What Happens In Telgar


Indira.jpg Keane.jpg NPC'd by Jaya

Date: Nov. 18, 2010
Location: Telgar: Blood and Bucket tavern, Keane's chambers and office
Synopsis: Indira arrives at the Blood and Bucket to establish contact and business with its criminal barkeep. What ends up happening in the process is the potential (and unexpected) spark to a passionate encounter. She returns to Eastern with a new criminal seeking shelter, and she leaves behind a new employee (and an informant for her) for the Blood and Bucket bar.
Rating: PG-18 for strong language, lots of innuendo, and adult situations.
Logger: Jaya

The late afternoon at the Blood and Bucket bar is a quiet one in Telgar – largely because the bar is still closed. Lack of profits is irritating the old barkeep, Keane, to no end, but with things mostly being out of his hands, he is resigned to living on the Tillek renegade lord’s charity. Kelarad’s men are still present at the bar and are currently hanging around a table playing cards. Chief among them is Keane himself, the old man peering over his hand of cards towards the one guard that’s been winning most of the pots this day with his gambler’s mask in place. Since none of them were expecting any visitors this day, they engaged in the only past-time that they could tolerate together and could not cause any damage to Keane’s bar – so long’s a fight doesn’t break out, that is. There’s one guard by the entrance, however, should anyone choose to wander in, but even his sole attention seems to be on the intense game of cards going on a few paces from him.

Finally having managed to get her junior up to speed with what needed attention during the few days she'd be gone, Indira had packed up a small carrysack, and bidden Rordan to do the same. Unfettered by wife or family, the ex smithcrafter in his late thirties, was an asset by simple fact of his quiet and unassuming nature. So much so, that most wouldn't even give him a second glance, other than to perhaps comment on the scars marring both forearms and his chest from a smelting accident whilst still at the Smithcraft Hall. Thus it is, leaving Rordan waiting outside the door that Indira, clothed in a pair of black tight fitting breeches crafted from Napa leather, with a matching laced vest and jacket with just a soft long sleeved peasant blouse in deep red as a splash of colour steps across the threshold of the Blood and Bucket. And if the clothing weren't enough to leave an impression, perhaps the toss of tousled blonde hair and suggestive smile she wears will ensure that she's not only seen, but remembered. Which considering the potential nest of tunnelsnakes she's openly stepping into, might seem like an odd approach.

Laughter erupts from the card table as finally the guard on the winning streak loses to Keane. “Read them and weep, young pups,” he calls out gruffly, leaning forward to grab all the marks left at the center of the table amidst cries and groans. Laughing a loud at his good luck, “Better luck next game, Ked. Who’s up for another round?” This winning streak might be a long one for him after all, and winning a profit was always preferable to sitting around and watching another day go by with no patrons to serve. A shift by the door gets a few of the men’s attention, their hands immediately flying to their hips for their knives when Indira steps into the bar. The guard at the entrance moves to try and block her path, his eyes taking in that suggestive smile and the attire she wears before barking out, “Bar’s closed, missy. State your business!” Keane himself is peering over to get a look at the female newcomer, his hard eyes narrowing slightly since she was definitely not one he recognizes. Collecting up the cards now, he remains silent, waiting to see what she says and what the boys will do.

Sloe eyes sliiiide all the way up and then aaaall the way down the guard at the door, not the least bit put off by his barked challenge to her presence. "Oh come now, darlin'. No need to be so grumpy, hmmm?" this as Indira leans in a little toward the guard, a hand daring to stroke across his chest, "just here to see an old friend. But if you're a good boy, maybe I'll play…cards with you later." And with a quick twist of hips, she skirts around him and heads straight for Keane. Unless of course any of the other men at the table stop her. "Keane darlin', it's been far too long hasn't it?" as if the two of them are old and fond acquaintances. If her path has not been blocked, the lithe blonde will halt at the back of the barkeep's chair and under the guise of pressing a kiss to his cheek, tousled hair falling over her shoulder to partly shield their faces, will breathe into his ear, "Indira." Lips indeed brush against the older man's cheek and then she straightens, leaving just the faint scent of sandalwood behind as dark eyes slip over each of the men at the table, a slow and seductive smile appearing once again, "Gentlemen, forgive me. I seem to have interrupted your game." Weight shifting to one leg as a hip thrusts outward in languid pose, only the flash and snap of dark eyes to suggest she's not just some simpering fool off the side of the road.

