Summer - Day 25 of Month 8 of Turn 2714

Half Moon Bay Weyr - Tiki Lounge

As one walks onto the wood panelled flooring of the patio, they are greeted with the scent of burning oil, the likely source the various torches burning along the perimeter of the flooring. The flooring is littered with tables shaded with umbrellas, matching chairs tucked beneath when not in use.

The inside of the Tiki Lounge seems far bigger inside than outside, even when full of relaxing weyrfolk and travelers. Towards the front, in the western corner, is a small stage, generally occupied by harpers. Several tables with chairs decorate the floor and a small area is open for dancing. The bar is rather long and well stocked, glasses of different shapes and sizes hanging suspended from a rack above the bar. Behind the bar is another open window that gives one a view of the forest behind the tavern. Turning around, one is greeted by a lovely view of the lagoon. A decent breeze helps to cool the room. Up above, rafters provide a perch for fire lizards and local avians. The thatch roof, made of straw, rarely lets in any rain.

Language warning

It’s late. Stupid late, in fact, and J’en has not returned home. Leketh would direct any inquiries as to his whereabouts to the Tiki Lounge, where the young wingleader can be found blitzed out of his mind. He’s by himself at a table at the back, drinking straight from the bottle rather than that perfectly good glass right there, and it's not the cheap stuff either. For the most part, people were keeping their distance, what few there were at this time of night (morning?), drowning their own sorrows as he did his. Occasionally he mutters something about people not doing what they ought to and not wanting another brat, so that answers at least why it was he was trying to drown his liver in booze. Frowning and groaning, his forehead soon meets the table with an audible THUNK, and he groans once more. A serving girl comes over to inquire as to his wellbeing, to which he simply honest to goodness giggles and waves her off, tightening his hold on his momentary liquid salvation as if he feared she’d make off with it. After some pointless staring with hands on hips, she heads off to attend to someone else, for now.

It is not that S’van does not trust his weyrmate; on the contrary he trusts him completely, which is why he was not terribly worried (though certainly a bit disappointed) that he was not to be found at home, and did not return before he succumbed to sleep and passed out in their bed. There had been no attempt to track him down before this, simply because S’van figured he had a damn good reason not to be at home and would fill him in later. But he had gone to bed alone, and woke up at an atrocious hour to find that he was still alone, which was cause for some concern. Disorientation gave way to confusion as a drifting hand along the bed reveals nothing but smooth sheets and cool surface indicative of a lengthy vacancy. With a search of their weyr confirming that he is still the single occupant, he is now very much awake. Aedeluth is… not so much awake, and rather irritated to be used as a telephone to track down the whereabouts of stray Wingleaders, so it is likely his inquiry is rather short, to the point, and rude as fuck. And does poor Leketh get a thank you for his trouble? Of course not. Just a retreat of the sizzling, snapping mental connection that had been establish for the brief exchange of information, and the disgruntlement of a tired bronze who now has to transport his own stupid rider down to the beach to see what’s up. So forgive Sev that he is sans shoes, and shirtless to boot. Be glad he put on pants and that they are managing to stay on his hips, given he has forgone tying them. Grey eyes manage to catch the hands-on-hips serving girl before she wanders off to bother someone else as bare feet pad almost soundlessly toward the drunken bronzerider. With only a moment’s hesitation, he slips into the seat beside him. Eyes passing from the bottle to the table-thunked head. Frown. “Hm.” And he’ll just go ahead and reach over to snatch that bottle to give it a closer look and probably a sniff.

