Just Beach-y

Half Moon Bay Weyr - Lagoon

A sandy beach running along the edge of the lagoon, between the sparkling waters and the bowl. Given the weyr's tropical climate, riders and dragons can be seen playing in the water nearby or a dolphin can be seen cavorting nearly turn-round. At other times seacraft can be seen coming in under the arch to dock. The lagoon is large enough to fill a quarter of the length of the bowl.

The sun shines brightly, the water glistens like diamonds and the waves couldn't be any more perfect for the surfers out on the water. The lagoon is full of fun and play. And yet. Under a shaded pavillion, a storm cloud grows. One little vontner turned candi, with flask in hand, is so not enjoying the plain fruit juice she has filled her flask with. Plain, unadulterated, unferminted swill is what it amounts too. No tricking the body into believing that it's the flask that does the trick. Nope. Juice just doesn't have the right stuff. Suddenly, in a fit of pique, flask is flung end over end to go thunk in the sand.

It's his day off, so naturally Sevran is at the beach. Because where else would a butcher turned candidate be on such a wondrous day as this? But rather than lounging around like a normal human being, he's taken to jogging. Because why not. Scrubbing pots and pans just doesn't put the same physical demands on the body as hauling around dead herdbeasts, so he's gotta make up for it somewhere. Never mind that jogging is cardio and not strength training. Details. He's squinting against the glare of the sun, cause he didn't bring a hat or anything, when suddenly there's a flying flask headed his directly. And how nice of Sevran, he'll just go ahead and catch that flask? with his face. *ka-bam* right above the eyebrow and bouncing off the other way, leaving an angry mark in it's wake. Yeah. That's gonna leavea mark. "Ow!" is the immediate hiss of pain, followed very quickly by, "What the fuck?!" and a quick squinty-eyed glare for the culprit.

Somebody has banned Citayzleat from the Infirmary for the day. That doesn't mean that the healer-gone-candidte can't study, though, on this her day off. What better place to do that than the beach? That pavillion is about to get a little more crowded — without paying much attention to her surroundings, Cita wanders in, throwing her bag'o'books down and sprawling boneless. Running? Shells no, what does she look like. Throwing is a little more like it, though, even if it does inspire strong language from another one of their fellows. "Shells man," Cita blinks, grabbing a gruesome-titled book from the pile and squinting at Sev. "Why'd you run in front of that flask?" Because obviously he meant to. Suuuuuure. Smartass. Cita smiles, slanting it sidelong to Catwin, too. "Temptation?"

Maybe there was some fermentation going on in that juice after all because HOLY BAJEEZUS, Y'ALL, IT'S A GOSH DANGED MIRACLE - R'HYN IS WALKING ON WATER. …Oh, nevermind, just kidding - the nearer he draws, the easier it is to tell he's just walking the length of his lifemate's spine as the dragon makes a slow cruise towards the beach, massive blackened-bronze head lifting out of the water like some terran folktale of yore. Closer and closer he snakes to the sand until he finally runs out of water, affording his rider enough time to make landfall before he slogs up the beach, dripping water the entire way. « THAT IS NOT HOW YOU PLAY CATCH, » come booming words, indescriminate in that they beam down into everyone's minds with a glare of gold and a flicker of black and white diamonds that constitute amusement in Xermiltoth's mind. « I'LL GIVE YOU A HINT: YOU SHOULD PROBABLY USE YOUR HANDS. » And somehow, despite the fact that the dragon is trying to whisper, it still comes out in a shout, one R'hyn seems apologetic for as he trots up the beach after his dragon. "Sorry, he's… enthusiastic. You alright?" Blue-grey eyes follow Sevran's, mouth quirking up on one side as he spies the contents of that pavillion. "Injuring people again, Cita?," he calls, purposefully misunderstanding the situation even as his hand lifts in greetings for her and poor, poor Catwin both.

The crack of her flask against a face gets Catwin's attention more so than the explicative that is issued forth due to said flask. Is she remorseful? Maybe later. Right now she's just itching for a fight or something. "If your face bent my flask, you owe me a new one." she grumbles. Okay, so it's not big in the way of fighting words. There's a glance for Cita "I'm not sure temptation is a strong enough word. It feels like there are thousands of biting flies in my brain." Well, that would make most anyone cracky, right? Then in comes the dragon and show boating rider. What? She blinks and shakers her head "Shards, I'm seeing things, and I haven't even had drink." Then comes the words and hands go to her skull "You misbegotten son of a wherry eaten carcass!!" She yells even as she winces from the mind blast, dropping her head into her lap. "Ain't Cita's fault. He's the one that ran into my flask." A glare for Sevran "I still say it better not be bent."

Sevran is just gonna glare, and wince, and glare a little more. His hand is pressed to the mark left by the flask and, undoubtedly, a dark bruise is sneakily forming beneath. It's also probably gonna swell. A lot. Cat is spotted, scowled at, and the flask is very quickly swiped up from where it fell. And yup. There's a dent. At least Sev got a hit in, right? "Shove it," is his response, though he holds back from tossing her precious weapon into the ocean. He's not gonna litter like that. And then, oh joy, a dragon is screaming in his head. "Shit. How hard did you hit me?!" only, there really is a dragon. With another wince, he seems to decide it's time to seek shelter and, since there is a healer-type there, he'll head for the pavilion. "Hey Cita," he'll say. 'Fix me' is what he won't say. "Bite me," for Cat.

