Four Men and a Wherry Foot

Fort Weyr - Gemstone Tavern
The dim lighting by the flicker of candles lining the walls is enough to offer a view of a room decorated in such a way as to be tastefully appealing. Each piece of furniture and decoration is chosen to accent another piece, and so on and so forth, matching and tying the whole room together in a theme that's separate, and yet at the same time unified. Tables line one wall, dimly lit by candles hanging in sconces all along. The bar along the far right wall is made of richly toned mahogany, tooled by a master and polished to shine with the soft glow of wood at its finest.
Candles strategically placed add to the atmosphere, accenting, punctuating. Towards the back is an open fireplace, constantly burning with a bright light, warming the tavern on cold nights and serving as a gathering place for patrons' story-tellings. Across the room, lush pillows and soft-covered floors promote relaxation at ease. Just before the pillows is a long stage, so full of its own vigor and memory - nicks here, marks there, scuffs from footware and other things - that it's possible to imagine the shows put on for the patrons without necessarily seeing the performances.

It's not often Zi'on brings the troops with him to Fort. There's not often a need for more than one representative of Western to show up bringing paperwork for Fort's leaders. But today there was some extra trade deals to discuss, and also the possibility of transferring some of Western's riders to the colder weyr. Business time was over now, though! Now it was time for drinking! So down to the tavern they go. Or fly, more than likely, as it's a hike and outside of the bowl and all. Zi'on claims a table someplace and flags down a waitress. The bustiest one he can find. "A pitcher of brew and four glasses! Also four shots of whiskey, and keep them coming!" He announces to her, then slips her a whole mark for doing nothing than walking over to their table. "We'll have one toast to our ladies, the rest will be for us. Should order some food, too."

S'rorn isn't too far behind his Weyrleader, making sure his own marks are still in his pocket before finding a seat at the claimed table. He slowly removes his riders gloves before tucking them into his jacket pocket, then working at the buckles as he glances around the room. The place looks somewhat familiar, at least the smell does, to the brownrider. The jacket is tossed on the back of his chair and he settles down, leaning back and taking a deep breath now that he's free of said paperwork. Every last bit has been filed, tucked away, and strapped down on his lifemate's gear for safe keeping. Can't be having Western drunkards throwing up all over it before he's had a chance to balance the books. Wouldn't be good for business. "Sounds like a plan."

Ah but what better way to unwind after some length and likely somewhat dull paperwork, trade discussions and transfer discussions too but to indulge in some drink and on the outskirts of the Weyr's protective walls to boot. Th'ero has likely chosen to walk, half by choice and half because Velokraeth is too busy entertaining his visiting brethren and thus leaves the Weyrleader to find his own way down to the tavern. It's probably for the best they leave the inner parts of the Weyr anyhow. Given the recent events, the subtle undercurrents of tension and something amiss are enough to drive one nuts. Which probably explains Th'ero's still reserved nature even as he's about to enjoy some down time and drinks. Entering not long after the trio of Westerners, he's unbuckling his jacket and tossing it over the back of another vacant seat before settling himself down heavily. He's left his knot behind, likely a signal he's "off duty" as it were but most of the folk here know him by sight (but know to leave him well enough alone). "Plan to go all out tonight, do you?" he drawls to Zi'on, with a look that shifts to include the rest of the group. He smirks, but chuckles dryly. "Food here isn't the greatest, but it'll fill you. If you had warned me, I'd have suggested Shenanigan's."

Ila'den follows Zi'on and Co through the doors to the Tavern, pulling his leathers tighter around him as a table is found and, furthermore, occupied. The bronzerider settles into a seat himself, watching the display of Western's Weyrleader ordering drinks from the one waitress it'd probably be a better idea to just leave alone. "I bet you she gets our order wrong," Ila informs both Westerners and Fortian as he removes his own gloves, setting them on the table before him and leaning back in his chair. It would seem he's the only one disinclined to remove his riding jacket, preferring the extra layer of clothing that it provides. "If we're drinking to the women, you're going to have to give me something stronger to toast Iris with. Her sharding pregnancy is going to drive me absolutely /mad/."

Zi'on might certainly be throwing up on Rorn's paperwork later, especially given the choice of drinks he's gone and ordered. The brownrider doesn't have to worry about his marks though. It's not likely Zi'on will be letting anyone else pay. The Western weyrleader doesn't press Th'ero about what's going on. He can do that later when they're drunk. He doesn't want to spoil things, and Th'ero may not be willing to tell him in front of the other Western leaders. Zi'on is stuck with his own knot on, though he ditches his riding gear. "Eh. Soon we'll be too drunk to care about the food." Zi'on shoots Ila'den a droll look. "What's wrong with Iris and her pregnancy? You'll find it hard to complain to me though. I'm -celibate- for shardin' sake." The waitress manages to bring them what Zi'on asked and he pours then picks up his shot. "To ladies and babies. Here's hoping we get some sons. And that you other two manage to knock up your weyrmates soon enough." He laughs a bit then downs his shot, chasing it with the beer. "You ought to be happy now Rorn, your weyrmate is back home with you."

