Who Doktah, Leimna, Th'ero , Thys , Vossrik
What It's a case of mistaken identity and it ends with Leimna pinned to the table by Th'ero. NOT in the way you think, guys!
When Winter-Spring, Turn 2711
Where Living Caverns, Fort Weyr

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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.


Late evening will see the living caverns mostly empty. Why? Because most sane people are ending their day and going home or wherever they go when their work is done. Everyone but the Weyrleader, as he remains seated at one of the tables and not his usual spot up on the dais. Nyalle would probably be frowning in disapproval if she were here. He's not wearing his knot either, that is pinned to his jacket which is currently folded beside him; not that that helps him hide any. Th'ero's been at this for too long to be able to hide and he's long since stopped trying. Sitting alone (woe!), he's lost to his brooding thoughts while nursing his usual poison: a vicious looking, red-tinged, ale. Delicious!

ALONE, or /IS HE/? NO, because /not/ sane people are APPEARING IN THE ENTRANCE OF THE LIVING CAVERNS, inspired by chaos at DISTANT HALF MOONIAN PLACES to cart around /bubblies/ as blue eyes scout the few remaining (un)familiar faces of Fort and land on - "/There/ you are!" comes the pitchy-shriek of a woman whose decibels might be easier enunciated once translated by a /dog/. STOMP, STOMP, STOMP. Legs carry Leimna further and further into her UNWITTINGLY BAD CHOICES and right to the back of Th'ero, where she stands, chest heaving with an almost growl of, "This will teach /you/ to make off with my knickers!" AND JUST LIKE THAT, SHE ATTACKS! HELLO, TH'ERO. I HOPE YOU ENJOY BUBBLY. It is now in your hair, possibly the side of your face, getting lost somewhere in your outfit… and because Leimna is not already going to be in enough trouble, she /PUTS HIM IN A HEADLOCK/. THAT'S RIGHT. FIGHT ME. HER. FIGHT HER. She even brings her lips to the curve of his ear so she can breathe a vicious, "SURPRISE, MOTHERSUCKER." Except… she's about to be the one surprised, isn't she?

Well, Vossrik WAS enthralled by a pile of drawings, and he HAD been shovelling some sort of noodly-dish into his craw. Sadly, his feast and attention span have both been cut short, and the fork dangles its glutenous goodies about an inch in front of his jaw. Hopefully the ancient adage about one's face freezing in a certain expression doesn't ring true. He doesn't make a very attractive fish, or, for that matter, a very subtle gaper. Back and forth the noodle swings, and slowly, a single bushy eyebrow rises above his intently gawping gaze.

Now that is one hell of a sight to come across when stumbling out of Shenanigan's with a man on your arm… like Thys is doing right now. She's clearly more than a few drinks into the night, and she was giggling away at the rider escorting her, at least until she saw Leimna's assault. "Hey!" Her arm is extracted from the rider's hold, and she gives him a look that has him carrying on out into the bowl without her as she teeters her way over to the Weyrleader and his assailant, flopping into a chair beside the bronzerider. He can handle it himself. She doesn't look concerned… but she does look like she's trying to hold back possibly inappropriate laughter. "Don't bubbly our Weyrleader to death. That'd be so embarrassing." She looks up to see who else is about, then waves over at Vossrik. "HEY! You, with the noodles. C'mere. Bring… klah."

It would be a CRIME if Th'ero died by bubbly attack! He survived being stabbed, shot with an arrow (to the knee!) and drowning and THAT will be his death? Pfft. NO. What does happen though is that he's swearing, rather loudly and un-Weyrleader like and was about to jump to his feet… only he's in a headlock. AGAIN! And full of sticky pie. So gross! "WHAT in Faranth's name is *wrong* with you, woman!" he snarls at Lemnia, shooting quite the glare to Thys as well — is she seriously drunk? Again? Vossrik gets a LOOK too for just staring like that! Is no one going to help him!? FINE. Unlike Ila'den, he won't be as passive. He doesn't expect her to have the knowledge or the strength to withstand him for long and while he doesn't exactly go about throwing her down, he DOES get himself free and then roughly attempts to grab the offending arm that had so held him and haul it behind her back. "Are you completely and utterly out of your damn mind?" He continues to berate her and HOLD her there, until he gets his answers.