"I'll injure you. Come closer." Cita's not falling for any R'hyn-related shenanigans — she is grinning goofily in Xermi's direction, though, tolerant and maybe even indulgent. "I'm sure he tried, Xermi." She points out, because showing affection via picking and poking can be stretched too far quickly enough. Catwin's words distract the healer from her amused contemplation; she sits up a little, eyes the vinter thoughtfully. "You didn't go from drinking heavily to drinking none, did you?" She's got some tact, this one. She can't even try to stop the laugh that comes for her invection on Xermiltoth — instead, she glances back at the bronze, waggling eyebrows. The concern is still there, though, shared to Sevran by the time he wanders up onto the pavilion. Heaving herelf back to her feet, Cita brushes sand off of her hands, crowding into the younger candidate's space without bothering to wait for permission. "That's Xermi. He does that." She tells him, all but clucking like an old hen as she eyes the shiner. "Hmmm. Might want to put some ice on it. Definitely going to bruise really nice."

There comes a sigh from R'hyn, and a longsuffering sort of 'now see what you've done' sort of look given to his bronze, and only then does the dragon's mind quiet, vibrating with a single peal of tenor laughter before drifting back into silence as he prowls further up the beach. The dragon puts polite distance between himself and the candidate-ridden pavillion before he shakes free of excess water and sprawls out in the sun and R'hyn halts for a moment, torn between two choices before making the decision to join humans rather than dragon, leaning one bare shoulder on a support just beneath the roofing. "For what it's worth, he says he's sorry and that he won't tattle on you for talking about Feyruth like that," the bronzerider teases gently, head tilting to observe the poor lap-diving Catwin with a lip-twitch of sympathy and a small wince for Citayzleat's question. "Shells, I hope not. That's rough going if you don't taper." A beat, and then: "Anything I can get you?" His gaze slides to Cita, watching her cluck over Sevran with a lopsided grin. "Either of you?" Because that really is going to be some mark, poor guy. Blue-grey irises flick from swelling to the EYE-MURDER WEAPON, brows jerking up towards his hairline for the dent in the metal. "Though, shells, of the two of you, I think it came out worse off."

"Taper? TAPER?!!" She stares at R'hyn and then there's a look at Cita "No, I'm told. No drinking. No if's ands or buts, except for maybe hearing we're allowed one drink. ONE!!" she slams a fist onto the bench she's sitting on. "And then you've got this bozo asking if I've any to give him and now he has to go and bend up my flask." Grumble, grumble. Then there's a blinks "Tattle? What? Huh?" She blinks and then she's rolling her eyes. "You want to get me something? How about some whiskey, or maybe some straight up shine. Make the buzzing go away!!"

Sevran is pretty tough, but he's not going to turn down help. Especially skilled help. He removes his hand to allow Citayzleat an uninterrupted view of the damage. There's no blood, but there is a nasty indentation where the side of the flask collided with his head. Already it's turning just beautiful shades of reddish-purple darkening to blackish-blue and swelling rapidly. "Faranth," he winces, this time for the dragon-voice that, even as it recedes, seems to be bouncing in his brain. "I thought they only spoke to their 'riders," he growls. "What can I say, I've got a hard head." But if R'hyn is offering? "Ice would be great." Beat "And maybe a stiff drink," and he shoots a look at Catwin that says 'this one's for you'. Bite. Me. And that flask? His now. Thanks. Finders keepers and all that.

Cita makes a wide-eyed kind of face in Xermiltoth's general direction — the kind of face a person in fear of their life might make. "I hope he doesn't. She could squash us all in an instant." SPLAT gesture go her hands, for a dragon who surely wouldn't actually squish them like little bugs. Hm. And R'hyn definitely knows already, but: "You need to go down from drinking slower than that," Cita ignores the loud-stompy, smiling in Catwin's direction sympathetically. "They can see that you don't actually get yourself killed of withdawing from it. Can't you?" The healer turns the smile back for R'hyn, maybe a little pointed in a you're-going-to-do-this-because-healer-says-so kind of way, just for show. Sev's bruise-y face gets the continued clucking, though, lips pulled down in a grimace. "Yeah, that's going to hurt for a minute. Xermi's a special one." She hums, fondly, and nods. "Ryn, you can fetch us all drinks, and ice for Sevran too?" Beam. "Thank you."

R'hyn's brows loft even higher for that incredulity from the Catwin corner, watching her go off with a gleam in his eyes that definitely isn't amusement, nope. Never. That's not the kind of man he is. "We're rule-abiding but we aren't trying to kill you," the rider drawls when she's through, gaze flicking to Cita with a nod before adding a wry, "If you need assistance, we'll work with you. Unlike Fey and Valigath, Celimoth seems to prefer her candidates alive." That and withdrawal is hard, something the former bartender certainly doesn't underestimate - it perhaps ranks third on the list of Things He Takes Seriously, right after Scary Golds and Tiny Women That Boss His Life, the latter of which he eyes with a nose-wrinkled grin for that SPLAT gesture. "He won't, if only because he's too scared to talk to her himself." Twinkle. As for Xermiltoth: "He says everyone's important, and no one deserves to feel left out. Also, he hates it when I censor him. Also, that maybe that flask connected with the right part of your head and you're a HAD now, and—" He trails off with a telling eyeroll. "And honestly sometimes it's just easier to let him speak for himself." And there might be a put-upon sigh for Cita's request, but R'hyn pushes off the pole just the same, fingers tilting away from his brow in a tiny salute as he sidles back out onto the beach. "Yes ma'am. Three drinks and a bag of ice, comin' right up." And away he goes, leaving them under Xermiltoth's watchful - if quiet - eye.