"Has it really been that bad, Ila'den?" S'rorn asks as he runs his fingertips across the lines of the table top. He's never really put any thought into having children, despite having enough nieces and nephews to match the current weyrling class. The brownrider glances across the room to the people mingling around and taking a silent inventory of what the local's tend to have a large quantity of, ware-wise. If it's in demand, it's likely the caravan could make some marks should it travel this way… Rorn holds up his own glass in cheers before throwing back that shot. As soon as he takes up the beer and attempts to drink from it, he pauses, peering over at his own weyrleader through narrowed hazel eyes. "That she is, and not likely to have to worry about children any time soon. I'm not pressuring or rushing her one bit, not after she just walked the tables not too long ago."

"She's usually pretty capable. That one anyways." Or so Th'ero seems confident on his reply to Ila'den. Could be he's stretching the truth a bit, but if the girl does get the order wrong… He gives the Western Weyrsecond a long look before speaking in a tone that is slightly, just slightly sympathetic. "That bad, hmm?" he asks, while similarily leaning back in his seat. With his jacket discarded, the Fortian Weyrleader is dressed in a deep burgundy tunic and the usual black pants and knee high boots. Everything about him, right down to his hair is the same, save for the tired look set to his features. If Zi'on gets Th'ero drunk enough, all /three/ of them will suffer his tales and not the curt, short and cryptic versions he usually doles out. He gives the Western Weyrleader a quizzical glance, "And the reason you're wanting to drink to oblivion is…?" Ahh, maybe that's why. He snorts, chuckling again, "Poor you. Pardon if I don't have much sympathy for your plight." As the drinks arrive, he leans forwards just long enough to grab his shot and some beer before settling back again. The shot is raised in toast and then knocked back, but he smirks so broad it's almost a grimace. "Not for lack of trying. Not that we are." S'rorn is given a pointed look then and Th'ero looks rather understanding of the brownrider's situation. "No sense rushing it if one isn't feeling ready and you're both young, no? Plenty of time."

The look Ila'den gives Zi'on speaks levels, and then there's a sigh as the drinks are delivered. He's pleasantly surprised by the waitress' ability to get the order right, but that matters little. There are questions being asked, and Ila leans forward to pour his own shot while answering Zi. "Well, cheers to your being celibate, then. Getting woken up every hour on the hour because your weyrmate has to throw up isn't exactly a magnificent trade, though. Here's to sons!" He downs his own shot with a wince, and before he's even set his glass back down on the table, he's squinting an eye at S'rorn, and then Th'ero. "No worse than the last pregnancy, except that now we have Risali to scream her head off in the equation. Oh, and Kiltara, who's discovered that she's getting the body of a woman and has taken to treating the lagoon with a display of her goodies." Ila'den emphasises this by making breasts with his hands, emitting a sigh, and then dropping his arms to the table. This calls for that beer-chaser, and Ila pulls his glass forward for a sip, and a moment to digest the rest of the conversation. "Aye, don't rush it, Rorn. She'll be the one pressuring you before too long anyway." And then, off-handedly to Th'ero, "I'm sorry for the punishment I gave Kimmila, by the way. I trust you two figured out a way around it?"

"I'll have two soon enough. That should hold me over for a few years while Kiena grows up the rest of the way." Zi'on chuckles a bit. "Of course I'll have to somehow trick her into having my kids I think. I think kids frighten her. She looked terrified the one time I had her hold Ezio. I think Ila'den is looking to keep up with me. Iris might be busy." He grins, then takes a long swig of his beer. He eyes Th'ero when the other weyrleader asks him why he's looking to get plastered. "I know you like to block out certain things about your sister, but I'm not having sex Th'ero. None. And it's been months and months now. If Suldith doesn't catches a green soon I'm gonna go insane." He wrinkles his nose at Th'ero's lack of sympathy. "Bah. So S'rorn and his weyrmate are young yet. What's your excuse then, Th'ero?" He laughs, then blinks to Ila'den. "She's throwing up this late in the game?" The bronzer rubs his chin. "How old is Kiltara, again?" Too young for Zi'on. "I saw Kiena out at the lagoon the other day. I swear that girl likes to torture me. Though I guess I got the last laugh when she fell off her dragon and onto her rump." Zi'on leans back in his chair a bit, waving at the waitress to bring them their next round. Which is promptly consumed without any ceremony this time.

