Icy Reception (Sevran is Searched)

* Language warning - swearing *

Half Moon Bay Weyr - Living Cavern

Here is the center of Weyr life, the living caverns. These two main rooms were man-shaped from smaller caves, and are joined by a carved arch with depictions of dragons in flight and dolphins leaping in swirling waves. One room has many round stone and wooden tables and a stone fire-pit instead of a hearth. Over the round-walled, gas fired pit is a large conical hood made of polished bronze, with reliefs of dragons with their riders flying over ships guided by dolphins. This hood and chimney keeps the room smoke-free. Through the archway is an enormous hall, with long tables and benches, some carved from the rock floor, many crafted of wood. This room is a combination dining and meeting hall, and can seat over 300 comfortably. Above both rooms, angled shafts lined with polished metal bring in sunlight during the day. Electric lights also burn, day and night.

There's a lull in the activity of the Living caverns, a natural break between those finishing up a late lunch, prior to those coming in for an early dinner. It's the time of day when the tables are wiped down and things are generally spruced up for the next wave of people. Sevran is sitting by himself. Not out of reclusive tendencies, but simply because that's how he's found himself. There's a mug of something in front of him, the glass opaque so it's unclear if it's half empty or half full. He's watching the general coming and going of the people, an amicable expression on his face.

From the direction of the bowl, J'en enters the living cavern, golden eyes sweeping over the lingering persons who still dwell in that magical time between the busiest of mealtimes. However, while his stony expression may not reveal a thing of his current mood, tension seeps out of him once every since face has been appraised suggesting relief. A slight upturn to his chin and he proceeds further, headed for the serving table and its meager offerings as he strips off his gloves, tucking them into a pocket, then unzips the front of his flight jacket. Beneath, more hints of the tattoos that mark his slenderly muscular frame as well as blood red tank top that fits his long torso appropriately. Picking up a plate, he helps himself to roast wherry and tubers, slathering them in a thick and hardy gravy. Next, a tall glass of ice water, and then he drops himself at the same table that Sevran sits but with a conciderable amount of distance between them.

Sevran casts a curious look toward his new table companion, though he does his best not to stare. Mug is lifted, presumably the contents are sipped. Fingers drum on the side of his mug, absent-minded but friendly; no tension here. After a few minutes of companionable silence, Sevran scoots a few inches down and, in an attempt to be cordial, wonders, "Did those hurt?" He means the tattoos, probably.

Having already dug into his meal, it seems that the bronzerider was paying no attention to Sevran at all, much more interested in eating and staring blankly at the table before him. That is, until the butcher scoots towards him, and that is when his gaze darts immediately to the exact location that the only other person at their table has moved to. Tongue passing over the piercing located at the left corner of his bottom lip to clear away from gravy, J'en straightens, dark lashes lowering. "Yeah," he replies, his voice the deeper side of tenor, but completely without tone. His glass of water is picked up, the ice wthin clinking as he tips it back for a long sip, then returning it to the table.

"Oh," says Sevran, a bit lost as to how to proceed. He's torn, really, between a deep curiosity and the obvious antisocial answer of his table mate. He settles back a little, indecision written on his expression, and eventually decides to leave his tablemate in silence, for the moment. His mug is lifted, another sip taken, another tap-tap of his fingers against the clay, and then back on the table.

The stiffness that had managed to find its way back into Jae's shoulders, as minute as it was, eases as the butcher settles back. He continues to watch him carefully, his scrutiny certainly seems to include a distinctively imposing sort of heft, the weight of it then gone as he returns in silence to his food. His fork spears a large chunk of meat, soon forced between his lips, to be throughly chewed into a consistancy that was safe enough to swallow. A sip of water to wash it down, and then poised to repeat the process that would eventually transport the remaining contents of his plate to where it would do him the most benefit. That is, until the rigidity returns in full force to every part of his frame, a soft 'che' sound made against his teeth. Distracted, he glances back towards the bowl for several long moments of silence, brows sinking low before suddenly Sevran had his full consideration. That was most definately a frown there, one that deepened with each passing second, his eyes narrowing. "Bowl. Now." Now his voice held a sort of command, palms slapped to the table as he thrusts himself upwards to standing and abandons his meal, completely assuming that the butcher would simply do as he is told.