Stare. Glare. Eyes narrow. Catwin is simply trying to bore a hole through Sevran. "Might be the rocks for brains that make it so hard. I would appreciate my flask back." She says as she holds her hand out. "Going splat right now might feel so much better and wait, what is that?" She blinks as her gaze turns to focus on R'hyn. Sevran and her flask forgotten. "Really? You mean." There's another blink as she watches R'hyn head off with the orders and then she's looking bemused and then there's a frown. "Just how does this tapering really work? I mean, what's the limit, when do you go down. Oh man. I'm ginna feel normal again?"

"Then maybe you shouldn't've thrown it at my head." Hiss. Snarl. Sevran has a headache and it's making him pissy. Yeah. He's holding a grudge, alone with the flask. And just for good measure, in case she thinks to go after it, he'll just stuff it down his pants for safe keeping. "Sure wish someone'd told her that earlier." Grump. He finds somewhere to sit and nurse his head, though the fire is slowly leaking out of him. The bronze megaphone gets a glance and a narrow-eyed appraisal. "I somehow doubt that's how it works." For the HAD's that is. "But thank you," for the bronzerider, for the ice he's fetching. "I really appreciate it." And he does. He really does. "And you to, Cita." Cause he does.

Said big bronze megaphone sees you, eyeball-giver, returning that shade being thrown in his direction with a flicker of eyelids and a low, growly noise that just might be laughter. While the R'hyn is away, the bronze can play, and though he keeps his sunbright thinky-thoughts to himself he does creep closer on careful paws, not at all subtle because he's enormous and covered in crickle-cracks of gold, but trying none the less. Scoot. Sidle. Side-step. Fwump. Down he plops himself at the entrance to the pavilion, pressing his nose up against whatever he can reach of Cita to whuffle at his favorite healer's clothing before turning whirling eyes on Catwin. There's a swell of the bronze's chest, almost as if he's gathering himself to speak again but, well - he's not cruel, Xermiltoth, merely exciteable, and so he spares them his advice on the matter, leaving that to Citayzleat instead. For now, he'll turn a doleful gaze upon Sevran, again making an out-loud noise that's plaintive, almost apologetic. Sorry he hurt your big hard head even more. He didn't mean it. Honest!

Cita huffs for 'rule-abiding', but manages to keep a straight face, to her credit. "Generally, that's how I prefer them, too. Valigath…" The healer shudders, looking alarmed. Yeah, maybe Valigath doesn't so much. Matching nose-wrinkled grin for nose-wrinkled grin, Cita waves the bronzerider off with a laugh. The laugh trails as she turns back to Cat, little smile still in place. "How much were you drinking before? You need to go down slowly if you were drinking for the better part of the day. Beers aren't enough to cause any drunkenness, but you won't shake." The healer sighs, shakes her head. "I should have noticed." She tilts her head in agreement with Sevran. The arguing over the flask? Yeah, she is totally ignoring that, snorting a little laugh for Xermiltoth's teasing. "Well, if they were all like him, it would be, right Xermi? No need for all that privacy stuff." Huff. The healer turns, leaning over to shoulder-bump the dragon's face in amusement. "Don't take it so hard, buddy, they're injured. You're welcome, though — I'll bring some tea for your headache to the barracks later. If they'll let me in the sharding infirmary…" Cita trails, grumbling crabbily. Day off indeed. They'll never take her alive!

Sevran is a grumpy injured-person. But it's getting harder for him to maintain that level of anger because… it's just not him. So when the bronze oh-so-sneakily comes upon them, he snorts a bit of a laugh and quirks a half-grin his direction. "Very well done," he teases. "Didn't see a thing." Nope. "And you're forgiven." And he is. Really. No hard feelings for the dragon. Catwin? Men… He shifts, giving an experimental poke to the growing bruise that is invading his eye-lid space. "Huh," for Citayzleat. "You know, this is new for me." In regards to the alcohol conversation. Learn something everyday. As for dragons and dead candidates, he'll just stay silent, if a little bit concerned.

Xermiltoth, ninja-dragon! The bronze certainly slants a sly look Sevran's way, eye-facets glittering as he cants his chin just-so, a very human 'yeah, you know it' gesture he probably learned from his rider. Still, the bronze seems appeased by the candidate's acknowledgement of his stealth and forgiveness, huffing a little whuffle in his direction, too, before he finally withdraws his head and turns to eye his returning rider. R'hyn's steps slow as he approaches Xermiltoth, eyeing the great big bedazzled lump currently blocking the entrance with a roll of his eyes before skirting around his bulk. "Decided to skip on the variety, too hard to juggle so many glasses and the ice. Just got a couple and a bottle, figured you could put the rest in the fla… sk?" The rider's Istan-touched drawl rolls into more of a quiestion than a statement as he makes his way back amongst them, blue-grey eyes squinting around in search. "Where'd it go?" A playful, accusatory glance towards Sevran. "Did you chuck it in the water? Well, whatever, y'all get to share then." Because sharing booze is caring, the bronzer finding a seat and dropping himself into it, bag of ice lifted for Citayzleat to take from his lofted palm as he defly uncorks the bottle with his other thumb. "No infirmary for you. If I get one more report of you sneaking in there after hours, I'll assign you to fish and game for a sevenday. None of you are half as sneaky as you think you are," he says, smirking even as he gestures for one or both of them to lift a glass for pouring.

