Wreck Cavern - AKA "Four bronzeriders walk into a bar..."

Summer - Day 20 of Month 8 of Turn 2714
Half Moon Bay Weyr - Rec Cavern

This large cavern is painted a pleasant shade of pale blue-green, with purple highlights along borders. The weyr's badge is featured in a twin tapestries hanging on either side of the entry. Directly inside the doors and to the right is an area with bookshelves and a long computer desk for the public computer. Several chairs line the desk so that people waiting for the computer may pursue other studies. To the left of the entrance is a sitting area with a chess set built into a table.
Along the wall to the left is a bar, set up against the storage closet. Tall metal chairs with bright purple and blue-green cushions line the bar; beside the bar is a pair of gambling machines. Prior to recent renovations, the bar was set up on the other side of the room in front of a huge mirror inset into the wall. Now that mirror is behind a slightly elevated stage featuring a piano recently built by the Harper Hall and transported to the islands. Several music stands and musician's chairs are stacked against the wall, for use when Harpers or weyrfolk desire to perform.
Along the wall opposite the entrance are dart boards, each with a set of couches and chairs nearby for relaxation between turns. And all throughout the room are sitting areas with similarly constructed couches and chairs, all featuring blue-green or purple fabric. Short, darkly stained wooden tables are centered inside each sitting area, for games, food, drinks, and whatever else weyrfolk need. Near the center of the room is a large, long table useable both for crafty pursuits or table tennis, and interspersed throughout the room are card tables with wooden, cushioned chairs.

It's late. (You let me set - FIGHT ME). The rec caverns are empty now, completely void of life and any manifesting hints of it (sans the indisputable proof that will never be wiped clean from these four walls: the bar, where people have tried to drink away unwanted thoughts and identities; the dart board, where sharp ends stick in various angles, abandoned in the heat of dispute or the congeniality of camaraderie; the elevated stage, where Ila'den sits now at a piano with his fingers pressed to the keys in a moment of uncharacteristic vulnerability). To be clear, it is not a moment of distinguishable weakness. Even in his most quiet reflections of self, Ila'den is as feral as a wolf, as primal as any nightmarish beast, as guarded as a renegade dealing in secrets and well-hidden truths that are cleverly omitted or disguised as incomprehensible lies. It's a moment of humanity, when there's an intimate glimpse of the man lurking behind that ever-present facade of amused disinterest and self-deprecating humor. He's still not a good man, but he is just a man. Ila'den is a man in possession of restraint and iron will, who wields his strength now to apply gentle pressure against ivory - who plays hauntingly and haltingly because it's one of Ila'den's many secrets. AND OKAY, MAYBE IT'S ACTUALLY JUST A BUNCH OF DISCORDANT SOUNDS THAT MAKE LITTLE TO NO SENSE. Why? Because that wolfish but decidedly human man has actually seated his weyrmate on the bench beside him, and his hands are actually poised alongside his weyrmates, shoulders pressed together in the minute distance of bodies as Ila'den asserts with gruffly husky tones, "Very good. Now here." And it's an exchange: the bronzerider replicating a beginning's melody - slow an unhurried, patient as he allows R'hyn a moment to digest what he's being taught before Ila'den withdraws to let him try again (humming the melody, dipping his head with each note, giving his weyrmate praise every time he gets it right, and emitting husky laughter and gentle, "Close, weyrmate. Watch closely," a repeat. "Now try again.")

It's the break in discordant sounds and wolfish husky laughter, mistimed as it were, that fails to warn J'en that anyone would be in the rec room at this late hour. His attention clearly not on what may await on the other side of the door, it's thrust open as he murmurs in soft conversation with S'van, close on his heels as they arrive at their destination. Several steps within are taken, still unaware they were not alone, until he halts in midstep at the fumble of piano keys. This was oddly reminiscent of something from his past, bringing tension to his shoulders where once there was none and a flashing flick of golden eyes towards the source. Any semblance of relaxation vanishes upon discovery of Ila'den and R'hyn, neutrality slipped on with ease like a pair of comfortable shoes, before redirecting his gaze towards the pooltable nestled in back corner of the room. It was well enough away from the other pair of bronzeriders that J'en merely straightens his spine a bit and decidedly heads for it without a second glance anywhere else. Unzipping his jacket and sliding his arms out of it, revealing the blood red tanktop beneath, he tosses it into a chair nearby and pulls two cues off the rack along the back wall. One, handed to S'van, and the other kept to himself. Not intending to disturb the other occupants of the room, he gestures towards the table to indicate the youngest of the bronzeriders set up for a game, already having grabbed a cue cube and putting it to use.

Conversations halted, it does not take the young bronzerider long to catch ear of the distinctly different sound of fumbling musical chords and instructive words. But it's the reaction of his companion that makes S'van look up and over, finding the pair at the piano easily enough given the vacant space. A twitch of a frown and a glance back to J'en, a quick taking in of the neutral expression and sudden upright tension. A hand reaches out to touch the small of his back, fingers brushing across leather as his intended target moves away without a glance back. Sev is quick to follow, a resigned sort of expression playing across his features as he moves with swift and confident steps towards the pool table. He is sans jacket already, so there is nothing to remove that would not result in the reveal of bare skin. A reach for the pool cue, giving him the opportunity to lean in and murmur something low against his ear before he plants a quick kiss and moves off. He sets the cue against the side of the table so that he can gather the other required elements for the game, going about the task of filling and racking and setting the balls. This done, he moves off to once more claim his cue stick, a practiced sort of twirl of his fingers, a familiarity with the tools of the trade that speaks, perhaps, to the former weyrling's skill with this sport.