"Klah. Right." Vossrik clears his throat, taking longer than strictly necessary as he struggles to school his expression and stop the crazed leapings of the corners of his mouth. "Ahm, I mean, yes, ma'am, I'll get that for you right away." Pushing himself to a stand, he abandons his dinner for the nobler pursuit of being able to turn his back to the antics. He rubs his wrist over his still twitching gigglehole, leaving a smear of charcoal on his cheek, and smiles openly on his way to the beverages. "Oh, does anyone else, y'know, want something while I'm up? And how do you folks take your klah?"

Leimna isn't so lost to JUSTICE that she doesn't notice Vossrik and his noodle-staring; in fact, Leimna manages to give the man a smile /even while she strangles Th'ero/ as if this is the most normal thing in the world. "Hello," she breathes. "You've got a little something just there." Her parents would be ashamed. Thys is sitting down, saying LUDICROUS words like 'WEYRLEADER' and Leimna's only had enough time to /blink/ like the woman's sprouted a third head before - HELL HATH NO FURY LIKE A TH'ERO HEADLOCKED. Leia is many things, but strong enough to fight off a bronzerider (or really, /any/ dragonrider) is not one of them, and so it's probably ridiculously easy for Th'ero to test the levels of her flexibility and put her in a position where her joints /ache/ with the effort to — please don't snap, please don't snap, please don't snap. Leia is a proverbial deer in proverbial headlights, mimicking Vossrik's fishy imitations with her own impressions of a guppy before she decides on rebellion because WHY NOT. All of those features screw up into rage, but it's a mere squeak of, "I'm sorry, sir," that finds its way UNIMPRESSIVELY past her lips, but is muffled by the table. It sounds like "M'sufflufusir." ALL THE MORE INDECIPHERABLE for her misery. "Can we talk about this?" C'nwefufmmumfblefiss?

"Don't hurt her too badly, Th'ero," Thys says in attempt at a chiding tone, though it's not quite as effective when she has to hide a giggle. So unprofessional. "Black, please," she replies to Vossrik as she stands up, leaning on the table a little as she closes the distance between herself, the bronzerider, and the pinned assailant. "You've got bubbly guts on your cheek." Yes, you, Th'ero. Thys reaches out to wipe it off with her finger, which she then pops into her mouth while winking at him. "Gotcha back. Or your face… whatever. So who're you?" Down she leans, elbows resting on the table so she can look at Leimna. "Bubblies are a terrible weapon, y'know." She smells of whisky and Shenanigan's… whatever that smells like. Get a load of that, Leimna.

Speaking of people who smell like whisky and Shenanigan's, here's Doktah! She's even swaying from the general direction of the bar, trying to lookg composed but with an unmistakable look of general tipsy surliness on her face. Time for klah to balance out the alcohol. While on her way to obtain said klah, she ends up running into the roadblock of Vossrik, Lemina, and Thys' little gathering. She narrows her eyes at them, confused. "Excuse me…?"

Th'ero will ease back the moment he realizes Leimna really isn't a threat. Potentially crazy but not an immediate threat to his health. He'll live to tell the tale of this encounter! He twitches a bit from Thys' touch, GLARING at her again, "I'm aware," he states cooly, trying to ignore the sticky goop that's likely running down the back of his neck. Ugh. Cue a twitch and shudder (concealed!) before he fixes that look on the mysterious newcomer. "Sorry? You're sorry for randomly assaulting me with a bubbly? Who was it meant for anyhow? Who are you?" Yeah, he'll echo Thys. "And better explain WHY before I just throw you in a cell to be done with this!" He… might not be joking there folks! This is Th'ero, after all. He does like to mix his jokes with real threats. "Cloth," he belatedly orders of Vossrik. "Preferably damp." Chop chop!

It must be exhausting for Vossrik's face to have to go on such extensive expressive journeys. Fort certainly provides good exercise for his brow muscles, and the lift and lowering of his apple cheeks. "A somethin… oh, geez, I'm sorry. Didn't mean to be so rude, ma'am." He rubs a sleeve over his cheek, succeeding in both fading and spreading the smudge. "Ahm. Yes, Weyrleader. Damp cloth. Black klah." The klah mug is settled onto a clean tray, then a cup of clean water and a cloth. The local asylum escapees are given a long look and, thinking better of it, he adds a few more linen napkins to the tray. "Darn shameful waste of bubblies, if'n you ask me," he mutters as he passes Doktah, giving her a sly little smile.