Companionable silence, at least for Sevran, reigns supreme at the table. A final tip of his cup empties the contents. He stands, gets a refill, and heads back to his spot. It's on the way back that he gets a better look at his companion's face. If J'en's not looking, then Sevran is going to spend a moment, eyebrows furrowed, mouth frowning thoughtfully, really studying the dark-clad 'rider. And then, like a bolt of lightening, recognition. "Jaelyn." He's still standing, opposite the table, but close enough to be clearly heard. The name pronounced clearly, definitively, and maybe not as friendly as before. Wary.

Having turned away, perhaps not even aware of the long penetrating stare of his tablemate moments before, J'en pauses in is path back towards the bowl at mention of that name. "Yeah, what of it?" he asks flatly, jerking his chin towards the direction he was facing. "Get yer ass out to the bowl, Leketh wants a look atcha." Despite the wording, his tone hasn't changed much other than he may sound mildly irritated that his demands were not being met as of yet. What was certainly lacking was that return glimmer of recognition, even as golden eyes sweep over what he could see of Sevran on the opposite side of the table from him, grumbling something beneath his breath as his feet start forward again. One in front of the other, slow enough that the butcher could catch up with him if he hurried.

Sevran is, for a moment, frozen in place. There's a range of emotions that ripple across his face, from surprise, to wariness, to confusion. "I…," pause, frown. "Haven't seen you in Turns." That's an understatement. But he snaps his jaw shut with an audible clack of teeth and does as he's told. Cause he's an amicable sort of guy, and J'en is a Bronzerider. He takes several long, half-jog strides to catch up and follows him out to the bowl.

"Dun really give a fuck," J'en mutters, audible if Sevran caught up to him, otherwise far too quiet to be caught. He doesn't cease his forward motion once he's being followed, taking the long tunnel out back into the daylight with only the slightest of hisses for the adbrupt change. The bronzerider proceeds towards what could either be a very small queen or one massive bronze, but given that the raven haired rider was undeniably male, bronze would be the best bet. Leketh's whirrling facets lock firstly onto his lifemate, greeting him with the sweetest of croons, which earn him a fond pat to his snout that was nothing but gentle despite all of Jae's rough edges. "There ya go, 'ave at it, but dun take all day. I dun got time for that shit." Golden eyes flicker to Sevran with lingering aggitation, arms crossing loosely over his chest, and decidedly casting his attention elsewhere.

"Pretty sure you slept with my sister…" Sevran gives a fuck, even if J'en doesn't. He doesn't look particularly angry about it, though. More confused and completely baffled that he's run into him here. He's not oblivious to the icy reception his recognition has received, though, so he quits the comments and just follows along dutifully. When the sun meets his face, he squints a bit and hesitates at the entrance, letting his eyes adjust. He takes a few more long, loping strides to catch up again, only to catch himself as he realizes what they're headed towards. "Wow," is said in appreciation for the scale of the creature. And maybe, just maybe, Sevran is a bit more hesitant to follow the angry bronzerider towards his towering dragon. "I know dragons don't eat people," he says sternly, scowling. "Just cause I recognize you doesn't mean you gotta threaten me."