Ila'den's 'not a good man,' and if you believe that, he also has a bridge in Telgar he can sell you, but that's neither here nor there. What is here is a piano, and a bench with entirely too much man pressed in on it, and the discordant notes of a novice following the lilting play of someone that just might know what they're doing. It's not R'hyn; husky laughter engenders quiet snickering and a sideways push with one forearm, the attempted murder one might call music ceasing with the gesture. "That was not good," gets asserted right back, but he watches and listens and improves if only because 'totally fucking it up' leaves plenty of room for growth. It also leaves plenty of room for distractions that might be seized upon rather than suffering the indignity inherent in learning something as important as this in the presence of people that aren't Ila'den, blue-grey eyes lifting upon J'en and S'van's entrance, lighting up with recognition. "Hey," he greets, unchangingly buoyant, one hand lifting in a wave of recognition before his gaze returns to Ila'den. "Later?" The lesson, he means, as indicated by a soundless drag of fingertips over keys, fingers that catch on the older bronzerider's knee with a squeeze and a nudge of his shoulder before he gestures towards recent-weyrling and his weyrmate with a tip of his head. The bronzer's big body is already moving in that direction, gaining his feet to saunter towards the pool table, stopping a polite enough distance away to ask, "Can we join you?" One brow quirks for S'van's twirl of the pool cue, mouth snagging up on one side. "Can't say I'm gonna be any manner good at it, but." It'll be funny to watch Ryn fail anyways? Cue an easy shrug, posture loose and distance maintained in indication it's alright to be told no.

More throaty laughter; it's Ila'den's response to the abuse at the hands of his weyrmate, accent affecting exaggerated levels of thickness, but he doesn't argue. "It was fine." Maybe it wasn't actually good (it was), maybe the man simply isn't the type; whatever it is, lessons and movement on the keys of pianos cease the literal second that Jae and S'van step foot into the room, the oldest bronzerider in this mismatched quartet leaning forward against the keys of piano while that grey eye takes in every single nuance of expression. Yeah, he sees you Jae, and you, S'van. Ila'den is boldly witness to J'en's reaction to Ila'den's proximity: the immediate neutrality of expression, the stiffness of a back where once he may have been relaxed. He spies that flicker of a frown, that hand on lower back meant for strength or comfort or a reminder that Jae is not alone as words (unheard) are whispered and kisses are exchanged. This is why R'hyn is the better of them. He goes anyway, heedless of a less than welcoming atmosphere, but Ila'den? Ila'den remains where he is, rumbling low, husky laughter on the heels of his amicable weyrmate's attempts to be the voice of reason when fate's exercised her sense of humor in an arguably cruel manner. "Look at them, R'hyn," comes Ila'den's voice from behind - soft, unperturbed, the proverbial calm in a potential shitstorm. "They can't even look at me; they certainly don't want to play pool with me." But Ila'den does move. He shifts away from the piano and makes his way over to the bar, ducking behind it to produce a glass and something with a promising bite. Yeah, Ila'den might be the big bad wolf, but he's not the bogeyman. He'll just lean against the bar and watch - for now.

A cursory glance is spared S'van when J'en feels the touch to the small of his back, saying nothing, but it seems to ease some of the tension the occupied room had bought to be. The murmur that comes when the new-graduate leans brings forth a soft exhale and apprehension appears to be melting away little by little after that quick show of affection. By the time that Sev is racking up balls and twirling his cue over there, Jae's brows lift some and he can't help the grin that pulls at the corner of his lips before he simply chuckles. "I'm so screwed," he groans quietly to himself, seeming amusedly resign to his fate. A pool shark, he was not. In fact, he was horrible at it, his only credit being he just so happened to look really good at failing to succeed. Enter R'hyn, stage right, and golden eyes slide the sightly older bronzerider's way. A nod is given in greeting, his posture losing only the smallest fraction of the ease he had regained with a quick look towards S'van before he shrugs his shoulders, "Sev's said 'e's gunna teach meh to play." Gaze darting to Ila'den, it drops away quickly to somewhere along the floor. Soft. Muttered. "Can if ya want." To whom this was directed is anyone's guess, but it could be assumed he meant both of them considering R'hyn had asked for 'we' and not just himself. "Long as 'e dun mind."

There is definitely an air of confidence, bordering on cocky, to the newly tapped Wingrider who is clearly in his element, though he does his level best not to let that classic smart-ass smirk bloom across his face. A quick touch of finger to the end of his cue, and S'van reaches for the chalk, giving him something to focus on as he walks back toward the front of the table. There's a glance towards J'en, and a quirk to the corner of his mouth that is more affection than smirk, at quiet groans that he clearly heard. "It's only fair. At least this is less likely to result in bruises or broken bones," he notes. "You'll probably catch on quick enough." The approach of R'hyn has his attention shifting, and consideration is given to the idle question posed of them. There is no animosity in his expression or his posture; Sev is relaxed enough for the both of them. But that increase in tension is not lost on him, and there is long pause given as he considers his options. Eventually, the vocal consent of J'en has him shrugging his shoulders and offering up his own cue toward the assistant weyrlingmaster. "Sure," join them, "but I might have to start charging if you ask for tips," he adds, a glint of mischief in his gaze. He moves quickly to secure himself another stick, giving it the same quick check as he had the previous one. And despite what the older 'rider may have said, grey eyes do find Ila'den behind the bar without a hint of hesitation, fastening there with idle curiosity that shows none of the animosity he might expect. A brief assessment, a glance towards glasses and booze, and then Sev is back to the task at hand. A few steps to bring him around the table, a reach of his hand that allows the slide of his fingers along J'en's hip as he passes, and a quick question for the pair. "Who wants to break?" Because clearly, he is not going to go first.

It is really rather kind of cute watching S'van with J'en, not that those words will likly pass from Catwin's lips as she slips into the rec room. Nope, she learned once not to classify any relationship of J'en's as cute. She looks a little weary and strips off her leather jacket, and strips the goggles off her head just before dropping them into a chair on her way over to the bar. She watches the guys over at the pool table. Quite the interesting pairing up. She eyes Ila'den behind the bar and quirks a brow a little. "How bout a whiskey?" she asks after a moment. After all, she's needing something to help warm up the joints after flitting all around Pern with deliveries. Now that she probably couldn't go around behind the bar and make something too. But, well. Too much effort at the moment. That's her story and she's sticking to it.