Watching her flask go down Sevran's pants makes Catwin go all silent and she just stares again at Sevran. She opens her mouth, then shuts it and then shakes her head "On second thought. I don't need my flask back. There's no getting it clen enough after you've violated it so." she mutters under her breath. Dragon is eyed again. "How does something so big move so sneakily anyways?" She asks bluntly. THen R'hyn is askng about the flask and there's a shudder that runs through the vintner "That.. that.. butcher has violated the flask. The unthinkable things that he is doing to it in his pants!!!" She hmmphs and then she blinks at Cita "Beer? As in piss water?" she shudders a little and then sighs "Well, if that's what it takes."

Citayzleat is also not commenting on Xermi's stealthiness — or the lack thereof, maybe. "New? Oh," The boozing. Cita nods, smiles a little. "It's something I've only learned since I've been here. More drinking here than the 'hall." The healer laughs, gesturing around them. What better to do on a beach, after all? "It's not uncommon. Nothing to worry about, if you go about it correctly. Shells." Massaging temples absently, Cita watches Ryn return, eyebrows raised a little. Well, sharing is caring — she won't complain, even if she does snort loudly. "It's my job." The healer sighs, mournful. "I'm going to lose skills." You know, like missing symptoms right in front of her face parts. "You're not as sneaky." Mutter mutter mutter, pour! Pour her some liquor, barkeep. The healer turns an amused look on Catwin, flicking shoulders in an elegant little shrug. "We have sanitizers in the infirmary." She stage-whispers, because the infirmary-word might set off the R'hyn Alarms. Beer, though, gets a sympathetic kind of nod. "Other similarly-weak ones would do, as well."

"It's safe," is Sevran's very confident reply regarding the flask. "And it's cool. I don't mind sharing." No cooties here. A face is made at Cat, and a clear, "I am not doing things to it," is replied, mimicking her voice in the appropriate places. But his eyes follow that bag of ice and maybe, just maybe, he wants that more than he wants the liquor. He even, helpfully, extends his hand towards Cita so she doesn't have to get up. Or move, really. Just hand him the ice before his face explodes.

Welp, there go R'hyn's eyebrows again, sliiiding for his floppy hairline again as he flicks a look between Catwin and Sevran, as though finally realizing they've been sniping this entire time because bless him, but he's not always the fastest on the uptake, our R'hyn. "So," he says in the tone of voice that reads at an 11 on the 'Ryn, no' scale. "Are you two always all-" he makes claw marks in the air with his free fingers, affecting a felinic hiss-hiss to emphasize his meaning "-or is this just a rare day?" A rare day when flasks get shoved into pants to keep-away, and R'hyn can only roll his eyes ceilingwards in amusement for vocal imitations and unthinkable things, tone droll as he says, "And even if he was doing things to it, best not dwell too much." Or the unthinkable will become the thinkable and then where will she be? Hopefully headaching a little less as R'hyn underhands the bag of ice directly to Sevran, skipping the whole Citayzleat factor entirely so he can pour both glasses full and gesture for the healer to hand one off for Catwin and Sevran to share because he's rude. "And it's my job to make sure you don't wear yourself out trying to do your new job and your old one, so again. No. Extra. Infirmary." Grin. "Unless you like assistant weyrlingmaster D'nyl's lesson on tunnelsnake skinning." A glance for Sevran and Catwin. "Have you been exposed to that one yet? It's a treat."

There's a sharp glance at Sevran. Is it cool as in the flask, or is it cool as in to share? "Sure you're not." she murmurs "Thinking it's all nice and cool. I just bet it is." she says having decided on how she's going to interpret the it's cool bit. She shakes her head at Cita as she mourns her flask "I'm just afraid there's no help for it. There is no way I could drink from it anymore, knowing just where it's been snuggled up against. It's unthinkable. I mean, who knows where it's been." And wait a minute she has to share? WIth him??!! She makes a move to get the glass first before Sevran can violate that too. still she shrugs at R'hyn "It's his fault for getting in the way. I didn't ask him to put his face there." she notes "Maybe he's just upset because he can't get all snuggly wuggly with the Heyyu fellow, for all that he was lounging on the Herders cot." She looks thoughful "No, I don't think I've yet seen his bit on 'snake skinning."

Cita can't help the snicker this time — Sev and Cat's argument over the flask is kind of funny, for all that she's doing her level best to ignore it. "I don't know, you were running." She teases, raising eyebrows pointedly. "Sweat." That. Right. She ain't no snitch, either, and completely glosses over Ryn's question, humming under her breath. The hum takes a sour note after a moment, though, and the healer glares maybe a little murderously. No laser beams yet, but, you know. "Job." Huff. Grumble. He's lucky it actually is his job, technically. "I know my own limits." Is that whining? It totally is. As or D'nyl and his lessons, Cita blanches, but only a little. "I'm not scared of D'nyl." It's mostly true, too. That tunnelsnakes of it all, on the other hand… "Oh, I don't know," Teasing Cat, too, is an escape from contemplating D's propinquity for eating gross mean snakes. "He's not so bad, if snuggling is your thing." The healer manages, deadpan for all of a few seconds before she's snickering and waving a hand. "You guys first. I haven't been running or shaking." She can be patient. Generally. The healer leans back, squinting at Sevran to make sure he puts the ice on, then Catwin to make sure she takes her — well, medicine. "You don't want to see it. I promise you."

