Half Moon Bay Weyr - Tiki Lounge

As one walks onto the wood paneled 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.

Post flight, post flight romp probably, J'en can be found back to that drinking thing that seems to dull all the aches and pains. Aches and pains that the bronzerider seems to know all to well as he sits on a stool at the bar counter with his black eye, split lip, and some sort of injury along the upper part of one arm above his elbow. It's wrapped entirely in gauze, but a six inch long line of red was seeping into the otherwise pristine white material. Whatever it was, he'd at least sought medical treatment, though there wasn't much anyone could do about his face, that would have to heal on its own. To the point of kicking back shots of some amber colored liquid or another, he alternates with a bit of salt before he jams a wedge of lime between his teeth so he can suck on it. Not even wincing at this point, so he may have been here for quite some time.

Smelling like smoke and sea water and having shed her dirty tunic in favor of the once-nice flannel pajamas still underneath (not far behind in grime, but), one of the lounge's frequent fliers has a glass of brandy waiting for her by the time she reaches the bar. "Thanks." Cita smiles warmly at the barman, and drifts down the bar a bit, searching for the quietest of spots to wind down — well, until she spots the battered J'en. Brows crease, healer-and-friend instincts kick in, and the tired healer shuffles over to the rider with a worried frown. "J'en. You look like shit." No sense beating around the bush. Settling with a grimace into a stool next to him, Cita takes a sip of her drink and sighs, holding the glass between both hands and leaning an elbow on the bar to slouch. "You alright?"

So caught up in flights, their aftermath, and then the accident at Blue Fire Hold as soon as he could wrap his mind around it all, J'en was drinking. Drinking many drinks. Drinks that he keeps tapping a single digit against the counter top to be replenished as soon as they disappear. He's paying no attention at all to anyone that comes in, because company or a friendly face was certainly not what the bronzerider had come here after. No, he wanted to be blitzed drunk as quickly as possible, but unfortunately his tolerance for the stuff had increased over the turns and this was rapidly becoming mission impossible. Oh, he'd get there at some point, surely. Just not as fast as he would have liked. It's Citayzleat who shows up next to him though, seemingly out of the blue, and golden eyes drift her direction. Although it appears to take him a second or two before recognition finally flickers across his battered and bruised features. "I'm aware." he says with a very soft growled tone, salt licked from the back of his hand before he's kicking back another shot; lime to follow. This done, he tosses the poor citrus to the counter to be swept away by the bartender before he pours the bronzerider another. "Not particularly, ya?"

Cita's content to wait in silence — eyes distant, shoulders a little hunched, the healer focuses on a brightly-painted bovine skull on the wall opposite. Her drinking isn't hell-bent on not remembering (although it might help), but instead settling nerves for sleep, stilling the minute tremor in her hands and the tension in her shoulders. J'en speaks, and the healer lowers her glass, squinting over at the wingleader without expression for a long moment. "Not particularly." She admits, rolling shoulders in a shrug and going back to staring at the flower-decorated skull. She's not angry, not even particularly upset, but concern does creep in as she side-eyes her former compatriot. "I could get some numbweed for you, Jae. It works a lot quicker than liquor." Cita sighs; she likely knows it's a fool's errand, but it's not in her nature to not try. "You'll outpace uncle Bvertol, soon." Grim, chagrined smile; chin jerked towards a perma-patron of the bar, in the corner drooling on the fist propping his head up.

J'en can probably feel the healer's long appraising look, which gives her a fine view of the black and blueness surrounding his eye, just having shifted that way in color without any traces of yellow. This was a relatively new development, within the last couple of days. He does look at her again though when she answers him, a brow on his unaffected side lifting slightly. "Yeah? Yer weyrmate come at ya with a knife too?" he quips, coming across as far more biting than he intended, soon replaced with a wince of true regret and a few softly muttered curses. "Sorry, Cita. Ain't none of that yer fault. The…'old. Yeah. The…thing…" The explosion and the many dead people? Yeah, J'en that might be what is going on with your friend. Step up! Be a man! The bronzerider might get a pass though this time with all the growl and the snark, maybe, and it might explain why he's sitting in here drowning himself in fermented cactus juice. "It's fine, gunna need a bandage change though. Leakin'." A glance is spared the dressing, and then uncle Bvertol when he's indicated. Snorting, "I wish, got a 'igher tolerance than I thought. Musta been all that drinkin' with Cenrie." Or he was drinking it all so fast none of it had caught up to him yet.