See R'hyn. See R'hyn struggle. Struggle, R'hyn, struggle! Because he is gunning for the amicability ingrained in his nature, while also warring against some instinctive desire to return back to Ila'den's side. It freezes him at that careful distance, bids his body turn with a dip of one hip to face the barbound bronzerider with a long look, unreadable to some, loaded for him, expression briefly sobering before lips slowly curve, first up one side of his mouth, then the other until his weight shifts from foot to foot and he offers a teasing, "You just want to stare at my ass when I bend over this table." He winks, but it lacks his usual sass, instead a gesture of acknowledgment coupled with a push of kissy-face lips before he turns back to the weyrmated pair around the table. "He just wants to stare at my ass when I bend over this table," he reiterates needlessly, hips pointedly switching as he steps in to accept the pool cue from S'van with a soft snort. "As though I need tips usin' a stick to put balls in holes," he drawls famous-last-words-ingly with a flash of teeth, meeting mischief for mischief before he jerks his chin at J'en. "Rank before beauty." O PROMOTED ONE. Blue-grey eyes shift to the door for Catwin's entrance, a grin flashed in her direction along with a spirited wave. "Long day?"

Several things happen at once, none of which garner surprise from Ila'den, but do perhaps earn Jae the oldest bronzerider's lingering attention for one, two, three uncomfortably long stretches of, 'why is this happening?' before S'van's attention is on Ila'den, and Ila'den meets his animosity-lacking assessment with a raise of his brows - and that glass. A toast! The once-renegade smiles, but the smile itself is hard to read: it's not unkind, but it's certainly distinct in its lack of something, something that doesn't appear when Catwin comes through the door and settles herself at the bar with a request for whiskey. "Whiskey it is, little bird," Ila'den acquiesces - amused, perhaps, if tone and huskily short-lived laughter are anything to base judgement on. "But then you're going to have to help yourself after this. Am no a bartender; just the man raiding the bar for his own self-interests." Oh hai, Cat. Ila'den and your husband dragon share that same funny accent, though Ila'den's is hinted at in subtle nuances and less pronounced - a result of turns practicing to speak the common dialect of Half Moon Bay (if only to be understood). Still, Ila'den retrieves another glass, fills it with an Ila'den amount of whiskey (which is to say, A LOT), and then pushes it along the bar to Catwin, bottle settled beside it. Or maybe he's just using that reach as an excuse to lean forward so that he can definitely check out his weyrmate's ass even before he's leaning over the pool table. "I am only a man, R'hyn," Ila'den replies in husky tones, that grey eye raking in a way that's decidedly inappropriate for sheer quantity of wickedness alone. But Ila'den does have the grace to amend with, "I must be forgiven some of my flaws. But rest assured, weyrmate: I would never do something like that. To you." And yes, there's a wolfish smile, a response to gazes that hold too much weight and perhaps enough weight to make Ila'den's attention flicker back to Cat. "You could come and join us, little bird. I hear there are fantasies and books involving a woman and the roguish charms of bronzeriders in numbers of two. Lucky for you, there's four of us." TERRIBLE. He even winked at her with his sole remaining eye. But Ila'den is making his way down to the pool table, not picking up a stick, but glancing contact with calloused fingers over the small of R'hyn's back as he leans forward and chimes in with, "Aye, he's well versed in how to handle sticks. But if he's in need of an education, I ask only that you defer him to me for any needed - ah - tips." You aren't mistaking that suggestiveness. Let's re-establish that he's terrible, and leave it at that.

"Ain't nothin' got broke," J'en snorts, setting down the cue cube nearby now that he's finished with it. Sure, he has no idea what he was really doing with it, but he'd observed enough people doing it to assume it was something that had to be done. "…but ya should have been playin' closer attention." Shoulders are lifted up and then dropped. No apologies, but he might be smirking at S'van a bit as he looks at him past the fringe of his lashes, all without lifting his chin. Sure he very well could have been intentionally distracting him at the time, but, that was neither here nor there. Cough. As for catching on quickly? "If ya say so." Dubious as that may sound, Jae wasn't making for the door at least, so that was something. He falls back on his good friend silence though as the new-graduate goes about chatting with R'hyn, merely watching him as he hands off the cue and takes another. The touch to his hip earns a brush of his fingers to the hand before it's gone but nothing more, all semblance of his discomfort more or less vanished at this point. His head lifts, tossing the longest length of his hair free from his face as Catwin enters, a brow lifting slightly towards its outer edge as he follows her progression towards the bar without comment. Just a notation really, that she was here now as well to add a bit of color to an otherwise room full of big muscled bronzeriders. As for ass watching, golden eyes dart between R'hyn and Ila'den and then swiftly to S'van but he wisely keeps his mouth shut even if he had something to add to that. He'll just, leave it alone. Yep. That's for the best. It was a good thing he wasn't drinking anything for that final sass fueled innuendo, because he probably would have choked on it. A long stare for the assistant weyrlingmaster, even as he slides off the couch arm he'd been resting on and shakes his head as he approaches the table. Though, he might just roll his eyes upwards a bit at the rank before beauty thing. "I ain't any good at this shit," he grumbles under his breath, shooting S'van a dark look as he sets the cueball down onto the table in front of the stack and lowers himself down as he aims the cue at it. Again, that stupid hair falls over one eye and with a determined frown he takes the shot. Balls everywhere, in the room and on the table guys. Its ballageddon. Clacking and bumping against the inside lip of the table before rolling to a stop. No scratch, nobody in holes. A nice spread though, so that's something. A nose crinkle and he stands upright, gesturing to the table practically dismissively. "…'ave at it or whatever…" With that he steps off to give those playing all the room they need, easing his weight to one hip, and visible golden eye settling on Ila'den for a three count and then to Catwin and finally R'hyn while while is more innuendo and suggestiveness, before finally his gaze rests on S'van. Lashes lower and his chin slightly rises a degree or two.