Eyes lift, find R'hyn, and the flat look that is given to the bronzerider says it all. Sevran is not amused. Not at all. He won't even dignify that with an answer. But as the ice-bag is handed off, he'll retract his earlier look and this time flash grateful look at R'hyn. Savior. Ice is pressed to his bruise, and there's an audible sigh of relief. "She can have it," and a hand is waved towards Catwin and the glass. Cause he's got what he really wants and he's feeling nicer now. Even if he can't help a little look her direction and then a very pointed re-adjustment of said flask. Take that. And then, revenge aside, he tips his head back, resting his eyes while the ice gets to work on his bruise. "Nope," of the tunnel snake lesson, "But I've skinned larger, so I'm not sure how impressed I'd be." He's going to stay out of the discussion of Infirmary vs. Limits. Nope. Not touching it.

R'hyn meets that flat look with a slow-blossoming, shit-eating grin that speaks just as much as to the volume of his amusement as Sevran's does his lack thereof. Brows jerk once, shoulders tipping up in an 'I'm probably an ass, what can you do?' gesture, though that chicanery eases in the face of his sigh of relief. "S'more where that came from. Mack's running the kitchen tonight, says stop in if you need a refresher." Of ice? Of booze? He doesn't say, smile shifting to something distant and beatific and innocent as blue-greys bounce to Catwin, taking in her sass with a mischievous eye-twinkle before he lofts one shoulder. "Faces do have the worst habits of showing up when you least expect them. Best clutch your flask close next time, hm?," he says foreshadowingly before his gaze tracks over to pin Cita with a look, the sort of look that says he'll believe that when porcines fly. "Sure you do. I'm sure none of them have found you passed out weird places with a book on your lap with half your notes printed on your cheek, have they?" A glance for Sev and Cat. "It's only a matter of time. Do tell me when it happens." He'll let them sort out the booze fiasco betwixt themselves, instead humming in regards to D'nyl's potential lesson. "It's less the impressiveness, and more the…" A spinning hand gesture for the je-ne-sais-quoi-ness of the thing. "Sheer and utter lack of regard for what he's doing of it all. It's just-" a cutting gesture "-death." Emphasized by widening eyes. Oh, the drama.

Catwin hmms a little "Oh, so he's like a cruel little boy that likes to pull wings off of bugs and set avians on fire." Catwin muses and then she's blinking at Cita "You've been snuggling with Heyyu?" She asks and looks a little shoked at that. "Huh. Well, I suppose he could be considered good looking I guess, if you go for things like that. But snuggling isn't really my thing, so I'll leave that you and Mr. In My Pants." she sniffs a bit, but well. Seeing as drink is hers. She enjoys. Share? It'd be like asking a man dying of thirst in the desert to give up his water. Oh, but it tastes so good. There's such a look of complete bliss on her face. "Nothing wrong with waking up in strange places. Can be an interesting way to start the day." she adds, pleasantly enough.

Cita, surrounded by people who think that hunting and skinning and those sorts of things are good. And sure, they are, but as far as the healer's concerned…nope. "You're going to pinch parts that don't need pinching with the cap of that thing, moving it like that." She instead points out, deadpan, turning to eye R'hyn with an equal amount of look. "That's my limit." She huffs, like she's the reasonable one here, rolling her eyes massively. "I know that." Cita sasses right back, going as far as to waggle her head. Fight her, R'hyn, sheesh. And well, he does have a point, so the candidate tips her head in the bronzerider's direction. "That's exactly right. Be sure to ask him for pointers sometime. You won't be disappointed." She sighs, twitches — and blinks, gawing at Cat for a moment. Eventually the words catch up, though, and the lightbulb comes on, and Cita's face goes all scrunched up. "Shells, no. I'm not snugglin' anybody. But if you wanted to snuggle Sevran, he's not the worst choice you could make." Grin! She can cede to the not-doing-that of it all, though, humming agreeably. "Sure. There's worse ways to start it. No need to stay in one spot all the time."

"Ugh, that sounds terrible," says Sevran, in response to Catwin's assessment of the tunnel-snake skinning. "I mean, I'm OK with death," he used to deal it out on the daily before he got Searched, "But there's a limit. You don't need to be cruel." He shifts in his chair, pushing back up to a sitting position as Citayzleat's words are suddenly taken very seriously. He does a mental check to ensure nothing down there is going to get pinched. Nope. We're good. But point taken. No more taunting Cat by molesting her flask. But the idea of snuggling the Vinter is met with a grimace, although there's no comment to follow it. He'll just let Cat have at that one. Just gonna soak in the ice-y bliss over here.

I DIDN'T READ ANY OF YOUR POSES. Just kidding, I read them all, but ILA'DEN IS JUST GOING TO MAKE HIS WAY AROUND XERMILTOTH (somehow), onto their little GAZEBO of SHENANIGANS, and he is going to do it half naked. And maybe that wouldn't be so bad if Ila'den had his pants on, but he doesn't; in fact, the dragonrider is in a long-sleeved tunic that doesn't fall far enough down, but he spares (most) of his Down Below immodesty with his riding jacket - which has been tied off at his waist, and shifted halfway around to hide a thigh and his frontal goodies. Because… well… THERE'S A LOT OF BRONZERIDER TO TRY AND HIDE OKAY. WIDTH WISE. WHICH… NOT HIS GOODIES WISE IS WHAT I AM SAYING, YOU GUYS. HIS ACTUAL BODY. HE IS A MAN, NOT A DEMI-GOD. But he's here, with one boot, and one shirt, and one jacket, and no pants, and he's invading Citayzleat's space like he BELONGS IN IT OR SOMETHING. And one muscled arm goes around the healer's shoulders as he leans into her (and maybe a little too much because he almost falls and OKAY SO MAYBE HE'S CATCHING HIMSELF ON HER BUT SHE SAVES HIM BECAUSE SHE IS SOLID AND HE IS NOT) and he presses his lips into her temple like he totally meant to do that and maybe he did. "Citaaaa~" he croons to the healer, as his nose finds its way into her hair and he makes an uncomfortable show of nuzzling her, and leaning more, and maybe he's going to be stabbed but it will BE A GOOD DEATH and worth it. And then? Well, grey eyes are on R'hyn, and the bronzerider squints, and then squints more, and then leans more into Cita (is this possible? It's getting weird) to not-really-a-whisper whisper, "I'm gonna ride that." AND HE DOESN'T MEAN THE DRAGON. WHO HE MIGHT BE STARING AT ON ACCIDENT BECAUSE HE'S DRUNK. "Don't tell R'hyn I lost my clothes."

