Dragon Juggling

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 time is early evening after a particularly nice and sunny day, and though it's what some might consider a dinner hour, the beach around the lagoon is still littered with dragons and weyrfolk enjoying the last few hours of sun. "Shardin' son of a motherless—" Or… not enjoying it, as it were, judging by the amount of muttering a one six-foot-tall bartender is doing. He's looking a lot less taller than usual, bent over with his hand pressed to the side of his head, having just conked himself a good one with a wooden bottle now lying abandoned - or maybe flung - to the sand nearby. "Owww." And what was Heryn doing to smack himself in the first place? Juggling!, bartender style. It probably even looked cool there for a second, right up until that violent little crack where the bottle hit his head instead of soaring behind it as intended. Hopefully nobody was watching!

Depends, does a dragon count as somebody? Not far from the excitable bartender, the speckled bronze head of Czaiath snaps open an eye, a rumbling laugh building in his chest while his gaze lingers on Heryn. At the moment, D'nyl is nowhere in sight, but the bronze snakes his head towards his entertainment and tilts his head, waiting for the next part of the act.

Heryn rightens with that bit of draconic laughter, pointing a squint over at Czaiath. Damn, caught! "You didn't see anything," the bartender grumbles, more amused than actually disgruntled. "If anybody asks, I executed that to flawless perfection." And totally didn't give himself a gargantuan goose egg in the process. "Alright, alright," the bartender says when the dragon snakes his head closer, clearly intending to watch. "It's a new routine I'm trying out. You take your bottle-" he fetches it from the sand "-and your cup-" which has never left his hand "-and you dazzle 'em with bullshit." And he does!, spinning the cup and bottle this way and that, and even balancing the bottle on his elbow before letting it drop back into his hand. "From there, I want to toss it behind my head but… it's harder than it looks." Literally, apparently. "Promise you won't laugh if I try again?" As though he's going to stop the dragon from doing what he wanted. Psh!

Czaiath lets his jaw drop into a draconic smile. Totally, he saw nothing… that D'nyl didn't already see, but Heryn doesn't have to know that. The bronze shifts so he can watch Heryn try the trick again, nodding sharply before settling in to watch. Behind Heryn, D'nyl surfaces, brown eyes catching on the display before he gives his head a shake and takes his time lazily floating back to shore.

It's a good thing Heryn is about as oblivious as it comes when showing off, even if one's audience is a sole dragon - if he knew it was a sole dragon PLUS his rider, he definitely wouldn't be quite as enthusiastic about practicing the flair routine. As it is, he flashes Czaiath a crooked grin, returning the nod before resetting to his original position. "All together then," he says, executing the flips, the balance, the rotations and— "Fardles." The bottle manages to fly behind his head this time, but bounces off the intended hand before he can quite grasp it, bottle thunking to the sand again. "Well, at least I didn't hit myself," is said with a huff and a look of consideration for the bronze. "Don't suppose you'd want to participate, would you?" Because audience participation: totally a thing, even for dragons!

Czaiath tilts his head to the side, then nods. He's the more sociable of the pair, obviously. The bronze gets slowly to his feet and gives his wings a shake before settling them against the back. He's small for a bronze, but still toweringly large. So… now what, mr. juggler. Czaiath is clearly excited at the prospect of participating. D'nyl has pulled himself out of the water now, but he's keeping his distance, just watching the interplay between bartender and dragon.

If Czaiath is excited, Heryn is about ecstatic, words already tumbling out of his mouth after the dragon's initial nod. "Excellent. We'll start off easy," he says, trotting closer as the bronze resettles himself. "Okay, extend your… hand? Paw? Whatever, you just need to stick it out straight, yeah? I'm going to rest the bottle on it. All you need to do is launch it straight up, and then I'll catch it, got it?" There are… so, so many ways this can go awry, but if he knows it, Heryn doesn't much care, if only because he still hasn't spied poor D'nyl. It's only a matter of time…

Czaiath tilts his head to the side, then leans a bit so he can offer Heryn his forepaw. He nods when asked and stays very still so that Heryn can set the pin on his paw. He waits, oh so patiently, until Herys is ready, then tosses it straight up in the air with a pleased bugle.