And somewhere in all of this, Leia manages to find her dignity (or as much as one can have, pinned to a table by the weyrleader after having just /bubblied/ him) and lets out an exhale. She relaxes visibly when Th'ero eases up on her, and tests her levels of restriction so as to better look at him, and Vossrik, and Thys, and /now/ Doktah. Fantastic. All that's missing is the rest of the world to witness her shame, and she will /never live this down/. "Uh," she says intelligently to being bombarded with questions as to just /who/ she might be. She licks her lips in a way that says she may have forgotten her own name when Th'ero's threat (or possibly Thys' whiskey-Shenanigan perfume) reaches her and there's a question of, "Leimna?" The word comes out slowly, without distinction as to whether or not it's her name, or /who/ the bubbly was for. WIGGLE. If Th'ero hasn't let her up already, she'll keep testing every now and again. If he /has/ let her up, she will just… lay there, on the table, willing it to swallow her whole and deliver her back as a bubbly. Her cheeks are turning the same shade of red as her hair, and she exhales as eyes roll up to Vossrik. "Clearly." It's all dry, even tones, as if his observation is as offensive as her assault on Fort's ESTEEMED LEADER. "I don't know who it was for. I was in the bath, and /somebody stole my knickers/ and your stupid-" BREATHE. "/Fantastic/ hair looks similar." One, two three beats and then another soft, almost resigned, "If you throw me in a cell, can I at least bring a book?"

So that's all it is then? A case of mistaken identity? Th'ero has long since let go of Leimna, she's free to move as she wills or, you know, ESCAPE! That she stays there to face her humiliation has to be at least some what admirable? Not that the Weyrleader is in ANY mood to forgive ANYONE right now! Alas, poor Vossrik best hand over those cloths quick or risk having his arm yanked clear off out of its socket; they'll be used to wipe away the worst of the bubbly pie stuck to him. "NEXT time," Ooh, so she'll live? "Be sure you've the right target! I don't have time for this nonsense!" Ouch. Pissed off Th'ero is no body's friend and it's probably just best to GET OUT of his way as he sharply turns on his heel, stoops to grab his jacket and just stalks right out of there. It's probably for the best, before things get Real Bad (tm). Leimna is off the hook for now, unless she's found later by the Headwoman or properly scolded by Thys then and there. Punishment WILL come! She just won't know when it hits her.

"You're excused," Thys says to Doktah, not rudely, but rather more cheekily given her drunken state and the way she's laughing at poor Th'ero's hot bubbly mess. "I know you were aware," no she doesn't, "but with your hands full you could hardly clean it off yourself, could you? Hrm?" She's not going anywhere near whatever else may be spattered on him. It's when Leimna replies to Th'ero with the reason for her assault that Thys practically chokes with laughter - which she tries to hide behind her hand because it's not exactly appropriate to laugh at bawdy theft, now, is it? "A knicker-thief! I shall look into this right away!" Her fist pounds the table and she stands, sways a little, then steadies herself out. "Right away… after I get a bubbly. And after I've been to my weyr." Only her would-be dramatic exit is somewhat tempered by the storming out of the Weyrleader, which she watches, head canted to one side, lips pursed thoughtfully, waiting until he's out of earshot before saying: "Dear Faranth, but he has a superb arse, doesn't he? Now, where's that klah?" She teeters over to grab it, giving a look of thanks to Vossrik, before she follows in the Weyrleader's steps, singing a song about… well, let's say carnal conquests. Sorry folks, you're not even getting a goodbye. And she's forgotten about getting a bubbly.

Doktah blinks a couple times at Vossrik, as if attempting to puzzle out who he is in her mildly tipsy state. "Oooh. You." She slurs with recognition. "You're that.. fellow. The naked one that Roo liked." This is all likely stated too loudly for anyone's comfort. Doktah's slightly glassy eyes slowly turn their gaze to Thys and Th'ero as she tries to puzzle out what is happening. "What's going on…?" She picks up bits and pieces from shamelessly eavesdropping on Leia's rant. Without bothering to acquire further context, she slides on over and inserts her own thoughts into the discussion. "That happened to me when I was a candidate. Undergarment theft. In my experience, it is likely either an ill-advised attempt at flirtation or some expression of general sexual perversion. Either way, best to steer clear." Unsolicited words of wisdom. She peers at The'ro and Thys as they make their escapes, blinking with obvious tipsy confusion. "… Who was that?" She asks, perhaps confusing both of them for a single person. A sufficiently buzzed state will do that.