S'van is just going to adopt that 'instructor' role, complete with crossed arms (cue conveniently locked into the crook of his elbow) and next-door-pool-table-leaning. Yes, yes, carry-on. He shall point out all the flaws. Or not. But it is just such a posture that affords him a view of the door and, therefore, a clear witnessing of the entrance of Catwin. There's an upward lift of eyebrows, a shift in posture and a quick twitch to the corner of his mouth that says 'hey!' without actually saying 'hey' out loud. It is a friendly sort of expression that is likely entirely missed because she is heading toward the bar and not the pool table. Which means that Sev's look maybe, just maybe, goes from cheerful-welcome into something a little more disapproving. Especially with the sizable drink that is poured. Hm. But, back to the game-lesson-thing at hand. There is no comment for R'hyns repeated assertion that Ila just wants to stare at his ass, though there's a quirk of an eyebrow that says he at least heard it. A snort, and a much more smart-ass uplift to that mouth for the brush-off of his help. "Depends on what balls you're trying to sink, I suppose. And what hole you're putting them in." A little shift, a roll of his shoulders, and his gaze drops to the moving bronzerider (Jae), following him in his progression from couch to table. A soft, amused exhale for his comment and rather unfriendly looks. This, at least gets no real reaction; dark looks are par for the course when it comes to trying to be helpful, and clearly S'van has built an immunity to them. And then critical eyes that take him every inch of form, from hair-in-face, to shoulders, back, hips (definitely his ass), legs, stance. But no comment, just the steady appraisal as the shot is taken. The following of the spread, a soft 'hm' that is lost to the room, and a quick "come here," with clear intention of giving instruction without giving it to the entire room because he's not about to help out the competition. And then Ila'den is here. Because why not. And really, there is nothing for S'van to say in reply, just a lot of staring, and frowning, and assessing of the situation that says… yeah. He's got nothing. So S'van just frowns at him like he's an interesting substance in a petri dish (read: experiment) and lets suggestive comments fade away. "You next," for R'hyn. Because Sev's about to sweep this game, yo, so you might as well get a shot in before he does it.

Catwin takes the glass, and doesn't even blink at the amount of whiskey in it. S'van is noted and there's just a little bit of a guilty look at the disapproving look. However, distraction in the name of Ila'den has her mind off the disapprobal and the sassy bronzer is given a look, her lips thinning a little as they press together. Of course, Ila has made his way over to the pool table before she can even think up something to say in reply to that. And even then, she doesn't really come out and say something. In the interest of sanity, she's just going to pretend she didn't hear any of that. In fact she just takes a nice long drink instead. Sorry Sev, extenuating circumstances and all. Then as the balls all clack, she startles a moment and turns her attention to the table. Ila'den is pointedly ignored. SHe's pretty sure she doesn't have to worry about such an obscene scenario. A flicker of a glance towards S'van and J'en. Yeah. Not happening with them, she's pretty sure neither want to engage in such a thing. But then, as the innuendo's just keep… coming. Catwin is finding it all the better to have that extra large portion of whiskey poured. Okay, coming into this place this late at night was likely not the smartest thing she has ever done, and staying when seeing just guys in here? Yeah, bad idea even worse. Still, why should she let herself run, she has as much right as anyone, if she lets herself. She hs whiskey, she'll be fine.

R'hyn meets J'en's stare out of the corner of his eye, brows lifting faintly in a question he apparently sees fit to verbalize. "What?" He damn well knows what, but he asks anyways, all huffy laughter and side-slanted amusement. "Like you've never made a shitty joke in your life." Especially in the name of lightening a mood. Speaking of Ila'den… "I forgive you all of your flaws but that one," comes R'hyn's ready reply, delivered right on the tail of Ila'den's quip even though his gaze is focused on J'en as he aims to break the racked balls. "That, and the one where you read those Faranth-forsaken books." Blue-grey eyes lift then, mirthful, tracking his weyrmate's progress across the room with a growing grin. There's a quiet hum of a noise for the contact of fingers against his lower back, instinctively leaning into it even as his gaze shifts to S'van with a sharp, barked laugh. "I suppose it does, doesn't it?" And since they're on the subject, he'll consider them avidly, pulling away from Ila'den's side to find an easy target, because while he wasn't lying about not having a single clue how to properly play the game, he is pretty damn determined to say, "Both." Because he picks off that weak little maroon ball, laughter in his tone when he glances back up at S'van. It's not a boast, merely a jest, follow-up shot sending a green-striped orb jetting off wide of the mark but he doesn't seem to care. Instead he passes his cue off to Ila'den with a wry, "Tip this," that doesn't mean anything while still meaning something even as he goes to join Catwin for the rest of the round. "Enjoying your newfound freedom?" Drinking? Wing life? Probably both.

Let it never be said that Ila'den isn't observant - he is very much that, a habit from times long past, a difficult lesson learned to be aware, that left its fair share of marks hidden away beneath his rider's jacket and the long-sleeved tunic under that; it's why Ila doesn't miss S'van's disapproval aimed at Catwin and her choice of venue within venues; it's why Ila'den doesn't miss the hint of guilt on the bluerider's face before she mentally utilizes Ila'den being Ila'den as a catalyst for just why she's justified in downing too-much whiskey (or is it not enough?). It's noted, not-quite-unpleasant smile refusing to falter in the face of something unspoken, but Ila'den doesn't comment on it. He retreats with more distractions, and a whole lot of innuendo that begets expressions Ila'den is only all too aware of - from Jae first, from S'van second, whose staring, frowning, petri dish experiment regard is greeted with the same penchant for polite disinterest that Ila'den bestows on everybody else: a wolfish smile, a demeanor that's not so much a challenge, but certainly depicts just how very little Ila'den cares for the unvoiced opinion. Ila'den wears that shit like armor. He does not, however, pursue innuendo simply for the sake of causing implicit discomfort, even when R'hyn makes it so easy. Ila'den is not an antagonist. All of the time, anyway. "I thought you liked, 'Got My Mind On My Bronzer, And My Money On His Abs,'" is offered up with more mischief around another smile. And then R'hyn takes a shot, and Ila'den's attention is on those balls that he does hit with a soft noise in his throat - right up until he's handed that cue. A moment of consideration, and then Ila'den returns the cue to its spot. He could play (he's terrible, he doesn't know how, he's running away), or he could follow R'hyn. GUESS WHICH ONE HE CHOOSES. Right over to Catwin (his weyrmate, actually). There's no hint of his usual levity, no hint of that joker's facade, nor wolfish smiles intended to make his choice of actions cryptic in nature. It's just Ila'den pouring himself another glass of whiskey as he leans his side against the bar (and perhaps a bit of his weight into R'hyn), watching Jae and S'van at their game. A tip of his glass towards the bluerider's, and then he says, "My money is on Jae, for the record." Smile.