Completely oblivious of dragons giving out info and weyrmate arrival, J’en remains with his head on the table, only looking up when the bottle is yanked out of his hand. “…’EY!” he says, swaying some as he flops himself back against his chair, more or less upright. Okay he was a little tilted, but I did say more or less upright. “That ain’t…” Blink. Blink. Bliiiiiiiiiiink. Drunken anger gives way to very slow recognition and then a grin that takes forever to spread properly, his eyes droopy and barely able to stay open. Blinks take a while as well, soon slapping a hand much harder to the table than he needed to before he points at S’van, “…’EY! …’EY! EVERYONE! THIS IS MAH WEYRMATE, ‘E LOVES MEH!” he boldly proclaims to anyone who would listen, though other than a cursory glance the intoxicated wingleader’s way, he gets some eye rolling or just flat out ignored pretty quickly. “Daily an’ nightly and ever so rightly! Ain’t I right Sevran?!” Okay then. Well. J’en thrusts himself to his feet too quickly after that, swaying out from behind the table to stagger step into the poor mostly naked man if only to get rather fumblingly groped between his legs, thankfully over his pants. “Take meh ‘ome and fill meh with yer babies!” He wasn’t quite as loud as before, but loud enough. The bronzerider giggles shamelessly and drapes himself against the larger man, blinking slow again at the bottle of liquor he now held in hand. “…’EY THAT’S MINE! Gimme!!” A couple of futile attempts to snatch the booze away (not even coming close) and he growls slovenly. “I need it Sevran…gimme…” Okay, now he’s sniffling and pulling on the man’s skin with grabby fingers completely uselessly, as if he was attempting to climb him to the alcohol. “GIMME!”

There is, indeed, a sniff to the bottle of alcohol, though no sipping of it. All S’van really needs to know he’s already ascertained from his intoxicated weyrmate. Mainly, that it was strong and apparently doing its job rather well. There is patience in the waiting for recognition, a slow and lingering lift of his eyebrow when it eventually comes and drunken anger makes way for inebriated affection. Slapped hands on tables he rides out without a twitch, though the bold proclamation has him wincing for a moment there, a bemused and uncertain expression tugging at the corners of his mouth. Hm. This is new. But he cannot dwell on this for long, not with J’en attempting to stand and doing a rather poor job of it, which has S’van on his feet much quicker and much steadier as he braces to stop a fall. Thankfully no rescue is needed. “Uh…” but S’van is spared from commenting by hands that go thrusting into places they really ought NOT to be going right now. There is an involuntary jerk of his body, a sort of jump in place as muscles seize from the sheer surprise of the unsolicited attack on his manhood. “Fuck! Don’t,” and very quickly his wrist is caught, and hand removed, before any more attention can be given to that particular part of his anatomy. An attempt is made to level a stern look on groping bronzeriders making demands of him, though the ridiculousness of the word choice has him threatening to smirk and probably laugh. “I think you’re filled with enough, right now,” meaning the alcohol of course, voice lacking none of the dry sarcasm necessary to convey amused disapproval. It’s the giggling that does it, really; Sev is caught between amazed disbelief and joining in with laughter of his own. In the end, fending off a rabid bronzerider trying to climb him to claim back his booze has him dropping the captured wrist in order to capture his waist instead, a tight hold that is more trap than support. “Yeah, no…” but he follows it with a kiss to his temple because it’s within proximity of his lips. The bottle in question is kept at arm’s length, or even over his head if necessary, far from grabby fingers intent upon retrieving it. “I think you have had quite enough,” and his eyes go flitting to the bartender with a ‘put it on his tab’ mouthing because Sev is just going to go ahead and keep the alcohol since he’s already got it in hand. Hell, it may already be bought and paid for, he doesn’t know. But very quicky the door becomes his focus, eyes pinned on that exit with clear desire to reach it. “Time to go home,” he does agree, shifting to maintain the grasp he has on that waist, if just to ensure no leverage can be used against him in a fight for that liquid salvation. “Are you going to walk?” Can he even walk may be the better question.

