comes the answer to her question, a shrug delivered. As if that sums up his appearance. Maybe it does? A slide of blue eyes to the pale-haired woman once again. "How do you feel about dragons, Leeta?"

"That can be just a little sunjective… but I'll allow it," Leeta notes almost blandly to R'sner's first observation, the woman slowly swirling her thick and slushy drink in its decorative glass. Sip. Her own eyes don't deviate from the man, continuing to measure and weight him in many different ways…their pupils flaring a little when the rider admits to his dragon — his green, must be — being close to rising. "Ah. I see…" is soon noted in neutral tones, the palest blonde casting her eyes out to take in the green dragon, if she can. Glowy? Pretty? Angry? Flirty? She's curious. With that inquiry from the man comes her return of focus on him, and finally a low, simple, "Taught to revere them, learned ta' basically like them, though I've not been really close to many until recently." Is that a little twinkle in those often icy green eyes. "Why?"

Point proven, R'sner is now mute on the rights of himself and/or Leeta to being at the Tiki. If he feels that continued gaze, he at least doesn't bristle at it. There's no real discernable change in temperament, except a soft snort and somewhat sardonic half-smile that juuuuust peeks at the corner of his mouth when she confirms her understanding of his dragon's 'situation'. And the beast in question? Curled up on the sand, a somewhat angular and boxy hunk of very, /very/ vibrant green dragon. Stocky rather than pretty. Rough, rather than flirty. More likely to pound a male's nose into the dirt than flirt with any of them. Her head is angled in their direction, jewel-toned eyes almost glowing as they catch the light, whirling green-blue-purple in turns. A twitch of her tail as she's watched, and R'sner offers, "Just don't call her pretty, or she'll change her mind," he warns. Change her mind about what? An eyeroll comes next, and with a heavier sigh (as if he is totally and completely loath to continue). "Because," and he turns to regard her completely once again, "she seems to think you'd make a good candidate for Ilyscaeth and Xermiltoth's clutch, and if you say yes to Search, you might just be spending a lot of time around them." And then he will ask point blank, in case it wasn't obvious. "Will you Stand as Candidate?"

Leeta observes R'sner more, notes his reactions to her own, to her words. And finally, she's looking out at Toith once again, this time casting a mixed smile-smirk at the green…at her lifemate's words about her. "I wouldn't dream uv' it. She's *strong*…not a female to be messed with." Sip, pause. "I like that." It sounds very honest, coming from someone like her. The rest of the man's words are taken more in a passive, silently boggled fashion that doesn't show on Leeta's face. Her eyes *do* show such, but they're instantly hidden by a heavy hooding of her gaze beneath those long and nearly-white eyelashes. Poker face. More drinking is had — somewhat deeper and faster than she was consuming her daquari before — and when the former guard finally answers, it might not be what R'sner was looking for. "I'm still not done with Blue Flame's special security measures. Gonna take me another set uv' sevendays." Sip, swallow. Swallow again. "Toith an' you mind waiting until I'm done? Gotta ask the Holder, too." Sip. "My job's too important ta just piss it off."

Toith approves of these words, and voices as much with a deep and distinctly gruff sort of crooning. Certainly nothing that would be called 'feminine' comes from that throat of hers. R'sner just smirks a little, the expression clearly for his dragon as that is where his gaze has rested. But there is no need to confirm or deny Leeta's observation, and so he just remains silent. The offer is from Toith; the weyrlingmaster seems disinclined to engage the Blue Fire woman much further. But as her answer comes, so does his attention; swinging back to her with startling swiftness. A second of thought, in which his eyes take on the glazed look of dragonriders communing with their beasts, and then he decides, "That is fine. The offer expires when the eggs do, though it would behoove you to be here much sooner than that. A sevenday is not unreasonable; sort out your situation and report to the Headwoman when you are ready. Oh," and he eyes her briefly, head to toe (or at least whatever he can see depending on what furniture might obstruct the view, "No weapons in the barracks."

With Toith's reaction to her comes something perhaps 'interesting' from Leeta: a slow rise to her sandal clad feet, and a small bow towards the green from the waist. Once she's seated again, the woman returns her answer to R'sner in glib fashion: "Gotcha. I'll do my work quickly as I can, but well. I don't leave behind shoddy shit." Pause, smirk. "After all, when I don't Impress, I gotta have a job ta go back to." Wink. "A job I *like*." Weapons? Psh. "They'll stay locked up, like they do most of the time, anyway."

"See that they do," says R'sner. And that is all that he has to say it seems, tipping up his glass to drain the last of the alcohol within. With a heavier sort of sigh, he pushes himself to his feet and heads for the stairs, leaving Leeta to her daiquiri without even the courtesy of a 'good-bye'.

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