The Loser's Gamble

Half Moon Bay Weyr - Rooftop Patio
This roof patio extends over the part of the living caverns that juts out into the bowl. A set of stairs has been carefully hewn from the rock, leading up to a flat expanse that is covered with normal dirt and topsoil. Trees and flowers grow in this section of the created gardens turn-round, all carefully trimmed and cultivated by the weyr staff. There are several benches scattered about, each secluded and private due to the surrounding foliage. A stone path winds through the expanse, leading to the other parts of the gardens.

Winners of flights get all the rewards, while the losers get to drop themselves frustratingly into chairs lined up along the rooftop patio. Well, this loser is anyway. Settling in, J'en pops the top off a green glassed bottle of some brew or another of which he seems to have many more available for when he's finished with that one stacked up close by, and lifts the opening at the top to his lips. His face, normally quite handsome, has been fairly recently knocked around. One eye black and blue around the socket, a decently healed split lip, and because his riding jacket it off - there seems to be some sort of wound wrapped in gauze on the upper portion of one arm. His tank-top, what he wears beneath the jacket hanging off the back of his chair, does nothing to hide it. Not that the bronzerider was going out of his way to do so. The chair across from him is being used to prop up his feet as he leans back, ankles crossed, grumbling something or another to no one as he frowns at the beautiful tropical scenery just there beyond the banister. Everyone was out celebrating, J'en not so much.

Whether or not Sindrieth participated in the flight is probably anyone's guess, the bronze isn't known for being particularly in the throng and is often the dark horse that joins late. Other's feel like celebrating, while R'en, he's always been the reclusive sort. The one that dislikes large groups of people, and will generally be lurking in the infirmary if he has some spare time. Since moving to Half Moon, he's spent the majority of his time organizing his move, getting things in order and meeting some of the people he's needed to - but not all of them. His pale blue eyes sweep over the occupants of the patio, and sees a rather beaten up Wingleader just over there. Yeah, you there. He weaves through the chairs and makes nice on the way, though once he gets to the table piled with brew he points at one and asks, "Mind company?" His voice is a pleasant tenor, edged with just enough of a hint of frustration to answer the first question - indeed, Sindrieth is off somewhere bemoaning the loss, while his rider attempts to take off some of the edge with liquor - J'en's or his own if he's denied. Either way, seems the table is getting another occupant as R'en invites himself to sit, even if he doesn't invite himself directly to the booze.

Golden eyes slide the way of approaching footsteps, bottle of brew poised for sippage, merely watching as the Weyrsecond makes his way over and stops. Dark lashes lower, gaze drifting to the pile that certainly was far too much for one man to drink in one sitting (hopefully) and shrugs one of his two tattooed shoulders. "…'elp yerself." Jae's accent was thickly Istan despite the turns away from home, a gruff and deep tenor just shy of being baritone. Chin jerked at the booze, he goes back to glaring unfriendly-like at the prettiness of Half Moon Bay, tipping his own drink back finally to deeply partake. Leketh? Probably sulking somewhere off by himself, considering his bestest buddy in the whole world was getting himself some. Or had. Whatever. He won, the lucky guy! There was no lovely golden body with which he could coil neck and tail to sail off into that sea of oblivion. J'en's eyes suddenly close and he shudders, drawing in a breath past his parted lips, wet back into place with a tongue that lingers at the thin loop of metal present at the bottom left corner. "Leketh….I swear to fuckin'…" he breathes, soon exhaling in a self-comforting way. He was having a hard enough time coming down from the loss after all that work up, without his lifemate making it worse.

Sinking down into the chair, R'en drags one of the bottles along with him and follows it all with a long drawn out sigh. "Thanks, man." He says, and his own voice is some muddled mixture by now, Istan roots with traces of other places between though he recently came from Monaco and those that are aware of him coming here are also aware of that. His own eyes are ocean blue, glancing off towards where the other man is looking before returning his attention to the table and the man sitting across from him. He, on the other hand, is clean cut and unbruised, unbeaten. Not the heftiest of bronzeriders, but not a scrawny one either, swimmer lean and strong enough to take care of himself one would suspect. "Didn't see any of the leavers that suited your mood?" He inquires, a lift of a corner of his mouth that suggests that booze was a secondary option - of which he also came looking for.