Cita's seen her fair share of fight injuries; she knows what to watch for, and would likely rather poke and prod to make sure there aren't any major problems hidden beneath the bruises, but…well. Maybe a bar's not the best place to corner somebody, and she does have to trust the work of her fellow healers, who were likely the ones to apply all those bandages. Then the rider speaks, harsh, and Cita opens her mouth immediately, expression darkening — words queue up, ready to snap and escalate and slash in a way that actual knives cant — and then. They stop. She sighs, and shakes her head, nodding towards the glass. "You're not always easy to get along with when you're not drinking, Jae." She reminds him, so gently, maybe a little fondly if not for the grit of anger still wanting to snap free. She's not always easy to get along with, either. A beat, and she frowns. "That's not an excuse to stab you, though." Hackles are up, for sure, but one to go off half-cocked and exact revenge Citayzleat is not. Instead, she's quiet a moment, rolling the still-unfinished brandy in the glass and tapping a finger on the bar. "Who did that." She asks, blunt; either unknowing of the weyrmate's identity or wanting confirmation, one. Then twitches, a little, taking another sip of her drink. "The explosion." Yeah, that thing. The journeyman slumps, a little, eyes cutting around the lounge for something to focus on. Thankfully, blessedly, he provides another distraction, and Cita hums. "I'll get you some before I head to bed. Get some poultice to stop the bleeding, too, shells." And she's tutting, anger forgotten, expression worried as she leans forward to eye the bandages a little.

Perhaps J'en was drunker than he thought, because he should have known better than to have snapped at Citayzleat in the first place, but when alcohol and high emotions mix they can have a reaction very close to the one that had taken so many lives over at Blue Fire Hold. Fortunately for the bronzerider, the healer was sometimes as forgiving as she was merciless. He sees the shift of expression upon the woman's face, probably bracing for it if that tightening in his shoulders is any indication, but when she stops and sighs it all eases its way back out again. Speaking of transformations, her gentle if-restrained words bring the fullest of smiles to Jae's face, lips drawn away from teeth to expose them along with a soft laugh, "I'm aware," he says, the beauty revealed fading all too quickly as he sighs, "I ain't much for people, they tend to disappoint." A pause given to throw back a shot sans condiments, "Ya? I like." Was there usually equally given apologies for others like the one he'd just given the sometimes frighteningly angry healer? Nope, not usually. "I can assure ya, I dun't do nothin' to earn mahself the scar I'm gunna 'ave once this shit is 'ealed up." The arm with the bandage is held up for emphasis before he taps with a fingertip for a refill. Sure, he'd tossed back a few quickly, but he was slowing down now that he had company. "Taeski, Ila'den's nephew." he replies without even a pause, "Fuckin' 'reformed' renegade mah ass." There might have been finger quotes in all that, but he doesn't bother with them. At least he's quiet about it and the series of very colorful metaphors that follow and dare not be repeated, fingers wrapped around the shot of liquor tightening but not lifting it from the bar counter just yet. "Ya dun got to tell meh I told ya so, I'm…I'm painfully aware." Mistakes were made, and not only had he paid in full for them, but he would quite literally carry the scar for the rest of his life. At mention of the explosion, that's when the booze makes its trip down his esophagus, "Indeed." The empty glass is returned to the counter, and replaced with a fresh and fuller one. "I appreciate that." Her willingness to clean him up and make him all presentable. Okay, maybe not, but she could at least make sure he doesn't get an infection. "V'nyk fixed it up, but it aches a bit." He remains still so she can get a good eyeful, but it was difficult to tell what's what when he's all mummified in that location. At least there was no odor, and the discharge was on the darker side of pink rather than bright red.