Big golden eyes for the bottle sniffing, as if he actually believed that puppy look was going to bend the wingrider to his will alone. He was wrong of course, because the booze was not being returned to him. His attempt at direct retrieval fails as well, leaving him mostly leaning the majority of his weight against S’van, half caught but mostly clammering to put feet under himself properly. “Yer no fun!” Jae protests, seeming to realize now that his hand had been removed from all its groping, as he was too busy giggling to pay too much attention. That and he was about three steps behind S’van’s responses to all of his ridiculousness. He does try to wriggle his wrist free but he certainly lacks concentration and agility right now to accomplish it. That stern look inspires more giggles, throwing his free arm around his mate’s shoulders, “No way, fill meh more, till I explode with yer loooooooove…” One really has to be thankful for the lack of tech that includes personal recordings, because someone in the Tiki surely would have been doing it by now, especially since J’en was all pressing himself up against the poor other man and grinning at him toothily from ear to ear. Even drunk as he was, that smile would certainly still have the impact it did when he was sober. Giggles, so many. Somehow, gropey hand gets free, slipped out when S’van starts laughing and kissing the side of his head making him whoop with joy. “I TOLD YA’LL ‘E LOVED MEH!” No one cares, no matter how proudly he tries to smother S’van with his own overly affectionate smoochings. Completely missing anything other than odd places. Like his chin or clavicle. That freed hand? He uses it to poke at the end of his lover’s nose, eventually (he might miss a few times, tongue stuck out the side of his mouth there before he manages it) maybe a little harder than he intended. “BOOP!” More giggles. Then it’s straight to pouting for the denial of that bottle, the bartender staring rather oddly at Sev before shrugging and going back to cleaning glasses wearily. He may very well have already paid, given that reaction. “…’ooooooommmmmeeeee…’oooommmmmeeeeeee on dah raaaaaannnnggggeeee…” Jae sings, badly. So very off key. Really, make it stop. “WHOO! Goin’ home an’ gettin’ laid!” Arms go up and his legs start to give out as he struggles to put his feet in the right places to accomplish actual walking. “Seems not!” Giggle. Then… blink. Blink. Owlish blinking upwards, “CARRY MEH!” Oh dear Faranth preserve us.

Really, Sev can’t seem to figure out what expression he should be wearing in this moment. Is it the ‘Oh fuck,’ expression of someone who is in over their head? The ‘who are you and what have you done with my weyrmate’ one, complete with lifted eyebrow and dazed-confused grey eyes? Or how about the ‘you are absurdly cute and I am going to fucking kiss you now’ one? Regardless of what his brain may be arguing, he settles on the ‘this is serious’ face that is not quiet making it to his eyes. Nope. Mirth is definitely present, amongst copious amounts of ‘what the actual fuck’ confusion. There is a long sort of exhale, and then a quirk of his mouth and a quick, “Nope. No fun at all,” agreement for the protest. Captured wrists would be easily released, and will remain free so long as grabby hands do not try to go to sensitive places. There’s a longsuffering, sort of affectionate, sort of tired, sigh for the thrown arm and ‘exploding love’ counter argument, but no more words. He’ll just let that one slide, though he’s more or less making sure to avoid ALL eye contact with the rest of the lounge’s occupants. Just… nothing to see here, folks. Carry on. Thankfully, they seem sloshed enough to either not notice or not care, and Sev is left to wrangle his inebriated weyrmate with relative anonymity. There is a rather sharp inhale for that dazzlingly smiling face so close to his own, which is not at all assisting in the concentration department when it’s coupled with pressed up bodies, formerly groping hands, and giggling. Giggling from someone who just… doesn’t giggle. It would have a much more profound effect if S’van wasn’t also wrestling a wiggling bronzeriders with one arm and making sure to keep a bottle out of reach with the other. A wince and a laugh for the announcement, a quick, “You knew that,” and scrunched up face for the sudden onslaught of misplaced kisses and sudden finger-poking that nearly takes out an eye. “Careful,” though really, words appear to be useless right now. “Alright, come on—“ and then there is singing, and Sev is wincing once again. “Oh fuck, stop. Please,” because while Sev has infinite patience, he does not have infinite eardrums, and he would like to keep the ones he has. And if it does not stop? Then Sev will just shut him up with a well-timed kiss to that singing mouth. A very quick kiss, before tongues and teeth can try to get involved. A kiss that ends breathlessly none the less, with a wry look at the bronzerider caught up in his arms and draping all over his body. There’s a sort of salute with the bottle, for the bartender, but at the sudden declaration that he carry him, “Carry you?” it is quickly set aside (out of reach) in order to employ both arms to the task. There’s a quick, huffing sigh, puffed out cheeks and all, as Sev debates internally how best to actually acquiesce to that request. “Alright then,” and, as gently as possible (no need for getting sick in the process!) he’ll throw Jae over his shoulder in a fireman carry utilizing newly learned skills (YAY SEARCH AND RESCUE TRAINING) to manage it. “Bye,” with one final smart-ass salute toward the bartender and a sound SPANK to his weyrmate’s ass (because WHY THE FUCK NOT?) and out they go, bare feet a little more audible with the added weight. Straight out the door and towards waiting dragons.

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