"You're the best," Heryn compliments when the dragon stills, moving forwards to carefully balance the bottle on the dragon's paw. "Ready… Go!" Up goes that bottle!, the bartender marking its progress up into the air. It takes some shuffling of feet, but he gets himself under it in time for a catch, using the downward momentum to swing it full circle into a second toss. It spins, flies for another cup exchange, and in the meantime, Heryn talks: "Now, after I throw it under my leg, I'm going to soft toss it up into the air with the butt of the bottle facing you. If you think you can, catch it and let it keep pointing downwards, yeah?" The reason why quickly becomes clear, for he pulls the cork during a slight of hand move. Under the knee it goes, then up — hopefully in time for Czaiath to give it a catch, but if not, well, luckily it's only water in there, and not much at that?

D'nyl's brow arches and starts moving around while Czaiath follows through on his promise, whirling eyes watching the bottle. There's a momentary pause as the two converse, then Czaiath drops his jaw in another grin, settling back on his haunches so that he's more stable when the bottle comes flying towards him and… he doesn't know his own strength, crushing the bottle in his paw and spraying wine and glass in their little radius. Oops?

Oops indeed! Heryn's eyes go wide when the bottle shatters, one hand reflexively flinging up over his face as bits of glass and liquid shower down around them. "Shells! You okay?" The bartender is… laughing? Indeed, he's chuckling as he fluffs bits of glass out of his newly-drippy hair, peering up at Czaiath with amusement. "Didn't cut yourself, did you?" There's some real concern for the bronze there, but mostly amusement as he tuts at the mess around them. "Well, this will be interesting to clean up… Still, it was a good try! A little practice and you'll be a regular bartender." And then, and only then, does he finally spy D'nyl moving over there, blue-grey eyes going suddenly shifty. "Uhm… this isn't what it looks like?" Sheepish!

Czaiath shakes his paw somewhat like a canine who stepped on a coal and D'nyl chuckles, "He's fine, just scared himself." D'nyl closes the distance, patting the bronze' side, then retrieving his towel from the nearby sand and wrapping it around himself to preserve Heryn's modesty, "You two were having fun, it looked like?" The barefoot rider moves carefully, pulling a small axe and a bag out of his gear and arching his brow at the juggling fiend.

Heryn seems to relax somewhat when D'nyl assures him Czaiath is just fine, puffing out a breath of air he hadn't realized he was holding. "Oh good," he replies, stooping to pick up some of the larger glass pieces as D'nyl retrieves his towel, carefully gathering the bits in his palm. "We were! He's a good sport, indulging in a random whimsy," Heryn agrees with a grin. "Too bad he'd never fit in the Lounge - I'd ask if I could borrow him for a routine sometime." That's said mostly for the bronze's benefit, the bartender shooting the dragon a wink before peering over at that axe the rider is carrying. "Aw, was the show so bad I have to be put out of my misery?," he teases with a grin, though there's a bit of brow-raising right back, the bartender clearly curious!

One corner of the bronzerider's mouth quirks up at the joke, "Naw, just one of the safer ways to make sure I get all of the glass." He crouches down, indescriminately scooping glass and sand into the bag with the axehead. It looks like he's done this before. "That's up to him, though, borrowing him." The bronze rumbles amenably and D'nyl arches his brow at the bronze, "Again?"

"Ah. That makes… entirely too much sense," Heryn says with a snicker. He's still going to help gather up bits and pieces as he goes, but he'll really have to remember that for the future. "Had to clean up glass a time or two, I take it?," he asks because it really is obvious it isn't the first time. Plink, plink go two or three more pieces, and by then his hand is dangerously close to being full, so the bartender gestures towards D'nyl's bag in a 'may I?' sort of gesture. "Again?" It's Heryn's turn to raise his brows, glancing between bronze and rider before 'hm'ing. "The bar is right over there. I can probably grab another bottle, if he wants to give it another shot." He's… entirely too interested in the idea, and trying to play it cool.