A brow more noticeably arching when S'van calls him over, there is only a second's wondering and hesitation before the wingleader makes the space separating them disappear, breaching far into personal space as he leans in and listens to what the younger man had to say. There's plenty of nodding, eyes shifting between the other two bronzeriders before his brows shoot upwards and J'en shifts his body towards him as he brings his mouth closer to Sev's ear. A hand drifting to gently rest on the brunet's upper arm, he murmurs softly back for quite a long time before patting his shoulder(as if to console him)and walks back over to where he'd come from with a particular self-satisfied saunter and a smirk resting on his lips. He leans his hip against the wall, idly admiring the nails of his left hand fleetingly before crossing his arms loose about his middle. His attention decidedly on the pool table as R'hyn approaches and takes his shots, but before the last ball fails to be sunk, he relocates his gaze to watching Catwin and her enormous whiskey. No judgment there for his old drinking buddy and true to his word from way back then, he doesn't speak to her. Neither of them were drunk enough for that shit and so he merely inclines his head in greeting now that everyone was more or less focused on the game. Though, that might be somewhat debatable for S'van, at least until his head cleared. Heh. But R'hyn was handing the cue off to Ila'den so he could go talk with Catwin for a bit and so Jae's back to focusing on the game again. For all of two seconds, because Ila'den was already heading back towards the bar with the other two. Golden eyes follow the former Weyrleader's escape, meeting his eye for half a drumbeat before he looks back to S'van. For some reason, what Ila says, brings a slow growing and markedly devious grin to the wingleaders face. "Ya wanna put any marks on that…Sevran?" Low in tone and rumbling towards its end, his words have a undoubtedly sultry sort of purr, giving the poor man a look he likely knows all too well by now. Sweeping, from head to toe and back again, a brow quirking.

CLANGACRASHWOPWOPTHUDRATTLE "aAAAAAAH!" What was that? But like, really. What was that. It's late. Almost everybody is safe in their bed. At least, anybody with much sense. They definitely aren't out laughing raucously, loudly conversing with somebody who's speaking at a significantly lower volume. "It's FINE." The louder insists, voice distorted by another CRASHRATTLE. "I've got it!" They add, as the crashing settles into a din like thirty klah crocks crashing into the floor. Don't worry about it. It's fine, you heard them say it, right???

S'van's disapproval is met with determined drinking. This gets a raised eyebrow but no comment. Perhaps Catwin is off the hook for now, for extenuating circumstances or because Sev has NO room to comment regarding inappropriate behavior. "You could join," he offers her, offhanded and polite, without really believing she will take him up on the offer. But it's there, all the same, and it's a standing invitation should she change her mind. But first, there is a bronzerider at his side, and comments to be made, voice a low murmur for his ear alone as Sev imparts all sorts of wisdom regarding the Game of Pool and how it is to be won. A slide of his eyes toward the competition for good measure… and then his gaze goes distant, drifting to the far wall as murmurs are spoken against his ear, and a body is pressed against him, and things are said that have him looking distinctly less relaxed and a whole lot more distracted. A deep inhale, held for a fraction longer than necessary, the shift of grey eyes toward the whispering figure with a gaze that speaks to all sorts of things that have no place in a public setting, which turns rather dark for the consolatory pat on his arm and saucy walk. Yeah. About that. A swallow and quick roll of his shoulders, adjusting of position against the table, and Sev does a really good job of pretending to be focused on the game at hand. But what he actually sees of R'hyn's shot, and the aftermath of it, is debatable. He at least seems to catch on that it's his turn, even if there's decidedly less confidence in his approach to the table. A rather stern look is pinned on the bronzerider over yonder, and there's a set to S'van's jaw that speaks of tension, and concentration, and sheer determination. There is, perhaps, much more time taken to line up a shot that is strictly necessary for someone who totally DOMINATES the sport of pool. But, given recent events, he needs a moment, kay? Lined up, cue back, a pointed and very heated look aimed at a certain pair of golden eyes, and *CLONK* he sinks the first one with a very satisfied smirk. He up and moving, around the table, and manages to get another two sunk in short order before there's speaking. Speaking directed at him, in a familiar voice, and using a very familiar name (his own) and the next shot he takes is a total miss, tip digging into the table to send the cue ball skipping across the felt and right into the corner pocket. "Fuck." Glare. "Really?" He was a total badass at this! Ugh. Reputation ruined.

Just what she wants to do, hold a stick and whack balls with a bunch of guys. Not. Eyes follow R'hyn over and then a little later Ila'den. Catwin then looks over at Ila. Glancing back at R'hyn she shrugs a little "I think so. Sight handier not having to flag down a ride when Fascath is more than willing enough to go wherever, whenever." There's a frown "Though sometimes I wish he was a little less enthusiastic in taking some of the loads we've done." She is then hmming a little at Ila "Is it?" A glance to the table even as Sev extend his offer. "I wouldn't have the least idea on which ball to be hitting." she murmurs. Course as she watches the cue ball hit the pocket and then the exclamation. "I take it to mean that that was something to not do?"

Oh man there's whispering going on? Why didn't anybody tell R'hyn? He totally wants in on this game! Glittering blue-grey eyes never quite leave S'van and J'en for that dubiously on-topic pep talk, but the second Ila'den's at his side the bronzer cants his chin sideways to speak into the bronzerider's ear, focus eventually shifting to Ila proper with a quick twitch of his eyebrows and a smooch pressed to the man's cheek. Because he can. Something something proximity, something something laws of gravity. Roll with it. Droll eyes roll back to Catwin next, laughing for her words. "Why? What's wrong with his enthusiasm?" But then there are bets offered by Ila and bets encouraged by Jae with smarm and sass and R'hyn can't help but watch it go down because some things, like trainwrecks, are best to watch even if they are clearly going to crash and burn. Cue nasal laughter for that skip of cue on felt, edged with just enough snort to make the noise silly as he edges back out of his slouched position against Ila's side to reapproach the pool table. "And that's why you never bet against your weyrmate." Because they know just which buttons to push even when then just happen to be your full name. There's a small jolt of awareness for the shouting and clattering without the room, pausing his rude little saunter back into their midsts with a frown as though waiting for further commotion, but when none is incoming he settles one hip against the wall with a gallant gesture at J'en. Because now they're invested in just how badly he can sabotage the game and come up winning. CUE ROCKY THEMESONG. GO, UPSTART UNDERDOG, GO.

