Fort Weyr - Living Caverns
This cavern, having been created by bubbles in the volcanic flow of this extinct volcano, has a breathtaking ceiling — a vast dome that arches high above the heads of the weyrfolk that scurry around beneath it. A hollow echo can be heard from loud enough noises, and the chatterings of various firelizards are consequently multiplied into a chaotic babble. All in all, the living cavern is a loud place.
Tables are scattered around the room, apparently in no particular order. Over to one side near the kitchens, two medium sized serving tables are constantly spread with snacks, klah, and other goodies. The tables look worn, yet perfectly fitted to the atmosphere of the caverns. In the 'corners' of the cavern, smaller two and four place tables are set up for more private talks or just a less chaotic atmosphere in which to eat.

Ha'ze has kidnapped (not literally this time, the twins are totally allowed to be here) his children, and set himself up in the living caverns. Galeon, always ahead of his sister, is already up and walking. Perhaps Ha'ze would do better to NOT let the 13 month old stumble his young-child-away thing when there are hard surfaces for him to stumble into, but that's exactly what he's doing. Because his attention is on the much smaller Aleoa, still just working on pulling herself up to her feet, hanging tightly on her father's fingers.

What a domestic scene. Lucy is domestic too, off duty for the evening and working on some sort of patterned knitted tube at one of the quieter tables, a plate of fingerfoods and a mug of klah within reach but not so close as to threaten the yarn she's working with.

While Ha'ze's eyes are on his little daughter, her twin over there, is totally going to make a break for it. Because he SEES something that needs his grabby hands all over it. The baby makes it to Lucy before Ha'ze even realizes the kid is gone, and unless Lucy does something, he's going to grabbygrabbygrabby hands that yarn of hers with a loud laugh.

Lucy's no nursery worker or anything, but she's wrangled a child or two in her time and with a "Whoops!" she rescues the imperiled yarn ball just as the child makes a grab for it, quickly plumping a soft tuber from her plate down in its place in hopes of distracting/confusing the little fellow before he can get upset about losing the original prize. This maneuver is followed up with a friendly, "Hello. Who do you belong to?"

A sleepy figure of a man, still young as the day's morn, wanders haphazardly into the area, not knowing where he roams. A person here, a bench there, into he stumbles pitilessly, and settles himself upon a chair, and stares into space silently. His usual temperment dampened, the firelizard on his head a clue, poor Beyrl has lost much, sleep, food, his usual book, too. With energy unstilled, the lizard clambers down, upon his neck, his shoulder, his arm, flopping itself uncerimoniously upon the table. It peers up at Beyrl, with young lizard eyes, its wings hunched over, splayed lazy are they, a cute sight to see, a child's version revery. Until the screeching starts, catching some eyes, but the attention it needs causes Beyrl to sigh. A sausage is offered, and happily grabbed, though Beyrl is tired, there's also happiness to be had. Welcome dear chamber, a newly Impressed firelizard dad.

That 'whoops' brings Ha'ze's eyes upwards, Aleoa suddenly gaining the power of flight as she clings to Ha'ze's fingers and is lifted up. Where is his son.. sweep, sweep, sweep, nope, small creature not seen. Aleoa is swept up into his arms, and he stands. Ah, there. With, "Ahhh no." But, of course, babby-grabby hands totally are faster. As is the instant hand-to-mouth movement. "Ah, shit." (Ha'ze's kids are totally going to be eating a lot of soap…) It's a /yell/, (no sorry Beyrl) "Don't let him be eating that!"

Lucy is looking over at Beyrl with a mixture of annoyance and sympathy; Ha'ze's yell has her sweeping her pale gaze over to its source. She makes no attempt to remove the tater from the child's mouth. "It's squashy, he'll be fine," the girl offers nonchalantly, moving all of her knitting and noshing supplies to the end of the table most unreachable by tiny children.

Beyrl blinks those tired eyes, glancing about to he who bellowed a moment earlier (or a time before that. For two days full, sleep has yet to come. When laden eyes go to rest, the lizard choses to interfer. Confusion is certain currently at time's constant passing). He wonders first, if by warning or command, that the sausage is what should be kept away. Though seeing the source, a child with food in hand, he relaxes visage from the slight grimace he had. A yawn escapes his lips, as do the words that follow (though he may later claim none), "Good eventide and morning. Your child, he eats like King. Your acquaintances are a pleasure to make." Though pleasant he attempts to be in his half-mental state, it may be taken rather differently.

"No, it makes his shit green." Ha'ze makes his way over to his son and sticks a finger into the boys mouth to fish out that bit of tuber that has made it within. He'll flick it, none to gently, onto the table. "Take her." Lucy gets the much smaller baby shoved at her, though he won't let go until she actually takes the little girl. The man, the one with all the flowery talk though, gets a sideways glare. "What the fuck did you say about my son?" Because it doesn't sound good. (Ha'ze missed the finer points of a harper education.)