Cita's rage is something to behold — but exhaustion and compassion are also hers, tonight, and yes, forgiveness too. Rare might it be that she doesn't rise to the bait, the healer does sometimes know when to let things be, and that smile gets a matching one from Cita. Huffing vaguely exasperated amusement, Cita hums under her breath, shaking her head slowly. "I'm pretty fond of you, too, Jae." Her eyes go back to the wall, expression distant for a long moment as she contemplates words, rolling the half-empty glass in her hands. Mulling the rarity of the apology over, drifting back over the night, contemplating what rack to string the injure-er up on; the healer's expression is difficult to read. "Don't imagine it'd be easy to deserve a wound like that." She finally decides on, voice a little garbled around the growl that comes through. Anger it is! Just not directed at the bronzerider this time, or not completely. Expression flinty, she listens — and her expression tightens, a little, something like fear or possibly just more rage flashing for a brief moment before disappearing. "Renegade." The healer repeats, a quaver in her voice suggesting confusion or fear, one. "Taeski…" It takes a moment, and her expression clears, alarm pretty evident where the quaver was moments ago. "Faranth's egghole, Jae!" It looks for a minute like the healer might snatch the rider up (probably just to drag him to the infirmary and keep him there, where she can see him, where he definitely can't go gallivanting with a renegade), but no, need for control and certainty aside…bad plan. Instead, she breathes through her nose, closes her eyes and swallows, taking another sip of her brandy. "I won't say it." She won't even really think it, too distracted by alarm and worry. "Is he in the Weyr still?" First things first, she asks, setting the glass down and rolling her shoulders, gently indicating that he set his arm on the bar as she eases off the stool and behind the bar, waving the barman off and emerging with a first aide kit. "I can do a little here, to start. Uncle's too far gone to care." Cita smiles, wry, opening the kit with familiarity and setting up a row of tiny jars before she sets to examining the cut carefully. She's quiet for a while, careful not to poke or prod too hard anywhere, expression still drawn and concerned. Eventually, though, she unscrews two of the jars, waving them vaguely. "Numbweed, poultice." It's a question, kind of. "I can't give you anything for sleep, with all that alcohol." Apologetic, Cita frowns.

"Fuck if I know why," J'en laughs again as the healer reveals her fondness for him, lips and mood made much looser and lighter thanks to the alcohol starting to kick in at last, making his head swim a bit but in that pleasant way that tingles everything. Though, he clicks his tongue off the roof of his mouth, chuckling with bouncing shoulders but the tone was a darker one and more ironic fashion, "I was told to keep a secret, so I did. Taeski found out about it, asked me if I knew…all I did was nod, and this is what I got to show for it." Not that this explains a whole lot, but it was something at least. Jae decidedly doesn't drink from that fresh glass he was holding, mulling over things perhaps. He heaves a sigh, letting Citayzleat fume and plot secret demises for his ex-weyrmate, undoubtedly expecting the reaction the name and the designation get, tongue fiddling with the thin metal pierced through the left corner of his bottom lip. Brows lift some at her exclamation, but that's about all the reaction he has in him, lashes lowering some. He might not have any idea that the healer was planning to whisk him away and lock him up where he couldn't associate with renegades, but the fact that she was appauled was evidently clear. "No clue," he says, rather dismissively even as his jaw tightens vaguely with unconcealed anger. Not for Cita, no. Definately, for the renegade in question. "All I know is that 'e attacked me…cut me, then took off. Dunno how the fuck 'e got past Leketh, but…'e ain't welcome anywhere near us again. Ever." Apparently, there were no second chances with the bronzerider, not that anyone would fault him for not giving any. Well, that he knows of. "Got patched up, flight, explosions…now drinking." Taeski might have been a renegade, but he had been someone J'en had cared about, or thought he did or…it was all a mess. So, drinking. Lots of it. He sets his arm on the counter as bidden, the gauze sticking a little to the six inch long and once fairly deep cut beneath. The stitches were neat and even, the wound approximated if a bit red around the edges. It didn't seem swollen, and the heat coming off it is minimal at best. "Dun worry about the numbweed. The alcohol ain't for the arm, the arm'll 'eal." His heart, might not. Shrugging off the idea of medication for sleep, he salutes the healer with a drink and then down it goes into his gullet. Sleep would find him eventually, but probably on the ground somewhere. "Lesson learned, Cita. Dun believe it when someone tells ya they're not a renegade anymore, or that they want a chance to be normal. They're always a fuckin' renegade." Nevermind the semi-gloss to golden eyes, nope, it's all the woman's imagination. J'en turns his head away and quickly swipes at his face, putting a stop to that right quick. He inhales sharply, jaw setting with determination as lashes fall and he exhales slowly. He might be angry, unlikely ever to forgive the betrayal he's experienced, but that doesn't mean he wasn't also mourning a loss.