Whispered words between mated couples, hums of acknowledgement from blueriders, ominous crashes that have Ila'den's grey eye glancing towards the entrance with a softly spoken, "Was that - " before R'hyn is in his space and whispering something that's bordering on the illicit side of illegal. One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi, four, and when R'hyn pulls away, Ila'den doesn't see anything else. He doesn't catch Jae's sabotage working, or S'van's reputation getting slaughtered; no, Ila'den's focus is R'hyn, just R'hyn, with an intensity that's gone damn near feral in response to whatever words R'hyn's lips colluded to press against Ila's ear. The older man's every muscle coils taut beneath the surface with anticipation, perfecting a curious bristle that translates into something primal and debauch and run, R'hyn, run. There's no smiles now; there's no hint of levity or debasing self-deprecation that makes up a majority of what makes Ila'den so damn hard to like; he's simply a predator - apex, at the top of the chain, undaunted and unafraid - watching his prey as it saunters back towards S'van and Jae (and is chased by a rumbling growl that rattles from somewhere in Ila'den's chest). Against the wall R'hyn leans, and he's allowed reprieve for maybe seconds before the oldest bronzerider in the quartet of those gathered here for a game of pool is taking ground-eating strides to his weyrmate. For a man who prides himself on his ability to remain self-possessed in the worst situations, there's certainly no sign of that control now (the best kind of situation); it disappears when Ila'den cages R'hyn with his body, slamming hands down on either side of R'hyn's head as one knee pushes between thighs and pins him there. And Ila doesn't bother with decadent lip-to-ear whispers when he manages a husky growl of, "Lucky for you, Husband, I'm not a nice man," on an accent gone thick enough on guttural tones to be near indecipherable. And yep, Ila'den is catching R'hyn by his thighs and hauling him up against his midsection, using the wall as leverage. "Excuse me," is offered gruffly to no-one in particular, preceding the way Ila'den stalks the floor with his eyes on R'hyn's face and the kind of expression that isn't allowed in polite company before he BODILY DEPOSITS R'HYN RIGHT ON TOP OF THAT PIANO. And then yeah, it's Ila'den's turn to lean in and say private words with his mouth pressed against R'hyn's ear, the poise of his body the very definition of aggression and promised violence as words are exchanged. And then? And then Ila'den is pulling back, bringing one finger down on a key right between R'hyn's legs in a gesture that's starkly intimate but somehow threatening. "Now get the fuck off of my piano." Though notice Ila'den isn't really giving the younger bronzerider space to breathe, much less move. Goodluck, R'hyn. …And then Ila'den is totally ruining whatever that was by PLAYING EYE OF THE TIGER ON THE PIANO. Maybe in the wrong key if R'hyn's ass hasn't moved yet, but HE'S GOT YOUR THEME-MUSIC, JAE. YOU GOT THIS. And that is a flicker of mischievous amusement in his eyes. Perhaps he was into the whisky long before anybody showed up, to be willing to share one of his secrets.

What is the line? Sex in the air, I don't care I like the smell of it? Well, that isn't exactly what is going through the Lime laden dolphineer's mind as she hefts the basket on her hip, her sarong fluttering loosely about her person, dipping low enough that the petals of her tattoo might be seen. The bar tender gives her a look, a look that clearly says what the literal fuck. Before pouring her a drink in time to witness Ryn/Ila's floorshow. Huh. So that happened. Cue drink arrival and a spotting of Catwin who gets POUNCED. "YOU ARE FREE AT LONG LAST!" Is Tanit buying the bluerider a drink? Why yes, yes she is. Jae and Sev get a nod when.

J'en probably couldn't be more pleased with himself then he was right now, looking all chill and relaxed leaned in against his spot along the wall, even if S'van seems to having some issues with concentration for reasons he had nothing to do with at all. Heheheheheh. AHEM. He does however, meet the younger bronzerider's gaze, saying and doing nothing as Sev lands shot after shot. That he is looking far too smug at the end there when the white cue ball ends up in a pocket instead of banging into one of the remaining colored ones, is a coincidence, surely. Tsking softly at the cursing and glaring, "Hmm," he considers, letting his gaze wander the table before it flicks back to frustrated teen, "Guess that's a no, then?" All of the smirking, with a rumble tossed in for garnish, the bastard. A soft chuckle is extended towards R'hyn as he tells it like it is, the merriment in his eyes losing their sparkle momentarily for all that crashing and yelling from only Faranth knows where or why. Blinking once or twice, he soon shrugs it off and pushes himself up and off the wall, so he can fish the white-wrongfully-sunken-one out of the pocket Sev had dropped it in and places it back onto the table. Taking his time, J'en leeeeeeans over and aims his shot. Now, the fact that he pushes out his hips outward a bit more pronouncedly (producing an audible creak of leather) is due to whatever tips and tricks S'van had helpfully given him, but that he's locked his gaze with S'van suggests, unlikely. However, it does distribute his weight more evenly than the when he broke, not that it helps, even remotely. Dropping his gaze, there is a touch of tongue to his lips for concentration's sake (it totally has nothing to do with it) and despite the former butcher's best intentions Jae fails to sink the black ball he was aiming for. The white one, still bouncing around and missing every thing except the sides of the table, is watched as the wingleader stands back up and casually tilts his head to the side, hair falling over one eye. When it stops clacking around uselessly and rolls to a stop, Jae's chin lifts and his lashes lower, in silent accusation. A snort follows, just as dismissive, and he turns to start towards R'hyn so he can gently hand off his cue, except…here comes Ila'den. There is barely enough time for J'en to get out of the former Weyrleader's way, before he's breezed past. Catching himself on the arm of the sofa behind, brows lift at the feral display, finding himself staring rather impolitely before decency says now was as good as time as any to take a breath and examine something else. Like the ceiling. That bit of fluff on the floor. The crumbs on the side table. All of it, incredibly interesting okay? The stuff of legends. A twitch for the sound of something hitting the piano keys, and he exhales softly. Golden eyes fall to S'van, lashes lowered once again, before he's tracking Tanit's arrival and pouncing of Catwin. Several long seconds pass before he nods back to her in greeting, but as soon as that's done he looks back to the youngest of the bronzeriders present. "Yer turn I guess," he says with a shrug, because, what can he really say after all that?