"She just got so far, I don't want her to feel like she's going to have to give it all up if we start a family so soon. We've got plenty of time and she just went through a second candidacy. She needs some /her/ time." Rorn needs some /her/ time, too, but since she comes home to him at the end of the night, that's slowly fixing itself. He takes another sip from his mug and reclines, tilting his head from side to side to relieve the tension in his neck from staring down at their earlier work. Before he takes another sip, he slowly shakes his head at Zi'on, offering a crooked smile to the poor, deprieved weyrleader. "From what I hear about this round of Weyrlingmasters, you might not even have a chance with her until graduation anyway. Are they still living outside in the field? I haven't done a fly-by recently." Sounds like the poor bronzerider doesn't quite follow in his father's footsteps afterall. All of the drudges, including the ugly ones, would've been with child in the lower caverns by now. The darkness and some good drinks doesn't discriminate after all.

"Ah, that does sound rather unpleasant." Th'ero mutters towards Ila'den over the rim of his pint of beer, to which he promptly sips. Lowering it down to the table again, he fixes the Western Weyrsecond with a grimace when he emphasizes his point with his hands. "I feel your pain, in a way. Though it could be worse…" Cue the pointed and slightly narrowed look at Zi'on, but his mouth quirks up into a small half-smile and it's all in good fun. Right? He waves his hand dismissively then to Ila'den, shaking his head, "Sorry? Why for? I warned her she'd be facing punishment when she admitted to me what'd she'd done. Your decision and choice was just enough." Meaning he holds no grudge to the bronzerider and then his smile turns a little sly. "Mhm. It's not like you banned /me/ from Western. So I simply visited when I could." To distract her, of course, but it's only implied by his tone and not outrightly said. Dark eyes dart back to Zi'on and he frowns, "Two? I thought you only had the one woman pregnant. And Kiena is /young/, Zi'on. Give her time. And /you/ know why Kimmila and I haven't." Then the grimace is back and Th'ero only grunts towards the Western Weyrleader's claim on having no sex. No pity from this side! "How'd she fall off Ujinath?" he asks instead, leaning forwards a little in his seat as he does to peer at the other Weyrleader. Do tell. Since he's hardly finished his first beer, he only gathers the second and then begins nursing the first one down as quickly as possible without chugging it. A nod is given to S'rorn, followed by another reserved smile for the brownrider. "Exactly. No sense pushing things. And… what's this about them being out in the fields?" Th'ero is glance now to all three Western riders, confused but obviously intrigued.

Ila'den makes a /grunt/ at the thought of trying to keep up with Zi'on. /Never/. "That'd be damn near impossible, Zi. You've already got two separate women on me, and Teimyrth doesn't seem to have enough luck for catching greens." The poor Weyrsecond didn't even want kids in the /first/ place, and now he's finding himself on number two. The thought calls for another long drag of his beer before the glass is set back on the table, half empty. "Well, she's not throwing up as much, but every now and again, yes. I just wish she'd have the damn kid already." FOR REASONS HE WILL NEVER ADMIT. It might make him look less manly. A pause, and then, "11, almost 12. /Shards/, I didn't even know they could start… /sprouting/ that young." Ah, blessed shots. Delivered just in time! Ila grabs his own, kicks it back with another wince, and then turns his attention onto Th'ero. That sly smile is returned, and Ila'den drums his fingers absently on the table. "I thought you might find that loophole." That giant, glaringly obvious one. His curiosity is piqued as well, however, by the talk of weyrlings living outside, Kimmila and Th'ero having reasons to have no babies, and Zi'on's sorely lacking sex life. It's why the Weyrsecond leans towards all three of them for a better listen, falling silent for once, to observe.

"She ought to impress before you start having kids at the least." Zi'on says to S'rorn about his weyrmate. Zi'on may not be like his father in some respects, but his obsession with dragonriding seems to have been passed down from father to son. And when he's drunk… There's a groan to Rorn then. "It's not my business to impose on the weyrlingmasters and what they do. But they'll move back inside soon enough. I can't have them out on the field. It makes the search riders nervous." No, Zi'on will not be having a swarm of children. He will instead know all his children. There aren't enough E-names anyways. "Well, Ezio's been running around for a while. You do know I have a son already, right? Enka and I? I was weyrmated to her for about a turn. I know Kiena is young. Though I don't know why you and Kimmila haven't." Zi'on drinks down a bit of his beer and flags down the waistress to order some tuber straws and fritters. "Getting on." Is his explanation of how Kiena fell off her dragon. "Some weird way. I dunno. You know how she is. She won't do that if that's what everyone else is doing. But if you tell her not to, or that she can't… well then she makes the effort." He'll let Rorn explain why they're out in the fields. Zi'on doesn't really know the whole story. "Teimyrth is a little large for the greens. Seems to have no problems with golds though. I'd say maybe you'd get a ride with Enka, but that would put me out a job, so I can't wish for that." Zi'on laughs about Ila'den's sister. "An early bloomer, hm? She going to be a buxom little lady?"