Silence. Icy silence and then Catwin has turned that glare onto Cita. "Thank you, but no thank you. I do not need to be snuggling anyone, and certainly not him. And since you seem to be keeping your eye on his crotch to notice such things, perhaps it's you that's wanting to do the snuggling. Though, I'm not all to sure there is much there in the way to pinch." Then icy glare is gone, shattered by the walking.. she's not quite sure what to classify Ila'den as. But whatever it is has her blinking at him. At the mauling and the crooning and then there's the utter look of disbelief at his words and wheres he's looking. Those two are mutually exclusive. I mean, no one rides a dragon like that. RIght? And he's drunk. Of course he's not. She does sidle a little ways away. Sorry Cita. You're on your own with Mr. Amorous."

R'hyn contemplates that for a moment before shaking his head, correcting Catwin's mental image of poor, slandered D'nyl with a, "No, more like he's a badass that's done it enough that it's freakishly efficient." And, ergo, lacking in the cruelty department, but terrifying nonetheless, judging by the rider's expression - an expression that goes just a bit sideways when Catwin accuses Cita of snuggling with Heyyu. R'hyn coughs into the sip of alcohol he was taking just then, keeping it down but having to fight for it, eyes watering even as they fasten on Cita's scrunched expression. "You what?," he croaks around the booze-burn, laughing his way through denial and Catwin's icy rebuttal and Sevran's grimace as he goes down for the count instead of engaging. Smart man. R'hyn? Not so smart. He should have fled the scene a long time ago, thrown the ice and bottle of booze and ran, but now it's far too late - he's been found by a none-too-sober Ila'den and whatever it was that the bronzerider was about to say is utterly lost as blue-grey eyes rake over the man, widening by fractions as he just… takes him in. All of him, from forever-mussed hair to muscled thighs pressed way, way up into Cita's grill, mouth slightly agape in what is clearly pure shock. Thundercloud irises shift towards Catwin as she sidles back and it breaks his momentary silence - R'hyn laughs. It's not the sort of laughter one issues in polite company; this is laughter that curls up from somewhere deep, that sets shoulders to shaking and ribs to creaking with the sheer vivacity of it all, sets fingers to clutching ribs as he croaks out a rushed, "Faranth-he-means-me." And oh, but R'hyn is delighted, and amused, and utterly adoring as he finally tames the worst of what can only be described as giggles, brushing tears from his eyes even as he pushes to his feet, moving to assist Cita in removing the worst of his weyrmate from her person. "Don't worry, baby, we won't tell him. It'll be all our little secret," the bronzer croons, even as he tilts his chin at Cita - he's got this, already pulling Ila's arm over one shoulder and tucking one hand around one jacket-wrapped hip. "Now c'mon and let's get you home before anybody else gets an eyeful of your assets, hmm? I'm not a jealous man, but you just might make me into one tonight." And off he goes, weyrmate in tow, lord a'willing and the creek don't rise, aiming a wave farewell for Catwin and Cita before he steers Mr. Amorous off to somewhere vaguely weyr-wards with a cheerful, "See you guys around. Don't do anything I wouldn't." Browwaggle. Horrible. But at least they take their big bronze loudmouth dragon with them. It's something!

Cita huffs under her breath, shooting Sevran an amused look and rocking back on her feet. "Fair enough." She agrees, because that's generally as agree-y as the healer gets. Mild approval. Rockin' it. Until — well, there's Ila. Not wearing any pants, unless you count that jacket. Stumbling only a little as she's used as a support, bracing wth a leg, the healer laughs. "Hi, Ila." Cita murmurs, indulgent, rolling her eyes upwards like she's going to watch him be weird in her hair. She even pats a shoulder, but most of the candidate's attention is focused on holding Ila upright. He really is more liquid than solid. "You sure are." She agrees, stage whispered, and shakes her head. "He's definitely not going to notice. You did fine. You're all covered up and everything, right?" Nod-nod-nod. Catwin's ire? Cita turns just a little, raises eyebrows, amused. "I don't have time." She laughs, and hands Ila off to Ryn, making a Deathy Face at him for all that coughing and sputtering. She'll kick your ass, she'll kick anybody's ass, she'll kick her own ass. "Be careful!" The healer calls after the pair of them, rolling her eyes and giggling under her breath. When they're gone, she rolls her eyes, huffing for Catwin. "I think we found who stole all the alcohol, hmm?" A beat, and she laughs, shaking her head. "He's not Mr. Amorous for me, anyways. Thank Faranth. They're enough of a handful on their own."