S'van would have had a freaking amazing game, truly — he would have OWNED this pool table — if certain too sexy for their own damn good bronzeriders hadn't decided to play dirty with looks, and words, and suggestive movements that add up to a rather frustrated (and not just in THAT way) recent graduate. There is definitely a look about him that says he's rather annoyed by the turn of events; stupid cue ball. A hissing, "No. That is definitely something you do not want to do," as he agrees with Catwin, with just enough humor to not make the remark scathing. But it's the bronzerider tsking him that has his attention and his gaze, a very heated gaze, that follows him as he plucks the offending white orb from the pocket Sev had unwittingly sent it into. As it is no longer his turn, he will simply stalk to the side and take up residence against the other pool table, once more crossing his arms over his chest as his eyes go to the game. This time, however, there is a distinct lack of calm-cool-casual happening. That all too intense gaze is pinned on leaning forms, on carefully lined up shots that still end in failure, and a corner of Sev's mouth twitches upward in private amusement. It is short lived, as stalking Ila'den's rush in to claim errant bronzeriders with confusing but not at all private words and then… "Huh," because he is actually hauling him away, and this is probably the first time that Sev has seen this, um, EVER. "Well," and then a distinct turning away from that particular scene, because he does not need to see, hear, or even THINK about such actions happening between the pair, kay-thanks. Get a room or something. Much safer (heh, no. not at all safer) to focus on the game at hand. He pushes up, grabs the offered cue and heads for the table because, well, he might as well take the next shot seeing as R'hyn is otherwise occupied. And so it is without notice on the part of the former-weyrling bronzerider that dolphineers join blueriders for suspiciously strong drinks, the nod of greeting lost in the focus that S'van is attempting to put on the task at hand. Focus that is made all the more difficult by all of the goings on. Seriously. And yet? *PLONK* he's back on his A-game, sinking shots in short procession as he moves about the table with practiced ease. On one such attempt that brings him around the table on Jae's side, there is a pause and another lean in to murmur something anew, low and quick before he turns to take the last shot.

And things just got /Real/! Catwin blinks as Ila plays the piano with a Ryn. Well. Okay. Umm. SQUEAK! Bluerider is pounced by a dolphineer. Rather unexpectedly. Free? Umm. blink. "Yeah, just got back from the last run of the day. That sort of free, right? Course with all the sexing going on in this room, Catwin is rather wary about that question. Free how? Free for lunch? Well midnight snack maybe. Free for wild shenanigans. And hey, this isn't Fort with it's Shenanagins. Course, Wreck Room might be more fitting considerin how things are going. As for pool game going on? Well Cat's attention is rather occupied at the moment and suddenly she has not one drink but two drinks now. "Missed me?"

Dangerdangerdanger. R'hyn is ignoring it soundly from his position against the wall, instead meeting Jae's gaze with a return chuckle and an extension of one hand to accept the proferred pool cue. "Dunno what you did, but you did it well," he says like the hypocrit he is, teasing in his tone and mirth in his gaze, both lingering in potentially-infuriating quantities when hands slam to either side of his head. Either R'hyn's got balls somewhere under that ever-cheerful facade or he was expecting this (both), because he doesn't flinch, shifts only to accomodate the knee that shoves its way between both of his along with an almost-honest, "Lies and slander. You're the nicest man I know." The almost because he can't quite keep a straight face through it, laugh something dark and silken as he's hauled away to be caged against the piano. There is an exchange in the most literal sense, words pushed back and forth, heated, borderline angry if it weren't for the dead giveaway of expressions, ending with a crooked-grinned, "Promises, promises." Despite threats, R'hyn doesn't listen; he keeps his butt planted firmly on the piano, making Ila play around him until a break in the music allows him to shove the piano stool back with one booted foot. "That's enough for one night, husband." Enough piano? Social time? Alcohol? Any, all. R'hyn's gathering a fist full of Ila'den outerwear and is pulling him along with, nodding towards Jae and Sev with a drawled, "Finish him." To J'en for a final strike? To S'van to pocket the last ball (something he notes with ample amusement, but perhaps saves for comment for a rainy day)? Hard to tell, because then his gaze is fastened onto Tanit, sharp and terrible in the face of all them limes. "Makin' a few 'snakebites, are you?" Playful teeth-clack. "Or just fendin' off that scurvy?" Yet, for the smugness of words, he might be stepping a little faster towards the hall, shooting a cheerful, "Goodnight!" to them all over one shoulder as he hauls a likely very unhappy but ultimately unprotesting Ila'den right along with him. Do they trip over whatever caused the ruckus in the hall earlier? They probably do, but it's fine, surely they won't die. Much. Just ignore the sounds of clanking and cursing. These are not the bronzers you are looking for. Move along.

Huh, well you don't see that everyday. Except that here at Half Moon? You kind of do. R'hyn just gets a look oh yes there will be retribution. Possibly involving green dye in the showerheads. Later. Instead, Tanit's happy to grin at Catwin, "Well mostly the being graduated, but also off work I guess. " And don't worry Sev, that all but the perfect game gets noted, and filed away for future exploits. For now Tanit focuses on her drink. "Remind me some day. Tequila is not my friend. I probably won't listen, but I will try." Tanit tells Catwin with a smirk. "S'van I don't know what is more impressive, Jae's ability to distract you, or your ability to focus despite the distraction." She will tease the bronzerider even as she's buying drinks for everyone.