"Well, from what I hear, the barracks weren't clean enough. I remember during our time there, the floors, walls… /everything/ had to be pristine and we did pretty good making sure it stayed that way. Well, I guess this current class wasn't so fortunate. That, and the spiderclaw infestation didn't help matters, I'm sure. They had to move all of their belongings out into the fields until the barracks were clean. Supposedly there was talk of allowing them to move back in soon since the barracks were more presentable. Just wasn't sure if they made the move yet. Suppose it could be worse," the brownrider adds as he takes another drink from his mug. The food does sound promising and if he's hearing what he is from the other table, there's something he would most definitely have to order! "It could be storming in Western right now." As the waitress wanders by, S'rorn puts in an order and offers her some marks to be on the safe side. You really can't mess something that simple up, but, you never know if there's any fresh in the back. "Perhaps we need to give your sister a job, Ila'den, that'll keep her within reach should uh, she bloom any further. Should see if the Head Woman needs another set of hands. You don't want to mess with that woman, she's brutal with a wooden spoon."

"Of course," Th'ero murmurs quickly to Ila'den and then the Fortian Weyrleader is silent, simply finishing off his first drink, his next shot and then straight on to nursing his second beer. So much for taking it slow. Unlike the rest of the Western trio, he doesn't order any food though he'll have to soon or he'll be well on his way to drunk well before them. "I know you have a son," Glancing back to Zi'on, he drawls his reply with a sarcastic edge to it and following it with another of his smirks. "And you /do/ know why." So he's playing stubborn on giving the details to the Western Weyrleader on his "situation" as it were with Kimmila. Not drunk enough yet. "Sounds like her, attitude and stubbornness and all. I take it then she wasn't hurt?" he asks, taking another slow sip of his beer as he waits for the response. Then S'rorn is filling them in on the weyrlings and Th'ero's attention shifts back to him. "Eh, I remember. So much time spent on keeping those barracks pristine." He mutters with a not-quite so fond smirk before he sobers again and snorts, "So leaving them and their stuff out in the elements is supposed to teach them a lesson? Not that I'm criticizing. But I don't see many enjoying that, unless Western's been blessed with some fantastic weather of late." Pausing, he gives his head a little shake and then leans back heavily into his chair with beer still held in one hand. "And yes, it could be worse." He intones in a mockingly grave tone. At the mention of the Western Headwoman's reputation, Th'ero can only chuckle.

Ila'den gives S'rorn a sidelong glance and a tight smile. "Well, we've tried. She's expecting a life like we had back in the camps, and…" A pause, as Ila'den glares at his beer. Did he really just say /camps/? Damn alcohol. The bronzerider recovers (poorly) by saying, "Anyways, she just doesn't want to do anything. She's been spoiled, so maybe an angry Headwoman with a wooden spoon would do her some justice. Thank you for the suggestion." Now Zi'on is on the recieving end of a sidelong glance, but it's quickly eliminated as Ila'den takes after Rorn's example and orders something extra for himself before the poor maid can scuttle off again. Once his business is handled, those grey eyes are on Western's Weyrleader. "I have no interest in your job, though Teimyrth does. I can't imagine it'd be anything less than awkward waking up to Enka, though, and then watching her and Iris interact. For being so docile, that woman has a jealous streak." The bronzerider ducks behind a hand to hide his smile, and then blinks after Th'ero. "Me and /Rorn/ don't know why. We might be brimming with good advice on that subject too, you never know." He won't /bully/, of course, but he is lacking enough tact to push just a little though his head shakes at the thought of Kiena possibly getting hurt. "I would like to meet the person or the /thing/ that can cause Kiena pain. Did she ever cry when she was a kid, Th'ero?" SHE DOESN'T SEEM HUMAN.

Zi'on shrugs to S'rorn. "What, did Lissi make you clean? I don't remember things being that clean when I was in there. You were expected to keep a tidy area. Clean up after yourself. We weren't scrubbing the floors once a week though. Maybe they've moved back in. I haven't been down there the last couple of days. I'm trying not to stick my big Shipton nose in. The weyrlingmasters don't like it and it's not my business. You'll have to go spy for me." He chuckles a bit. "We could get your sister a job, Ila. The headwoman is also brutal with a broom." He frowns to Th'ero then. "I do not. Other than the fact that you're living in different weyrs. That seems inconvenient." Zi'on shakes his head. "Not unless you count her pride. She certainly gave me no lack of lip after, so I assumed she was fine." The Western weyrleader shrugs. "It will rain eventually. Then they will be very miserable." Zi'on chuckles at Ila'den. "Enka isn't much the jealous type really. She'll share." He would know. "Though I rather like my job. Someone has to keep the gears turning." He chuckle and looks back to Th'ero then. "See? They don't know. You ought to indulge them. Rorn is a smart man. Ila… eeeeeh." He teases, laughing. "Kiena has thick walls. When did you leave the other Irondells, Th'ero?" Even Zi'on hasn't seen her cry.