Cita's lips quirk briefly — a smile sharp as glass, maybe a little brittle around the edges. "You're lucky I do." The healer huffs; and that's the Faranth-ly truth, it is. Taking a slightly larger sip of her brandy, nearly finishing it off, she sighs through her nose and watching the shrug warily for signs of excess hurt or stiffness. Not that it'd be too easy to tell, with somebody getting on towards a buzz, but. She can try. The explanation doesn't explain a whole lot, but it's enough to get Cita's dander up — more than it already was, at least. Shoulders bowing a little, the journeyman looks away, taking a few slow breaths and nodding. "That's a reason to stab somebody. Shells." She scoffs, clearing her throat with a loud cough and tapping a foot, staring hard at the skull across the bar. It doesn't seem to have any answers, but within a few breaths the fuming's cleared some. Several responses get visibly bitten off; Cita opens her mouth, closes it, opens, closes. Eventually, she rolls her shoulders, dispelling some of the tension. "I'm sorry he got away." That, at least, is true: healer or no, Citayzleat is a vengeful creature, and her little flock of ducklings is off limits. Eventually, the healer turns to more-or-less face the rider, flashing a wry grin and shaking her head. "Well, I can't say I blame you for the drinking, Jae. Sharding long day." She jokes, weakly, giving the cut a long look before taking a step back. She'll accept his direction — but re-wrap the cut with new gauze from the kit, if he sits still for long enough. Letting a hand linger near the elbow, Cita pointedly doesn't look in the general direction of those shiny eyes. The secret's safe with her, because she Doesn't See Them. Cita is a good bro. Sometimes. "Hard lesson to learn. He betrayed you." The 'I'm sorry' is also left unsaid, because Feeling Words are also not exactly her specialty, but they hang pretty obviously in the air as she gives his elbow a squeeze and steps away, clearing the healer supplies back into the kit correctly.

What could the bronzerider do other than nod in agreement with Citayzleat? He was quite fortunate to be counted amongst those that the healer deemed suited to hover around the outer ring of her tolerance. He's seen what happened to those who stepped over her boundaries and how effortlessly she'd cut them down without even having to lift a single finger. J'en also had the inert ability to keep others at a distance, but his way was much more direct; raw and unrefined (he just swore a lot and was generally unpleasant to be around). Golden eyes flick to her drink as she guzzles down the majority of it, saying nothing, for he had little room to argue when it came down to drinking too much, too quickly. The offended arm didn't appear to have any signs of stiffness or excessive pain, but then again J'en well on his way to more than half in the bag, and that tattoo of his there was now a little crooked along the seam. He removes his gaze as she quells her ever rising ire in reaction to how he'd gotten injured, tapping the counter twice and getting himself another shot of his therapy of choice, "More of a slice than a stab," he quips, for a moment finding the whole thing ridiculously funny for some reason. "Maybe I should count mah blessin's that knife din't end stuck outta mah gut." Or his skull, or any other various locations which would have had left Leketh screeching helplessly for aide that wouldn't have come before he'd bled out. Leaning back in the bar stool, a wickedly dark smile spreads humorously across his face, "If 'e's smart, 'e'll return to 'is renegade buddies. Maybe they'll give 'im a reward or somethin' for job well done, hmm?" Ooh. Okay, then. A snort finishes the statement up, returning to staring down the untouched shot, as if daring it to come at him all on its own. "I'm hopin' 'e's stupid and sticks around." No better way to get his ass caught after all. The bronzerider remains quiet and still after this as Citayzleat attends the most aggravated of his pre-break up injuries from his former weyrmate, little more than sullen in his effort to remain stoic rather than give in to warring emotion. A single nod is given in return for her unspoken condolences, "Yep." A very hard lesson. "That 'e did…that 'e did." He just…can't right now, closing his eyes and trying to steady his own breathing, as the healer cleans up. "Thank ya, Cita." is breathed shortly after his elbow is squeezed. As for what he is grateful for isn't implied. It could be any number of things from her mere presence, her counsel, her shared rage for what was done to him, her friendship, or merely her willingness to tend to a wound that he likely felt was entirely of his own creation. Lowering his forehead to the bar counter, arms hanging limply downwards on either side of his leather clad thighs, muttering, "Think I'm gunna throw up."

