Fort Weyr

DISCLAIMER: ADULT LANGUAGE AND THEMES.

Fort Weyr - Galleries
The galleries are carved right out of the rock face, the rows and rows of benches rising high up into the air on a slight slant. Stone and wood benches that used to be known for offering little in the way of comfort, are now padded with cushions in Fort Weyr's colors. Placed along the railing at regular intervals are antique looking baskets filled with cheery fabric flowers. The curving walls sport tapestries in warm vibrant colors that seem to add a dash of color to the otherwise dreary stone. Where the galleries curve slightly at the ends, affording those attending hatchings or clutchings a decent view of the sands, shaded lanterns offer warm lighting along the rows of benches

It's part of the natural course of things that with eggs hardening on the sands, the hatching galleries are receiving an increase in foot traffic. In turn, this necessitates that it be cleaned more often of the traces of humanity come to gawk or draw or chat or bet or whatever else people do in an arid cavern with just a dragon or two and slightly more than a handful of inanimate objects that are lives-in-progress. This duty might frequently fall to candidates, but it also gets allotted to those who are laborers, and as it happens, someone seems to think that if Izi can manage to pick up dirty glasses and sweep the floor in Shenanigan's, he can probably manage here. This is sound in theory, of course, but what this place distinctly lacks that makes Shenanigan's attractive to the bar boy is alcohol. But never fear, anyone getting within arm's reach can still scent to booze on him. His clothes don't look dirty, but it's possible he's just re-wearing something from work the previous evening; no one would put re-wears past a man like Maizin, right? Not even those who've noticed his meticulously cleaned hands which are not really much less so for however long he's been making the slow-paced progress of cleaning the benches of stone and wood this mid-morning moment on a rare drizzly early summer day. Notably, he's managing to strike the exact right balance between doing the least amount of work without verging into the territory of seeming to be shirking the work. It's a skill.

The galleries might indeed be lacking in both alcohol and privacy, but the walls offer enough shelter from the elements that there's a more than standard increase in pedestrian traffic while the sky proceeds to spit indifferently on anyone making their way through the outdoors. Hanalee, ducking in to escape the outdoors and wait out this latest wave of rain, notably appears more casual, less prim-harper today with a loose-knit, layered short-sleeve sweater in some soft neutral paired with beige pants; on entry, she leans against the wall near the threshold to let those behind her seek a seat or place to stand, observing their choices of placement and casting a sweeping look over the room at large. There aren't too many people in here during on-duty hours, rain-fleeing residents notwithstanding, so it doesn't take long for blue eyes to find Izi pretending to be cleaning and pause there for a minute before she hazards a peek over her shoulder toward the way out. Laughter from some of the folks closer to the railing pulls her attention back forward, however, and the harper frowns faintly, takes a tiny step away from the wall as if debating whether she'd really rather take her chances with walking through the weather.

For a man who doesn't seem to be anything other than bored with the world around him most moments of his life, he's surely paying attention to it. Even with the smooth, controlled roll of arms and elbows, the broom moves one long stroke and then stops. His blue eyes settle on the harper. He leans ever so slightly on the broom, letting his tongue appear to flick across his lips and then subtly bites the lower one. This might be taken as a serious bid for some kind of galleries-inappropriate interaction, except his eyes are just as without-fucks as ever. Still, the harper can make for a moment of distraction, right? If she doesn't immediately flee. His lips settle into a smug look that communicates just perfectly he expects her to play the coward and go when he starts working his way toward her, only actually working a moment here and moment there. The thing is of course, that Izi is not actually faking the work, he's just not doing more than the absolute bare minimum. If he were doing less, he wouldn't be flying under the radar nearly as well as he evidently is. What this means is that Hana has time to decide if she's going to brave the rain or the acid-in-Izi form.

Between the convenient increase in precipitation and the expectation inherent in that look of his (to which the blonde's eyes narrow), Hana eases her stance of step-away into one of practiced indifference, folding her arms over her chest. Something twists faintly at her nose, but her features smooth quickly into a fairly unreadable expression, even as her shoulders briefly tense, then drop. Amid the general murmurs of brief conversation and the shuffle of feet on stone from the galleries' other occupants, any words they exchange, if kept low enough, might fly under the radar of most passers-by as easily as he's managing to fine-line it with his presentation of work ethic. And yet, even once he's within a respectable range for conversation? She's silent, merely watches in probably the way a smaller being eyes a maybe-predator.