As long as the Weyrsecond's eyes aren't grey, R'en and J'en would get along, just fine. "No problem." Back to drinking he goes, neatly polishing off his first attempt to befuddle himself with alcohol, and takes another bottle from the stack. Top popped, it's back to drinking in earnest. For the most part he seems keen on staring down the horizon, presumably comfortable in sitting in silence with the older bronzerider while he thinking whatever thoughts might be traipsing around inside his banged up head. Having never really had a real full conversion with R'en, he might not be able to pick up on the subtle suggestion of Istan ties still present in the man's voice. However, at some point his eyes do find the corners closest to R'en, helped along with a very slight turn of his head as he takes the time to take in his tablemate's features. Appraisingly, and in that lingering way that suggests all things are being measured and weighed, decisions being made. J'en himself? Young, fit, muscular, but with a build that was much like the older bronzerider's in its leaness. Lashes lower once more at the question posed to him, chin lifting by only a few degrees. "Maybe," he replies, still watching R'en closely, gaze slipping downwards to the other man's mouth. "But would depend on who's gunna end up comin' out on top."

Nope, his eyes aren't grey, R'en's are much more vibrant in hue and matching the ocean on a clear and summer day. He lifts the bottle to his lips which twitch just faintly when that maybe is given, though he simply shifts on the chair and finds a comfortable way to sit so that he can both get a decent glimpse over J'en's features as much as he can of the surrounding view around as well. He sets the bottle back on the table, half drained, and there's the assessment of, "You're at a disadvantage, because I'm not one to be on the bottom without a struggle and you.." He says, pausing and looking at the assortment of injuries, "Don't look like you'd be able to put up as much of a fight as you might usually." He says, and never mind the fact that the bronzerider is quite skilled in human anatomy and likely could take advantage of some of his knowledge to poke, twist, and otherwise strain a person to get them to give him what he wants. However, the coy smirk that crosses his lips is all that's given and he draws in a long breath and lets it back out slowly afterwards. "Probably not you, though." Perhaps them's fighting words, but so far he seems pleasant about it all around.

J'en snorts softly, turning away and returning his eyes to the horizon. They were probably supposed to be brown, but were colored much more closely to the hue of honey catching rays of warm summer sunlight. Bottle is lifted, tipped back against his mouth, and helps himself to another long pull of the contents. It's all swallowed down quickly enough, sent to where it can eventually do the most damage. "Who said I wanted to be on top?" he asks after a time, tapping the side of one finger against the neck bottle whose base was seemingly glued to the palm of his hand. There might be faster ways to get drunk, but perhaps Jae liked drawing it all out to its inevitable conclusion. Now a grin accompanies a very soft chuckle, glancing sideways at R'en, and regardless of his injuries this shift in expression does wonders for an already attractive face. "I wouldn't be so sure of that." It then that he drops his heavily booted feet to the worn weathered deck and pushes himself up to his full height, yanking his jacket off the back of his chair, before thunking footsteps are taking him around the table so that he can lean all the way down over his superior. A hand is used to tilt up the Weyrsecond's chin, with the application of the tips of two long fingers beneath, so that he can ultimately press his lips down against his. Without proper invitation too! Rude. So was that tongue! Oh and his teeth, as he ends the rather passionate exchange by capturing the older man's bottom lip between them firmly, drawing back until the flesh snaps back into place. "I like it rough," he growls soft and low, "The rougher the better." With that, the younger of the two bronzerider pulls away, turning and descending the stairs that lead off down along the beach. He pauses, tossing a heated look over his shoulder. "Ya comin'?"

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