"I don't even remember, I just cleaned everything and made sure all of my stuff was locked up, bunk was tight. You know me, I was OCD about how my things were. Wilson had to make sure no one messed with anything during the day, we didn't have much down time and I wasn't about to waste a minute trying to find out where my boots got hidden." Wilson still guards those unused boots to this day, among other treasures the brownrider has stashed within his humble abode. As of late, he's been placed to guard the small private bath he has in his weyr because someone keeps taking the good towels. Qiana likes those towels, such villainy will not be tolerated! Soon enough, the waitress returns with the riders orders and places them on the table before putting them before their appropriate diners. S'rorn rubs his hands together and pulls the napkin off of the top of his order: ale battered wherry feet. "I haven't had these since I was a kid. Well, in any case, if sleeping outside discourages them even just a litle bit, and the trouble to move it all back and forth, then it's worth it. I hated moving things from wagon to wagon, once things were in order, they stayed that way. Your days actually lasted long enough to be worth anything." He picks up a rather delectable looking toesie tidbit and proceeds to take a bite into the battered morsel. The brownrider pauses, glancing around the room as he takes in the taste and texture before nodding his head in appreciation. "Now these are some good feet."

The slipup is caught and Ila'den won't escape now, as Th'ero's attention turns back to him and focuses with a curious intent. He never really got to know much into the past of his fellow candidates and weyrlings, so the mention of 'camps' has him lock on the Western Weyrsecond. "Camps, eh? Didn't peg you for the trader type too. Which family?" Oh Th'ero. Oblivious as always and unknowingly pushing things towards various shades of awkward. Then he snorts, drink rising to his lips once again as his gaze moves away and he smirks at the talk of flights has him only nodding his head a little but refraining from commenting. To Zi'on, he nods as well, reassured that his sister hasn't met with any unfortunate injuries so early on into Weyrlinghood. "She can cry, but is likely too stubborn and prideful." NOT HUMAN. "And I likely could make her cry just by showing up." He mutters, both jokingly and serious. Guilty older brother here. With Ila'den pushing and then Zi'on prodding him too, Th'ero only sighs and shoots them both (and likely S'rorn too for good measure) a long look and frown. "Fine. But don't whine to me if I ruin all your moods. And I didn't /leave/ the Irondells, Zi'on." He quirks a brow at the other Weyrleader, "Not by choice. You'd know why too." Cryptic again! Always so cryptic. Draining the rest of his beer, he takes another shot too for good measure and then with a heavy exhale, leans back and folds his hands over his lap. "Kimmila is reluctant to have children and so am I. Simple as that. She… we, also lost one. Early on, before she even really knew. It's made things… Well, I'm not pressuring her." But it still stings a bit. Clearing his throat slightly, he promptly turns his attention and the discussion back to S'rorn. "Wilson is still around?" Th'ero asks, really grasping at /anything/ to change the topics. Awkwardness abounds! "Eh, who can remember all the details of Weyrlinghood? All I know is I did my best to slog through it and not bring the Weyrlingmasters down on me." When the dish of ale battered wherry feet arrives, the Fortian Weyrleader almost wrinkles his nose but catches himself just in time. Instead, he grimaces, his tone joking. "You're the first I know who actually /likes/ them. How can you stand the texture?" Clearly, he's tried it and must not have the stomach.

The food is delievered! And Ila'den takes his time tearing off a small piece intended for Zi'on. The bit of meatroll is made into a small ball, and then tossed across the table at Western's Weyrleader in retaliation. "It isn't /Enka/ that I'm worried about. It's Iris. She looks up to Enka, and I can't imagine her wanting to look the woman in the eye afterwards. I don't know if jealousy is the right word, but it's something like that." No, Zi. You can keep your position! Ila doesn't want it. The bronzerider tips the other half of his beverage back and then starts on his second. "Well, I'd appreciate if we could get her some kind of job. It might do well to keep the chit busy." But then that /name/ is coming from Rorn's lips, and Ila's eyes are narrowing on the brownrider. "Do you still /have/ that damn thing?" he asks, unable to suppress a shudder at the thought of the doll. "Wilson was more creepy than a doll has any right to be. At first I thought it was just… a weird thing you had, but…" It's the booze. Definitely the booze. Ila'den sinks behind his glass and then goes ramrod stiff as Th'ero asks about /what family/. That brain of his works into overdrive, trying to remembering something /more/ about his parents, about a time when he really /was/ a trader, but coming up short. "I ah… Family? Well. You know… The family that kills and sells animals." There's more beer downed at Ila'den's absolute failure to cover his own ass, and then he's reaching across the table to steal one of Rorn's nasty food feets, setting it in front of Th'ero without permission. HE SAW THAT LOOK. He also finds comforting others awkward, so after a quick, "Sorry for your loss, Th'ero. It must've been hard," and an awkward pat on the back (if it's allowed), Ila'den is saying, "Eat it. If you're a man, eat it." IT IS A GOOD DISTRACTION FOR ALL PARTIES INVOLVED. "Zi'on has to take a shot if you get it down." Because making it into a game is even better.