Watch that smile spread across those lips known to drip venom. Izi doesn't stop until he's close, carefully not in her personal bubble, but close enough to suggest to the outside world that he and she are on perfectly amicable, even close terms. The broom takes another subtle lean from the taller man as he looks down at her, with that smile. If he were anyone other than himself to Hana, the look would be rakish, charming, every bit the bad boy inviting her to partake in some shared trouble. "Looking hot there, Hana," he ruins it by opening his mouth, as he traditionally aims to do. "Want to go for a quick fuck behind the stands? I don't think anyone will mind, and if the sand chafes, they make a cream for that." His expression shifts very slightly, to amusement gilded with innocence, painting himself in the foil of one having nothing more than a passing flirtation: harmless. Except… that venom is there, just unseen by the unsuspecting outside world.

There's a flash of flat smile that in no way meets her eyes, which have no inhibitions about broadcasting to him that her polite-enough reception is one of at least some artifice. "What an overwhelmingly sensitive invitation, Maizin, " says holdbred Hana dryly, but remains quite unable to prevent the introduction of two spots of color that appear high on her cheeks. She lets her gaze scan from his head to his feet, then back up to his facial features. "Let me disappoint you. I don't - what's the term - ah, yes, 'steal from cradles.'"Not interested, little boy, may as well be the sentiment whispered by the dismissive flick of her hand - although there's no expectation in her expression for him to actually be shooed along. "Won't you need something like that for your hands after all of that work with your broom?" The cream, presumably, and despite the opportunity being undoubtedly present for heavy implication in her own words, it's much more likely that they're meant to be taken at face value given their source.

"Well, you know me," and this might be a throw-away phrase for most, but here Izi gives it weight and substance as he smiles at her, the smiling snake to imply that she does, that they might, somehow be of a kind, and what bigger insult could there be? So much of what he gives her is artifice and he doesn't need to signal it for that to be perfectly clear. "I always like to compliment someone when they try. It tends to encourage repeat behavior. I like your hair, especially," is the next remark, but more important than the words is the way he so casually reaches up as though to touch, as though he didn't hear the rejection at all, his fingers aiming only for the hair alongside her neck at least, as opposed so somewhere much closer to her face. He won't actually pursue if she jerks away, but he will linger if she doesn't, touching just her hair as though it were fascinating to him. Regardless of how that plays out, (unless she understandably needs to do him immediate harm, in which case we'll adjust all this) Izi's voice comes in a purr, "Don't sell yourself short, sweetheart." Whatever is coming next is surely despicable because just then, wouldn't you know it, a little quartet conveniently distant and distracted enough to not be paying mind to Hana and her this-second suitor, finish a rousing hand of some card game. "You are old, but I'm sure even—" Being young and perhaps too caught up in the game to remember they're in the galleries which might be encouraged to as much quiet as a library, the cheer goes up from the victor to uproarious booing from the losers, just long enough for Izi's words to be swallowed. Maybe Hanalee heard the REDACTED REMARK, given her proximity. Maybe she'll be glad if she didn't? The lascivious look he smolders at her probably says it all.

On this day, in this time, in this place, they certainly are not of a kind. Hana permits her lip to curl just a little (in disgust), head making the smallest, instinctive jerk away as his hand nears. Maybe he gets to touch some of those left-to-tumble-freely strands as she moves; maybe he doesn't. It could look like a coy, playful little interaction from some distance, perhaps, to those who don't study their body language very closely. Whatever she's about to reply to the initial jibe gets lost in the wake of first his second, then the noise from the card players. It's safe to assume the harper heard enough of that remark to get the gist, cheeks flaming despite the obvious effort she puts into mimicking his usual look of boredom. Under the crook of her elbow, where her arms still cross her chest, one hand might curl into a fist - a movement only minutely given away by the unilateral increase in tension along her shoulders. "You're despicable, " she bites out in lieu of following the impulse to attempt a right hook, and makes to abandon the game by abruptly pushing off of the wall to try to whirl past him and face the environment instead.

Of course the ability to get so clearly under Hana's skin with just a handful of comments, prompts an emotional response from Izi. Throwing his head back as she whirls past him, his laughter is rich (and so unkind for so many reasons). "Oh, come on, Hana," he calls after her, but only takes one step. This, gentlepeople, is what it takes to make Izi really grin. "That was too easy!" It's a complaint. Maybe this means he won't push that button next time? Maybe it just means he has the trump card in any game they play and it's one he neither hesitates to play nor is likely to forget. Still, he shifts to resume something with that broom, in a disgustingly better mood than he started out. THANKS, HANA!