"But… but your klah?" Vossrik calls softly after Thys's retreat. The plea for help is implied. He looks down, looks at the retreat, looks at Doktah, looks at Leimna. "Well for criminy's sake, ain't anybody go to them baths to get CLEAN around this place!" he exclaims, stomping a foot and glowering as he downs the weyrwoman's abandoned drink. "I should make some lockers or summat for that place so nobody loses their undies or, y'know, dignities."

And Leimna looks RIGHTFULLY CHAGRINED when Th'ero goes on asserting his masculinity and his authority in a way that has Leia rolling her eyes by the end of it (THANKFULLY INTO THE TABLE, WHERE HE CANNOT SEE) and then mumbling something that sounds suspiciously like, "Who pins women to the table /anyway/?" MEN. FUN MEN. Cue Thys' timely commentary that has Leia stifling a laugh as she sits up in just enough time to - "His what?" Pause. Leimna even goes so far as to tilt her head from one side, to the other, as if deciding which angle provides the better view before breathing a breathy, "Yeah. Makes me think of dough." SHE EVEN MAKES KNEADING MOTIONS WITH HER HANDS. YOU'RE WELCOME. Off Thys goes to be a drunkard and /then/ a hero because PRIORITIES, which leaves her with Doktah and Vossrik, and some advice that has the red head pursing her lips. She wipes away at some of the bubbly that transferred from Th'ero to her in what SHE WILL PRETEND WAS their scuffle, making an unpleasant face before blinking to the second tipsy patron. "Or, you can find them and make sure they don't steal anybody /else's/ knickers again. /Especially/ not yours." Which sounds great on paper, but goes horribly awry when applied to FORTIAN WEYRLEADERS. Faranth. She should just go drown herself in the pool. She will never be able to face the man again without giving into some innate desire to reclaim the dignity he stole from her when he pinned her to the table. That's just how she works. For now, the woman tilts her head to look at Voss, brows furrowing as if in confusion before she says, "What happened to you?" BECAUSE MEN BEING ACCOSTED IS MUCH MORE SURPRISING THAN WOMEN, thank you.

Doktah looks back at Vossrik, blinking with renewed confusion. "People go to the baths for many reasons. Cleanliness is certainly one of them. Warmth and social interaction seem high on the list. And… well, other reasons." She waves her hand flippantly at him, then peers back at Leimna with a curious sort of frown. "You." She says, frowning and leaning in a little too close. "I do not know you." She says this as if she expects Leimna to drop everything and correct the situation immediately.

Vossrik holds up a single finger, his head tipping back as he fully drains the mug. "Ahh. Um, I sort of… when I went into the baths, I got… well you see, the baths, they ain't mixed so much back at the craft all, but only 'cause of how the dorms are set up. Here they are, though, and I made the mistake of mentioning that I'm not so much used to the, uh, difference." The now empty mug gets set down and fiddled with until the handle is parallel to the edge of the conveniently placed table. Shifting so that his hands are shielded from Doktah's view, he makes a great show of jerking his thumb towards the tech crafter for Leimna's benefit. "Certain people seemed t'think it was all funny and stuff that I wasn't used to it and then, um. Sat on my lap. In the bath."

And Leimna stares. /Really/ stares, first at Doktah (from whom she leans back /just/ so), and then at Vossrik. "I'm Leimna," she says softly, almost distracted as she listens to Voss' tale and gives him a grimace of sympathy. "Well, at least you didn't bubbly the Weyrleader after by mistake?" SEE IT COULD BE SO MUCH WORSE. Or not. WHATEVER. Regardless, Leimna is on her feet and heaving a sigh as she waves to both of them. "I'm going to go pretend I don't exist for a while. Have a good evening." BECAUSE SHE WILL NOT.

Doktah gives Vossrik the side-eye, her tipsy expression betraying no amusement. "I didn't do that because I thought it was funny." She says, though she offers no explanation for her actual motives. She peers at him for a moment before turning her gaze back to Leimna. The parting words just confuse her, and she shakes her head. "… Well. I'm leaving." And so she does!


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