Catwin just stares at the retreating pair. She tilts her head a little and then she's nodding "I'll say. He looks more pickled than Litral's pickles." she murmurs "At least he had the decency to cover his dangly bits?" she murmurs and then she's letting out a breath "Well, least it's not the dragon then. That just." she shakes her head. No, not going to think about it. "I think I'm glad that's not a handful I have to handle. Too much for me. Waaaay too much. NOt as if I need anything to hndle. That's just. No." A pause and then a nod to CIta. "Not enough time indeed."

Ila'den tries to give Cita a high-five, but it's definitely more of an awkward side-swing-pat that lands on air and sends him more heavily against her as she bears his weight and KEEPS HIM UPRIGHT. And then R'hyn is laughing, and even drunk Ila looks mesmerized, and then R'hyn is there and Ila'den is laughing and - yes. He nose-bonks his weyrmate's cheek as he is transferred and breathes, "Itayzleat is a good, strong woman. We should ask her to be our weyrmate." A beat, a pause, a drunk moment of maybe-listening and then an undignified snort as he is escorted away. "I love you." AND OFF THEY GO. INTO THE… MAYBE NIGHT. WHO KNOWS. ASSETS AND ALL. "IT WAS NICE TO MEEEEEET YOOOOU." For Catwin, probably.

There they go. But there goes the heartiest heart eyes that Cita possesses, too, soft-squishy and everything as she laughs under her breath. Maybe she's got those pern-bat-equivalent ears, or maybe she just feels the need to make heart eyes for a minute at the riders. Either way. Having dispensed with all of her healery wisdom, and also with Ila and Ryn, Cita falls back down into a sprawl, taking the bottle with her. She's too sharding responsible to drink more than she ought, but she's earned tipping back a good drink, sighing. "I think he tried to, anyhow." The candidate mutters, contemplatively, pressing her lips together to avoid the grin that's still trying to come up. Still, though, best not to contemplate any of that, dragon inappropriateness. Nope. "I don't think a person could be that drunk." Right. The healer kicks her feet up, sighs, taking a breath. She tips her head a little, eyeing Catwin with amusement. "Bad enough contemplating little baby dragons, hmm? Than all that. Shells." Nose-bridge-pinch. "Are you feeling any better yet?"

Baby dragons. And odd thing that she never thought she would contemplate. "Kinda scary in a way to be thinking what is cooking in those eggs. And even more so that there is chance that one could be destined for me. I'm not real sure yet what to make of it." Catwin cradles her bottle. Empty, but she can inhale the fumes. Oh the sweet lovely fumes. "I do believe I am. At least no more buzzing in the brain. I think I might be able to sleep tonight without." she blinks at herself and then shakes her head. "It should be a good night." She does look rather curious though as she regrds the departed pair and the Cita as well. But she doesn't say anything about and settles back a little in her seat.

Cita groans, a little, sprawling even more backwards and heaving a dramatic sigh. "I suppose that's why they're working our asses off. So we don't have time to reconsider." The healer grins, mostly kidding, probably. "If they're waiting for us in the shells…" Well. Cita shrugs, glancing after the retreating backs of R'hyn and Ila. "Seems to be good sorts, right? Dragonriders. Maybe it wouldn't seem so bad." It's the least-wary she's seemed so far — but she's been Useful, and Ila'd, and she has liquor in-hand. Today can't be all that bad, right. Even if there are Witnesses to the weakness. "Good. You should start…" Fingers tap on the pavilion's floor. "Maybe speak with master Eschalei at the Infirmary? He should know exactly what ratio of drinks to hours you should use. And have the authority to get it pushed through." The healer grins, lopsided. She does notice the curious look — it gets a chagrined nose-wrinke, and another glance after the leaving pair, head shaking amusedly. "They followed me home like canine pups. What was I supposed to do." Riiiiight.

"I do hope you didn't feed them." Catwin says in a burst of humor. "Otherwise you're stuck with 'em forever." There could be worse fates, right? Maybe. "Master Eschalei" she murmurs sinking the memory into the brain. "I'll be sure to go see him. Get all the paperwork filled out. Triplicate if need be." she notes with a grin. Paperwork is something that she doesn't mind at all. ALmost likes it in fact. "Makes sense, work you to the bone and you're not awake enough to worry about it." Too much though, and yes the candi's are all going to fall asleep on the sands. They'll go down in infamy.

Cita pulls a face, dramatic and mournful. "I did. They earn their keep, though. Can't help who you love, right?" Never mind what sort it might be. Scrunching up her face in amusement, this time, the healer takes a sip of the drink and pulls her knees up to her chest. "He's a good healer. Knows what he's doing." Cita beams. "He won't make you do any paperwork, either. Just the apprentices. That's their job, anyhow." Because they have to have some perks as Journeymen, right? Right. The idea that they're totally being worked to death so as to not be too worried about their also-possible death at the hands of teeny tiny baby dragons is legit, though. Legit enough that Cita nods, mournful and slow, like it's a Real Thing. Falling asleep on the sands? COULD BE. Could be, indeed. "Guess it could be worse, though. They could have tried to convince us to join the sharding hunters."

Catwin snorts a little "Well, guess you're stuck with them. And I suppose not." She lifts up her empty bottle and smiles "Yup, can't help who you love." she dramatically cuddles the bottle. She's not serious. Maybe. "I'd starve if I had to hunt food. Though I suppose I could forage some. But hunting? I'd likely put a bolt in my foot or something. " She nods a little "Well, I suppose not doing any paperwork is all right. Providing the apprentices don't make any errors. Though I suppose I can go over it and make sure it's all in order." she hmms a little.