A snort comes in response, "Slept with a lot of people." The accusation or whatever that was supposed to be, is shrugged off quite literally with a lift and drop Jae's shoulders without pausing or turning around to face his accuser. The topic is simularily dropped afterwards, the rest of the journey in silence until Leketh takes center stage as it were. J'en steps aside to make way for his lifemate's impressive girth, to which the dragon starts to close the distance between himself and butcher. It only takes two steps, what with the length of his neck, soon lowering his enormous head down level with Sevran. Inhaling deeply, a whoosh of air exhaled smells of all things foul and unjust in the world, before Leketh continues to whuffle at the butcher's hair. "This ain't got nothin' to do with what ya think ya know or whatever. This is about 'im. So suck it up, and deal with it," he says so dryly it might leave one's throat parched. Then, Leketh chuffs and J'en sighs which sounds distinctly long and suffering. "Fuckin' fantastic." A drumbeat later, a withering look sent the dragon's way. "Ya sure, ain't comin' down with a cold or somethin' ridiculous?" If it were possible for a dragon to roll his facets, you bet that's what he'd be doing just then, but instead he rumble low and deep in his chest. Half a growl, half a sigh, the bronzerider steps around that huge head rummaging for something in his jacket pocket, dropping his gloves in the process. "We got eggs, Leketh says 'e wants ya on the sands when they hatch." A white knot rests on the palm of his outstretched left arm, plenty of personal space remaining as J'en keeps his distance.

Sevran grew up with dragons. Totally knows that dragons do not eat people. But that doesn't stop him from taking a few hasty steps back when Leketh comes his way. It's J'en's admonishment that this is about the dragon, and not about him, that has Sevran halting his retreat. He's got enough respect for dragonriders to at least listen and, as J'en says, 'deal with it'. He coughs just a bit at the scent but honestly, Sevran is rather accustomed to such things, having made a career around dead animals. "He what?" he asks, jerking his gaze away from the massive bronze towards the much more intimidating bronzerider. "You're fucking with me." It's out before he can censor himself, and he adds a hasty, "meant no offense," to the dragon invading his personal space. "Just shocked." After a moment of indecision, Sevran reaches out and accepts the knot. He leaves his hand hovering in the air for a moment before drawing it back to himself with firm resolution. What's done is done. "Thanks?" he offers, looking between Leketh and J'en to make sure that was an appropriate response.

Leketh doesn't appear to mind about that hesitation to remain close, he's likely aware of how intimidating his size could be, patience being a virtue that his volitle lifemate didn't possess but he had in spades. "Ya heard," J'en retorts, evenly. As his lashes lower, his chin lifts, giving Sevran the most deadpan look ever conceived by man. "Not even if ya begged meh for it." Coldly he stares the poor lad down and it's probably just the act of an overactive imagination that makes it seem as if the air temperature around him suddenly plummets. The pseudo-apology? Ignored, completely, as is everything else until that knot is taken out of his hand. "Whatever," is breathed for the thanks, senting Leketh off with a pat along his neck. "No fightin', no sex, salute all riders, respect yer fellow candidates, do yer chores, and respect the rules. That includes curfew." The irritation might be gone, but the utter flatness of his tone hadn't. "Follow meh, candidate."

Sevran is recovering from his surprising quickly enough. He smirks, a corner of his mouth lifting as he offers, "Yes *sir*" with a smart-ass salute for the rules. He didn't get attacked, so he's feeling a bit safer now, even if he does keep out of right-hook range. He runs the new candidate knot through his fingers, judging it with apprehension that he hopes doesn't meet his face. "After you," he says, the smart-ass tone gone. He'll fall into line quick enough, but his attention is now focused on the object in his hands rather than the one who gave it to him.

J'en waits for Leketh to wander back to where he was curled up pre-interuption, barely letting his gaze hover on the smarminess contained in words and salute, already moving to brush past Sevran without intent to bowl him over at least, "I'd drop the attitude unless ya wanna get kicked out," coolly delivered, walking back the same way that they had come. Whatever apprehension that the butcher now candidate had for that knot appears to be of no concern to the fancy knotted Wingleader, disappearing around a corner and back inside of the weyr.

Sevran seems to have an attitude-laden comment on the tip of his tongue, but decides smarting off to said bronzeriding-Wingleader who just turned him Candidate would be a bad idea. So he wisely bites his tongue, settles for a smirk that (hopefully) J'en can't see, and heads back into the weyr. He'll pause at the cusp and glance towards Leketh, a ruefull look on his face, though he offers a quick and honest "Thanks 'gain" for the bronze that is likely not heard. And into the Weyr they go.

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