Zi'on nods to S'rorn. "Mm. I do know you. I'm sure it was neater than neat." That was part of the reason Zi'on had made the brownrider his transport wingleader. Though some of the wingriders surely groaned about it. It's a good thing Zi'on hasn't come across Wilson. He'd likely have him burned. The bronzer stares at whatever it is Rorn ordered, instead concentrating on his tuber straws for now. He also orders another round of shots and a refill on their ale. He wrinkles his nose at the brownrider. "Rorn, those look disgusting. I can't believe you're putting that in your mouth. I'd rather suck a hairy old aunty's cooch than eat one of those. Zi'on doesn't make any comment as Th'ero asks Ila'den about his camps. The bronzer of course is aware of Ila'den's past, but being weyrbred and rather naive he doesn't see it as much different than anything else. He laughs a bit. "You could make her seeth. She'd get that Irondell look you're all so fond of. That pouty scowl." Zi'on mimics said look, over exaggerating and looking ridiculous. "I suppose I do, you're right. You may want to remind Kiena that you were thrown out. I think that's part of her issue. Anyways I think you two are reluctant only because you think the other is reluctant. I suppose there's no huge rush though. You would be a good father Th'ero, and you would enjoy it I think." Yes, this is Zi'on being sincere and a little mushy. BRO LOVE. "Is Iris holdbred? I can't remember. Anyways flights don't count." At least not in the bronzer's eyes. "It's not going to change your feelings for Iris sleeping with Enka now and again." He peers as Ila sets a foot in front of Th'ero. "If he eats that I'll take five shots. And I'll strip down to my skivvies while I do it." They are THAT disgusting to the bronzer.

It's not all that bad, there's little bones in there but they're relatively intact so all you gotta do is nibble in between that battered webbing goodness. S'rorn is already on his next one, pausing for a moment as he finishes up his second beer and is already wondering where the hell the third is. The waitress pauses and peers at the table with uncertainty before slowly shuffling to the back of the tavern to get those additional drinks… and perhaps a bucket for the Fortian Weyrleader. "C'mon now, they're nice and crispy and even the meat is well cooked. There's still some flavor to it, just make sure you eat 'em over a plate. Never know with those juices." They can squirt if you bite them in just the right place! "Hey, Wilson was a gift from Iris and Keely, not going to discard him so easily!" Especially since he's been known to strike fear in the weyr's children and keep skeevy people away from women's panties in the public baths. There is still no telling, to this day, how me manages to navigate around the weyr. Perhaps it's a secret left unproven. "Zi'on, please leave your clothes on. I'm trying to eat, here. "

Th'ero isn't completely absorbed in the conversations or too buzzed not to catch the change in Ila'den, eyeing the Weyrsecond for some time. Suspicious, but he knows from experience when someone is trying to cover and doesn't want to be pried at. So to keep things civil(ish), he drops it. "Got it," he tells him with a smirk, likely figuring now the other bronzerider is from a hunter background. Obliviousness saves the night? Then he's having one of those wherry feet placed in front of him and it takes all Th'ero has not to recoil. Giving Ila'den an incredulous look, the awkward pat on the back is accepted, along with the condolences. That only earns a nod and then it's back to his drink. Which he almost chokes on from Zi'on's remark. Making a disgusted face, he flashes the Weyrleader with a narrowed glance, "Ugh, Zi'on that was just as bad as the thought of having to eat /this/." And a hand gestures to the battered foot in front of him and he sighs. Really? Really must he eat this? But it's a question of MANLINESS now, game or not. BRO LOVE, indeed, though it's hard to tell if Th'ero is feeling any brotherly love towards the Western Weyrleader now or wanting to throttle him from all the frowning and glares. "We'll wait until she's a /rider/ before any bridges are mended. I'm not about to go try now." Upset weyrling anyone? At the mushiness, the bronzerider simply shakes his head. "I'll second what S'rorn said. Take the five shots, but for all our sakes keep your pants on." Th'ero grumbles, eyeing the wherry foot with growing apprehension. Then with a deep breath, he trades his beer for food and turning it over between his fingers (and trying not to make faces). "Eh, I'll take your word for it then." And he takes a bite. Mmm, mmm delicious?