Cita sighs, still dramatically put-upon, amused all the same. "Not so bad." Cita shrugs, rolls her eyes. "Even if they get to drink. Drunk enough for both of us put together, wasn't he." The candidate snickers, dimpling. She totally gets the bottle-cuddling. Liquor: it never doesn't love you. "Me too. Although, if it was darts, I could probably hit something without meaning to." She contemplates that in silence for a minute, tapping a foot absently. Well, it could work as a strategy. Maybe. "I nearly put one through mine, the other day. They're going to regret it if we take a foot off, aren't they." Grumble. Grumble grumble. "Oh, they know better. I'm particular about paperwork — it's important, as a healer. Or any craft, I suppose. Got to keep good records, or people — or wines — die."

"Or someone tries to take advantage and short shift ya. I've known a few cargo handlers who have thought a bottle or two wouldn't be missed. They soon learned that I know everything that I should have." Catwin smiles almost evilly "I've made some good friends in the guards. They're quite obliging to put someone up for a night or two, and I keep them well supplied for it as well." she says with ever the most sweetest of smiles. "I met someone who could hit someone without meaning too. Seems it was a quite painful experience as well. I have now idea how I would be at darts. I don't play." "And yeah, would be a sad day indeed if a good portion of their candi's turned up lame. Though, with our own healer, it might not be so bad."

Cita's grin is nothing short of evil, too, teeth flashing delightedly. "That's the only way to keep things running. Shells, who wouldn't miss them? Those things cost money." Rolling her eyes, the healer huffs. "Having friends in the guard sounds like it'd be real useful, though." The healer considers this — but, being a healer, she probably wouldn't have too much use. Unles… "I could scare some of my more unruly patients into behaving." She beams. Then her face falls a little, scrunches up ruefully. "I might have landed one right in somebody's arm, once. I don't play any more, either. They're sharper than you'd think." The darts? Riiiiight, Cita. She does laugh for the last, waggling her bottle in a 'fair point' kind of way. "I'll keep ya safe. Well, as much as I can. Even if they do make us shoot off our toes." Heavy. Sigh.

And this is why everyone hides behind Cita, trusting in her to keep them all safe. I can see future implications there. Hmm. "My toes appreciate it. And well, I figure if I end up with a crossbow in hand. If someone else gets it in the end. That's not my fault. Right? I mean. It's a target, so it works. Right?" Catwin sniffs her bottle and then blows on it lightly "Oh, it's been very useful" There's a rueful smile "A threat of them also kind made someone run. To be fair, he wouldn't leave me alone and all. But maybe I was a bit harsh."

Cita, the angriest mama chicken, protector of anybody she can hover over like a demented wher. "I mean, they don't really specify what you are and aren't supposed to hit with the sharding things." Except they do. But is Cita going to admit that? NEVER. "So, right. It's not like we can't clean up after a bolt to the foot. Whoever's foot it might be." Waving an airy hand, the healer props a shoulder on one of the support posts, patting her surrounding cloud of books gently. She'll get to you sometime, pretties. "I've found you don't have to threaten, if you lead with the action. Saves on time, when you're busy." She's not a very good healer, Cita. "Usually they get the point. I don't think that's harsh at all. The guards wouldn't rough them up too much. They're professionals."

"Oh no, indeed, easiest enough to clean up a shot foot. A little whiskey, externally and internally and something to wrap it with. That does the trick. Right?" Catwin frowns a little "Well, I'm not really the best at leading with action. Disaction? Umm. I walked away. They should have counted, right?" She sighs a little "I kinda feel bad for the guy now that I think about it. He's an idiot and doesn't know when to stop, but he didn't hurt me." she murmurs and then shrugs "Though I shouldn't worry about it too much. I mean, what are the chances that he'll show up again? And nah, the guards don't rough them up too much. Scare em good though."

Cita points. Point for Catwin! "That's…more or less it." She admits, eyebrows raised. "Little more, but basically that's all you need." Especially if you piss off your healer making her go hunting like some sort of Woods Person, anyways. HUFF. "Walked away." This gets a long, drawn-out kind of pronunciation, contemplation clear. Long pause, thoughtful hum. "Sometimes you have to check idiots so they know where the line is." Wisely, she points out, then smiles. "Then they avoid it and you can move on. Ah, well," The candidate glances off across the lagoon, wry. "We are a port. So. More than you'd think? Maybe." She has to laugh for the last, though, huffing little snickers under her breath. "I bet. The guards have a way of being good and scary when they want to."

Catwin hmms "True, we are a port. Though last I saw him, he was seeming to be pretty into a visiting goldrider from Fort, so maybe he'll be spending more time up that way instead. Not that I get why anyone would want to live in such cold place." Boggles the mind. "Ah well, I suppose I should go find that Master and all while I still have the time." she notes and then smiles "Ahh, I do love the idea of medically prescribed booze. It just makes my heart sing." she murmurs as she gets up, straightens out her skirt gives Cita a little salute with the bottle "I'll be seeing you around." Ah gee, you think?

Huffing, shaking her head ruefully, the healer makes a face. "I can't see any sort of rider who'd be worth going to Fort for. Do they know it snows there regularly?" Cita wonders, agreement plain in wide eyes and disgustedly-downturned lips. "Much better here." Nod. Where the people with sense are. The disgust falls away into high amusement, a bark of laughter too. "Well, they need you on your feet, and you can't be working if you're maybe dying." She's a comforting chicken, too, Citayzleat. "He knows a decent supplier, too! Don't let him tell you he doesn't know where to find decent beer." She calls, waving the vinter off with a grin. Content to let Sev ice his poor abused face in silence, then, the candidate plucks one of her books from the pile and sets to studying.

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