"Just an inspirin' pep talk, is all." The wingleader replies to R'hyn, anything else that was to follow swallowed back down hastily with the hands being slammed against walls and sassy back talk. It only takes a moment or two to shake off things that can not be unseen before J'en returns in full to the game of pool that had been the entire reason he had come out this late in the evening to begin with. Rather than remain where he'd ended up after avoiding being trampled by a single-minded Ila'den, he finds his feet again and gradually makes his way to the pool table as S'van starts taking shot after shot and landing every single one of them. Jae's focus wavers briefly when R'hyn is speaking again, encouraging all sorts of unsavoryness and debauchery, which causes him grin broadly at the older bronzerider. It says it all with a 'I got this, dun ya worry yer bearded face' sort of reassurance. To this end, he's cocking his head slightly at what is then being murmured at him shortly thereafter, even as he extends his hand towards the younger bronzerider's cue holding fist as he starts to take his next shot. Nodding at whatever is said, keeping his expression to one that says he's clearly listening, J'en drags the pad of his pointer finger upwards along the entire length of Sev's arm. As he reaches his tunic covered shoulder he changes direction to seek out the skin exposed at the back of his neck just to where the fine hairs sprout and then down the curve of his spine as he leans in and murmurs something back. After this, he returns the personal space he had stolen, but doesn't go too far as he applies weight to the hip he rests against the side of the pool table with his hands neatly folded behind his back. Grinning most fiendishly, a sly knowing look given to the shark of pool from behind lids heavily low. Without even lifting his head this time, he waves at the departing two bronzeriders in farewell, returning the hand to clasp with the other again immediately proceeding. Maybe the tiniest wince though for the sound of tripping over things in the hallway, or maybe it was for the cursing. Who knows. As for the girls at the bar? They seemed busy catching up and drinking, although Tanit's call over does warrant a glance her direction, and a deeper smirk as he slides his eyes right back to the poor man in question. Was he gloating? Eh, maybe just a leeeeeeeeeetle bit. Okay, a lot.

The days work is catching up with Cat, and not to mention the large glass of whiskey. She's been sitting olding it for a bit now and then she's blinking and she'ss setting the glass down. "Fascath is calling me home." she murmurs by way of apology and all and then just quickly departs. At least she only drank half that glass of whiskey? I know. Alcohol abise, wasting it and all.

"He's damn skilled at what he does," is S'van's lazy reply to Tanit's comment on the impressiveness of his distracting companion. "But so am I. S'all about practice…" Because Sev is dominating this game now, and looking rather smug for it, too. Although it is probably impossible to miss R'hyn dragging Ila'den out by his? whatever it is he has grabbed, though S'van does his level best to not do more than lift a hand in a quick 'bye' before he's back on track, bent over that table with a look that say I fucking own you to that last ball over yonder. And he would, too, have totally owned that fucker if it weren't for the hand that finds his own, providing just a smidge of warning before it goes sliding across his arm, skipping across his neck and then down his back in a most distracting and thought-grabbing manner. Suffice it to say that by the time Sev is taking his shot, that damn ball owns him instead, remaining exactly where it is while it's white counterpart goes rolling harmlessly past on its way to bump against the side of the table. An audible exhale and a glance for the perpetrator, though it is not a glance of anger, even if there's a certain intensity to the look. "Yes. Exactly like that." And he stands, closing the distance to thrust the pool cue at J'en in a manner that clearly demands he take it. "Your turn. Only this time, I am going to show you exactly how to place your body." And he is going to start by pointing right there, which is where he wants him to stand. And once he is there, Sev will be right behind him, hands on hips as he shifts and moves him in a manner that may spark some sort of deja vu in reverse. "Move…" and he taps his foot gently to nudge it into place. And once hands are on sticks, bodies are bent, and the shot is lined up, Sev releases him. "Now. Strike there…" only Sev is also going to strike, dropping a kiss to the back of his neck before he steps away and lets the bronzerider do his thing.

There is nothing good that Tanit can say to Sev's comment on J'en's prowess, so wisely she says nothing at all, choosing to laugh instead as S'van makes the pool table his bitch. Then proceeded to -ahem- intimate the same sort of ownership over his weyrmate. Catwin's departure gets a frown, forlorn. "Then later." There will be drinking and catching up later. The Dolphineer settles back into her seat, watching the game of pool with muted interest. Whatever plots and plans forming in her brain kept to herself for the moment. "Mm, maybe I should just ah -" Vacate the premises? "Figure out how I am going to get back at the bastared who planted palm trees in my room door." She decides because that seems like a more legit plan than watching Sev and Jae flirt with each other. Not that it isn't attractive and hot as hell and all the proper adjectives that associate with such action. More that she feels a third wheel without at least the presence of Cat.

Lips pressed into a thin line, it may mostly stifle any laughter from escaping past them, but it does nothing for the betrayal of Jae's shoulders bouncing gleefully in response to the missed shot and the look he's given. Pool cue thrust at him, he wraps a hand around it and takes as he is bidden, doing very little to quaff his visible amusement and ultimate success in making sure S'van couldn't crow too loudly this night. He's able to note Catwin's departure at least before fingers are being pointed to spots in which he must stand, and so he does. Now, this was awfully familiar, it's true. Hands on his hips and he sways them some vaguely back and forth, trying to get the angle just right for teacher, sliding his booted foot out as instructed. A soft hum works its way past his decidedly less than smirked lips, lashes low and eyes slide off to one corner rather than honed in on the cue ball. He does look Tanit's way again, and he might have said something for her mention of palm trees being planted outside her door, were it not for the kiss to the back of his neck. At first it just makes every muscle in Jae's body tense and his eyes widen about as big as they can get, seamlessly he progresses to the second phase of transition with the drop of the cue to the table without taking the shot he'd been bodily lined up for. No, instead there is a muted snarl as he grabs the front of S'van's tunic, soon disappearing with him out of sight. Tanit might hear her bestie make forcible contact with some sort of surface, then relative silence, other than some wet sounds and a considerable amount of aggressive growling. It doesn't go on for too long, because it comes to an abrupt halt in favor of some rumbled words too muted to carry very far. Whatever was said, seemed rather commanding and gruff.

FLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE. What is heard cannot be unheard, but Tanit's out folks. Just Nope. Nope nope nope. NOPE.

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