To her credit, Lucy does take the little girl and balances her not too inexpertly on one knee, shoving her supplies even further out of the way before the little girl can grab them. "Worse things than green shit," she tells Ha'ze, eying the spitty tuber where it lands. "I think he said your boy eats like a firelizard." If it's a compliment, she leaves it to Beyrl to explain.

Said firelizard now wants rubs. It needs them, likes them, wants them. And now it's giving cute little screeches to annoyance. And so it gets rubs, in return for the coveted silence. Beyrl mindlessly rubs, and to the others he looks, as if just aware enough to focus (or perhaps not). "A son you have? Congratulations I give." Another yawn pierces those lips. "Green shirt," (he's certain that's what he heard) "goes well with blue grass, staining one's shins." He pauses, considers himself with a curious expression. That came out right, did it not? Certain it did (or hoping for such), he continues. "A pleasure it is for your family to meet." He attempts no more for the current time, for his mind is refusing to parse any more language to speak.

A glance at Lucy, "Don't drop her." Because that is EXACTLY the first thing people do when handed babies. They drop them. (Ha'ze is still new to this father thing. Even if he decided to get experience in TRIOS.) Holding a wiggling Galeon on one hip he strides over to the harper and is just going to reach out to try to grab his shirt and haul him up to his feet. "You need to shut up and start making sense before I dig my fist into your face and make you speak normal."

Lucy, as Ha'ze has gambled on, does not drop the baby. Unfortunately the armload of little girl keeps her from jumping up and heading for the scene of the possible altercation, but she does call out, "You know, I don't think he meant it as an insult. And I don't think he's talking like a crazy person on purpose."

Beyrl stumbles upon his feet, though he's only have-sure why, and finds a hand around his shirt, wondering if it's friendly. King skitters off behind a bowl to hide, peeking out briefly. Or so it appears, until one spots a bacon in its mouth it stole. "I do sincerly express emotional condolences for your fist, though my face would lack appreciation for it. Your dialog gives an epitome of disquiet upon your heavy heart. I wish it good journey in wending to peace!" His apology (if that was its nature) thus ended, his head goes limply back, and snoring is soon to follow. So kind of the other gentleman to hold him up while a nap he takes, with King currently distracted from his constant chasing off of sleep.

Ha'ze stares at the harper. For a LONG LONG LONG time, Ha'ze's hand staying twisted up in Beryl's shirt. Finally, his dark eyes still holding just shy of pure rage they break, to fix on Lucy. "You think he's insane?" Apparently weavers are now allowed to give clinical diagonsis' because Ha'ze is going to take it. He releases the apprentice with a shove. "Stay the f*ck away from my kids. I even hear you say their names and I will make sure you never speak again." Turning on his heel he's going back towards Lucy, free arm reaching out for the twin girl who is starting to make sad-baby-faces.

What about flunked out weavers? Lucy arches her dark eyebrows and offers the little girl back to her father, lucky little thing. "I mean, perhaps I shouldn't be speculating on his mental state but he does appear to be batshit insane." This after the hapless Beyrl is dropped. "He wasn't that bad when I met him last. He still talked funny though."

The floor is met with a sloppy thud, as Beyrl flops down from the rough shove. His eyes blink open in confusion, and he wonders how fate brought him down here to the ground, and wonders more about the man he met a moment ago (or so he thinks). He climbs back up to the seat, and a seat he does take, though curiously hungry for bacon, he snags some from a random plate. King comes crawling forth, a bacon piece in its mouth, happy to share in the meal. Though no sooner has the chewing started, then Beyrl's head hits the table, and upon such does King curl up, using hair as a comfy pillow. And there they both sleep.

Really? He's asleep? Ha'ze TOTALLY thinks that the man is insane now. "Yeah. I think you're right. Thanks for catching Aleoa." Little girl snuggles her face into Ha'ze's clothing, as the flip side of the easy-to-create violence is shown. Doting father and face-puncher-in-er. (It's been a long day, okay?) He's the full package.

Lucy makes a little sympathetic wince as Beyrl makes his acquaintance with the floor, then the table, and then gets a bacon-greased baby firelizard in his hair for his efforts. "I…cannot believe he slept through that." Ha'ze gets a one-shouldered shrug for his thanks. "It was an easy pitch," she quips, reeling her knitting materials back in now that the babies are being handled by their father.

"He's a freak." Hello, Ha'ze the pot, calling the kettle back. But Ha'ze's crazy is something that has REASONS and THINGS. Of course, Ha'ze has a feeling that a particular bronze dragon might love Beyrl. "Ha'ze." That's the rider's name, in case she wasn't aware, and then each child gets named too. "Galeon, and Aleoa. Don't let him get too close to you, unless it catches." Turning on his heel Ha'ze is going to leave, probably to take the kids back where they should be.

Lucy's eyebrows lift, perhaps in recognition of that particular name, but if she has something to say about she, well, doesn't. Instead she merely picks up her knitting and starts up where she left off, barely even glancing at the stitches. "Lucy." There's a head-tilt of acknowledgement of the children's names as well, and a wry, "Haven't heard of sleeping sickness going around though, uhm, I suppose I will leave him to it."

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