Ila'den's brows furrow at Zi'on's words, just before he says, "No, no, Zi'on. It's like, if for some reason Suldith turned into a lady-dragon," because CLEARLY Suldith would be the woman, "and Teimyrth caught her, and we slept together, /that/ would be awkward." He points across the table to Western's Weryleader for emphasis of this point, and then lowers his voice to hiss on a whisper, "I don't want to see your gentlemen bits. /Ever/. I could never look you in the eye again. It's like that, but with me sleeping with Enka, and Iris not being able to look her in the eye." IT'S NOT SIMILAR AT ALL. Zi's subsequent use of the word 'Cooch', and the pouty face thereafter both have Ila'den squinting as if he's grown a third head — which is likely, because the booze are affecting him more strongly. THAT'S WHAT HE GETS FOR NOT DRINKING. EVER. Now his eyes are back on S'rorn, and Ila is saying, in a drop-dead monotone, "I will burn it." And he means it. He does, however, contradict his former words of not wanting to see Zi'on naked by looking quite gleeful at the thought of the Western leader in his /skivvies/. "/Do it/, Th'ero. No, no, don't discourage the stripping. Spare him nothing. /Nothing/. Maybe somebody in here will write him a horrible love letter once they get a good gander at what Western's Weyrleader has to offer." And the eating begins! YES! Ila'den is much too excited, leaning forward to watch with intrigue. Can he do it?

Zi'on makes a face at Rorn that's most similar to D: as he talks about juices. Coming out of feet. The bronzer isn't sure what juices come out of feet, but he's fairly certain those juices don't belong in his mouth. "Tuber straws are crispy as well, and they don't look like that. Anyways, Th'ero gave his dragon to his sister. It's pink. I saw it in her trunk the one night, last time I got really drunk. This was before she became a candidate." He explains. Then he peers at Rorn. "Yes. I wouldn't want to take away from your foot juices." The youngest bronzer grins to Th'ero. "Sorry. Just pretend it's a young girl's cooch then. Or Kimmila's. I'm sure you like the taste of that." He snickers. Boys will be boys? Or Zi'on will be inappropriate and immature. Also crude and a pervert. "Fair enough. At least she seems somewhat amenable to mending a bit. Has she bothered to write you back?" Zi'on chuckles, finishing off his beer so that he can pour himself a new one when the waitress brings the fresh drinks. "I'll need four more of these. And to please everyone I'll do them with my pants ON." He tells her. Zi'on will be on the floor after that many, but hey! When Th'ero bites into the foot Zi'on looks horrified. "UGH!" Zi'on wrinkles his brow to Ila. "Why would -we- ever sleep together? Also I don't see the big deal. They look just like yours. Just bigger." He laughs. "Don't you go to the baths? It's not that big a deal. You all take that sort of thing too seriously. It's sex, not love." Once Th'ero has eaten the foot they can fight over whether Zi'on has to remove his clothes or not for the subsequent drinking.

DON'T LET THAT FEETS GO IN VAIN. S'rorn slowly nods to Th'ero before taking another nibble between the toes of the tasty bird he currently has in front of him. "I don't know what they use for the skin, but it's better than what my aunties used to make." He pauses for a second, slowly glancing over his shoulders and peering around the room. He's got cousins here, wouldn't do him any good for word of that comment going back to his own camp brethren. When the coast is clear, he shrugs, going back to gnaw on that delectable little morsel. "Hey, they did good. Still a bit of marrow in the bones." Yummy! The brownrider peers at Ila'den for a moment with a brow raised in question before he simply shrugs, booze does interesting things to people but surprisingly enough, Rorn sobered a bit with the feet. Just in time, because the waitress returns with another round of beer and shots for the men, as well as a bowl of some greasy looking gruel stuff. It's rather gray and lumpy with a clear oil coating pooling around it in the bowl. The Western wingleader grins, offering the woman a wink before he picks up another foot and dips it right in. Can't have wherry feet without some gravy to go with it! Now all the brownrider is missing is some picked crawlies and he'd be set. For now, he'll settle with working in between the toes with a little more vigor than necessary, keeping his plate just below while the greasy gravy dribbles onto it. He pauses for a moment, picking at his teeth with the tip of his tongue while he pulls the napkin off of his lap and dries his mouth. Hazel eyes glance between the men for a moment while he chews the reclaimed tidbit, then his eyes narrow. "Well, at least he let me have a few before calling me outside. Faranth knows, if there isn't a legit reason for me to go out there…" S'rorn dries his hands off, pushes himself up and leaves some marks on the table. He doesn't bother to reclaim his jacket from the chair just yet, instead, he mutters 'excuse me' as he wanders outside to find out what his lifemate got into. Or what foreign goldrider he's antagonizing on this night.