Cita would probably be flattered — as it is, the healer still looks ruffled, motions a little aggressive as she puts the supplies back in the kit and carefully rolls it back up. No sense leaving it in a mess; she'll be back for it again, undoubtedly. Much like that brandy, which is finished off with a little sigh that's probably pleased, then set down near the sink as she sidles back around the bar to replace the kit. "Thanks." The healer smiles at the barman, and, glancing sidelong at Jae and possibly calculating the possibility of him harking whatever he might have eaten up, she adds a little extra to the sum pulled out of her marks-pouch. "Arguing semantics?" Jerking her chin upwards, Cita grins, a flash of exasperated amusement. Snickering a muffled laugh under her breath, she shakes her head, schooling her features into a probably pretty-bad approximation of sternness. "Which one of us is the healer, here?" Lips twitch a little, but the thought of a gut-shot or worse? That takes a little of the wind out of the journeyman's sails, and she twitches, a little compulsively trying to pat ash and — hopefully mud — off of her pajamas. It doesn't work. Cita doesn't really appear to notice. "Don't go poking in whernests for trouble. Suppose that cut's not bad, comparatively." It's true. That doesn't mean that that settles the unease in her gut; the lack of control, well. All of her former compatriots that Impressed are more likely to be too far away for her to help at some point. Dragons. Dangerous. And that's before you bring in unexpected knife-wounds! As for renegades, the healer shrugs mournfully, briefly resuming her staring contest with the long-dead skull. "I wouldn't know what they do. And if he was smart, he wouldn't be knifing dragonriders." Sharp, quick — a flash of the anger she's keeping well-in-check, but quickly shoved back down the hatch. The thanks doesn't quite catch Cita off-guard, but she turns to face Jae again all the same, nodding once. "Any time." Sincerity, which doesn't fade as he lowers his head to the counter. The healer makes a sympathetic face, just briefly, tutting like a mother hen and gripping a shoulder should it not be moved away. "You'll be fine." Sympathy, thy name is Citayzleat? "Come on, Jae. Up you get. You'll feel better if you lay down, hmm? My room is made up still, and I've a remedy for tomorrow's headache and pains in my bedside table. If you can ignore Huygrit and Nancen in the next room, it's plenty comfortable." And if he lets her, she'll lead him there and set the remedies up on the nightstand — she'll eventually make it to the baths to wash the smoke and grime out of her hair and calm the still-present nerves, and then probably back around for a nightcap, but this, first.

Had J'en eaten though? The probability was low, but surely something else other than the vast amounts of alcohol he was and had probably already consumed before this, had somehow made it into his stomach. Was he aware that she had just paid for his temporary solution to his current problems? Also debatable, since he was stubbornly staring down a shot glass. Semantics? Jae's chin lifts, smirking at the woman with a twin lift of shoulders, "Eh." Maybe he was, and maybe he wasn't. She'd be getting no help from him! Laughter finds him again, softer and more restrained, but tinged with amusement nonetheless. Squinting suspiciously, "Which one of us was there?" Ah! Touche! He even goes so far as to Vanna White gesture at the rewrapped injury, brows lifting. All of it drops away none too long after, and the squatting glass eyed with some intent of making it one with him. "Ya mean 'e coulda killed meh?" he asks, slowly sliding his gaze back towards the healer, "I wouldn't have been 'is first." Pointedly, he spares Citayzleat the horrific details shared with him on a day where Taeski could have told him that he was going to do all of the things that he and his brother Vauril used to do to people, for sport, to him…and he probably would have let him. A snort and he too attempts to commune with the empty sockets of once living creatures, "Jus' lucky Jemahnye was stayin' with mah grandmother in Fort for a couple days." His tiny four-turn-old daughter had become quite attached to Taeski and adored him endlessly, he was not looking forward to breaking the news that her most beloved of companions was no longer going to be a part of their lives. Soon enough, a "Pfft." for her assumption that everything would be fine, but without complaint he lets her get him up with some effort and take him away with her with a minimal amount of staggering, leaning his much larger frame against her own before dropping a kiss to the top of her head. "Weyrmate meh Cita! Ya'd never slice meh open and leave meh to bleed on the floor." Oh yes she would, silly bronzerider who flirts with death.

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