"Too many folks getting drunk in the woods, aye." D'nyl nods at the gesture to the bag, "Please do. I'll take it down to the glasscrafters to sort out. They love giving it to their apprentices." Once the last of it is in the bag, he ties off the thong for the bag with a soft grunt, "Let's not do that just yet…" He glances at the bronze again, then back at the juggler, "He thinks you're exceptionally entertaining and wants to ask you something."

"Tsk, tsk. That's why you should get drunk in a bar," Heryn jests, moving forward to place his collection of glass shards into the bottle. "Shells, yeah, I bet there's plenty to be done with the shards," the bartender agrees, dusting his hands free of sand and gunk as D'nyl and Czaiath share that look. "Entertaining I'll take. Exceptional…" Heryn makes a 'myeh' sort of noise, hand wobbling back and forth to imply he thinks he's just so-so, but he does seem interested in that question, head tilting over towards the bronze even though it's D'nyl doing the talking. "Oh? And what's that?"

"Not everyone's got bars to get drunk in." Or… other things D'nyl would rather not remember. The bronzer straightens, stowing the tools away again, then glances at the bronze, "Are you really sure?" The bronze snorts his displeasure at his rider's continued questioning, "You really are being a slut this time around." This time, the bronze' tail comes around, flicking D'nyl in the back and his rider returns the favor by clouting him on the shoulder, "I'm just teasing and you know it." He reaches into the bag, then comes back to face Heryn, both of his fists outstretched and closed, "Pick a hand."

"Fair enough. I've been to enough places to know that's true," Heryn concedes, gaze going somewhere in the middle distance with the memories, drawn back only when the bronzerider converses with his dragon. There's a sharp brow raise and an upwards flick of the corner of his mouth for the banter between the two of them, but… bless his heart… Heryn is clueless, and too used to one-sided conversations at this point to ask. Instead, he frowns faintly at the offered fists, gaze twitching between D'nyl and Czaiath again before mumbling, "This'd better not be a tunnelsnake head," and tapping his left fist.

D'nyl studies the lad, that comment making him wonder, but he rarely gets curious enough to actually ask such things. Czaiath rumbles and D'nyl shakes his head, the pair acting in odd unison, "Shards, no. Those aren't worth savin'. I just flick 'em wherever they land. The smell of the death of their own kind can keep 'em away for a while, after all." When his fist is tapped, he flips his hand over, unfolding his fingers to reveal the pure white knot of a candidate, "He would like you to stand for Feyruth's clutch on the sands."

Heryn laughs lightly for that firm denial from both bronze and rider, one brow flicking up in an amused gesture, shoulders rolling with a shrug. Still, he'll file 'death' under ways to get rid of tunnelsnakes for the future, though Faranth only knows when he'll need it. "Hey, man, you just never know. Some people will go to great lengths for a practical joke…" The last word trails off when D'nyl reveals the knot, his slight frown remaining as he looks between the pair of them again, and this time it's him asking, "Are you sure?" Though, considering the snort of displeasure Czaiath's already uttered, one hand extends, not exactly taking the knot from D'nyl's hand, but not denying it either.

"I'm- well, he's sure. And I'm not the practical joking kind." As zany as D'nyl might seem when compared to more 'normal' weyr occupants, he's actually just a very different kind of down to earth. Czaiath rumbles when Heryn hesitates to take the knot an D'nyl coughs in reaction to the bronze' comment, "He says you have to take it or he'll break all of your bottles."

Well, if anything is going to motivate Heryn into action, it's threats against his bottles! Just kidding. He's already reaching for the knot well before the insinuation is made. The bartender is… still not quite convinced that he deserves it, but he takes it just the same, squinting playfully up at Czaiath. "He wouldn't dare!," is the declaration, but the point is moot regardless, the bartender rubbing one thumb over the bright new knot before adding, "And… thanks." Grinning like an idiot is the way he'll leave them, off to gather his things and, eventually, allow himself to be shown to the candidate dormitories. This ought to be interesting!

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