Th'ero would totally have given Zi'on a scathing comment for admitting what he just did concernin the pink dragon plushy, but he's silent. Silent only because he's trying to focus on chewing and swallowing the mouthful of wherry foot and so far, he's only on the chewing stage. Finally, he finishes but it takes some effort on his part. Resting his elbows on the table, he levels all three Western riders will a frown and totally not impressed expression. WHY? Zi'on gets an extra special scowl for his comments, "That," And he gestures towards the Western Weyrleader with the half eaten foot, juices and all. "Is none of your business." He growls, trying very hard for the first round to make a return visit. Boys will be boys and Th'ero has definitely shed his usual uptight behavior enough to at least take on the game, but not the crude talk. "Not yet," Th'ero mumbles and then eyes the leftover foot still in his fingers. Ugh. Then S'rorn is ordering that questionable gravy too and the Fortian Weyrleader has to look away, less he lose his nerve. Taking another steadying breath, he polishes off the rest and makes shorter work of it. Which may have been a mistake, to judge by the bronzerider's contorted features. So. Not. Delicious. When he's finally got it down, he of course chases it down with more alcohol. Cause /that/ will fix things of course. Giving himself a bit of a shake, he pulls a face and grunts. "That was disgusting. Enjoy your shots, Zi'on." There's a curious look given to S'rorn then as he gets up to check on his lifemate and Th'ero only nods, still trying to focus on keeping all that down. Stubborness comes in handy sometimes!

"I don't mind seeing men naked, Zi'on," Ila'den clarifies, "only you." But suddenly, between Th'ero's task and S'rorn's sickening display of appetite, the bronzerider loses all of his color. "Oh, Faranth. I think I'm going to be sick." He brings his glass of beer closer to his chest, coddling it like one might a child, and then brings it to his lips to down the remaining liquid for comfort. When round three is set an the table, the Weyrsecond is feeling absolutely woozy, and allows his forehead to slam onto the table top accordingly. What happened to all that cheerful enthusiasm from only moments before? Wherry feet and gravy, that's what. "Oh, /shards/," he hisses around a groan, shaking his head without lifting it before lurching sideways out of his chair and taking a stumble right into Th'ero. "No, no. It's not going to stay in." He sounds absolutely pained as he makes for the door and some of that cool not-quite-autumn-or-summer air. Must. Get. Away. From bird feet. Oh dear. What a very sudden and unexpected ending to a night that was supposed to be fun. GOOD JOB, S'RORN. YOU MADE EVERYBODY SICK.

Zi'on just continues his wrinkled-nose look at Rorn. "Ugh. I feel bad for Qiana, having to kiss you after you've eaten all those horrid things." With the foot juices. "Don't get any foot juice in your beard, Th'ero." The gravy just makes it worse. Like it's now rotted. He doesn't even protest when Rorn gets up. Instead he waves over someone to take the feet away. "Get rid of these before they make someone sick." Like Zi'on. Zi'on grins to Th'ero as he says what Kimmila and him do is none of his business. "Yessir." The shots are tossed back one by one until Zi'on looks like he's swimming in whiskey. "I dun…" He burps. "Ah dun know 'bout ya'll. But 'm feelin' good an' drunk now." He laughs at Ila'den. "So if Ah whip out mah junk right now what're ya'll gonna do 'bout it." Then Ila'den is running out the door to be sick, and it's just Zi'on and Th'ero. The younger bronzer clamps Th'ero on the shoulder, in a way that's meant to be friendly, but more looks like he's trying not to fall out of his seat. "Ah… Ah freakin' love you, man. And Ah dun jus' toss that word 'round." Burrp. Zi'on pulls out a wad of marks to pay for things and leaves some ridiculous amount even for everything they've eaten and drank. Hopefully Th'ero can get him at least out of the tavern. Or up to a room or something.

Th'ero starts when Ila'den's forehead slams into the table top and the Fortian Weyrleader is eyeing him, both with concern and hardly veiled amusement. Oh yeah, all that alcohol is /definitely/ kicking in now and on a relatively empty stomach. Save for the bird feet. Maybe that's how he's managing? But even he's starting to look a little green as the minutes tick by. Being bumped into doesn't help and while he tries to reach out to awkwardly support the stumbling Ila'den, the other bronzerider's pained utterance almost has Th'ero shoving him away. "Outside. Air will clear your head." Of course that's what he means! So helpful. Not trying to steer an ill rider away to redecorate the outside of the tavern. Now he's in the same stage of fleeing, though not to the danger point yet. Getting to his feet slowly, Th'ero is obviously using the edge of the table to keep himself from weaving too much while upright. "Sorry Zi'on, you'll have to… finish this…" He gestures at the drinks and food (which he pointedly doesn't look at) and almost unbalances himself, only to be distracted by Zi'on clamping him on the shoulder. That almost brings both Weyrleader's down and by then a few folk in the taverns have likely paused to watch. Oh, the rumors that'll be going in the morning. "And you're drunk off your ass, Zi'on… Common…they got rooms here." Th'ero drawls, which is his way of saying 'yeah bro, I love you too'. The bronzerider will get him there at least, to one of the lower (and better) rooms before making a drunken escape to his weyr. /If/ he even gets there.

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