The guard appears taken back at such sudden advances by the one called Indira, his hand flying to the hilt of his knife as if this would be the repellant to anything untoward. All the same, Indira’s gone before the man could react properly, and so it’s up to the men around the card table to try and stop her from reaching the Blood and Bucket barkeep. “You know this broad?” one of the men asks him, his hand slowly pulling out his knife from the hip with one wary glance at the woman. Before Keane could even answer, she’s behind his chair and leaning over to give her name for his ears alone. He’s speechless, but he’s no fool. “Game’s over, boys,” he straightens up, tossing the deck of cards to the center of the table now as he meets their shocked gazes at such a display the woman puts on for the older man. “I’m going to need an hour or two.” The way he says it, and the way he brushes his gaze up and down what he could see of Indira’s frame suggests to the men that these few hours were about to get heated and steamy. “You told us nothing about you calling in a tart,” one of the guards note, getting up from the table to send a suspicious look over at Indira. He was the least impressed with her moves. “Yeah, and I don’t tell you when I’ve got to piss, either,” Keane counters, heaving himself out of his seat and noting now that he had no cane and could get about on his own. “Can’t you young pups get it when an old man needs his private time, too? This here’s mine,” and he tosses a gesture in Indira’s way in indication. “Now get lost or you’re about to be in for a show to scar you for life!” The men look dubiously between Indira and Keane, then around at each other in indecision before the man at the door states, “We’ll be right outside.”

A dark blonde arches upward and Indira sets crafty smile onto the one calling her a broad, "Know me? Darlin', I'm the reason he bothers to get up …in the morning." Purposefully leaving that little pause there to create innuendo. A slim hand lifts and settles possessively on Keane's shoulder as she smiles down at him, "Ain't that right, darlin'?" Her mouth then perfects a pretty little pout, "Just an hour or two?" fingers walking from his shoulder to graze along the side of Keane's neck. As the older man stands, so she moves to allow him the space to do so, but only slightly as she's soon leaning a hip in against his and sending the rest of the card players a triumphant little smile that reads vixen all across it as she intones suggestively toward the barkeep, "See why I don't play with the young 'uns?" shaking her head a little so that curls shift and shiver about her shoulders, "They just have no idea what a real woman needs." Smirking as she boldly slings an arm about Keane's waist as the others make their way outside, "Ignore any screaming you hear." Laughter rich and throaty follows that comment thrown to the departing as she allows the Blood and Bucket's owner to steer her to wherever their supposed 'tryst' is to occur.

Such innuendo is not lost on men, so the guards present are merely staring at the two of them as if in disbelief. Keane seems to swell his shoulders more when Indira settles a hand there, the man merely nodding in pride at her words. “That’s right, baby,” he grunts, “and it can be as long as you like it.” Eyes settling on the men then, “Just as soon as they get up out of my bar,” he tacks on dryly, appearing impatient to get on with the tryst. He slides an arm around her back when she leans into him, Indira’s words on the young men causing him to laugh low and throatily before commenting with, “Reckon they ain’t met no real woman such as yourself. You’ve got them all tongue-tied, Indira-darlin’. Let’s get out of here.” No longer bothering to see if the men would follow suit and leave the bar, Keane steers Indira around the counter and towards the back rooms where his own chambers awaits. It’s only once there and behind the door closing that he drops the act with an amused snort and speaks again. “You’ve just gave them boys something to gab over for the next month to come,” he notes, gesturing for her to take a seat at his deep brown desk at one of the chairs facing his own. Dropping into the seat opposite, “Indira, eh?” he recalls the name given to him, leaning back more comfortably in his seat as he finally gives her a long overdue study. Toying with a writing stylus, “I was wondering when you would drop by.”

Pleased the smile that graces the woman's lips for Keane's answer, "Just as well the bar's closed," she quips for the benefit of the others, "Cause I aim to ensure you ain't gonna be able to stand on your own two any time soon." Any cultured tones and speech patterns used by the woman, erased for the time being. Leather clad hips sway enticingly as she saunters along beside the older barkeep, giving any staring, quite the show. Even leaning in and looking to be nibbling at his ear when if fact, she's trying very hard not to laugh outright for the gullibility of men. Safely in her host's private chambers, and with the door closed behind them, she drops into a chair with a little sigh, one leg crossing over the other and dark eyes lifting to Keane as a smirk peels out, "Hope I haven't caused you any discomfort, Keane." Using his name with ease and looking anything but apologetic. His study of her is met with an openly interested one of her own and a more genuine smiles fits into place, "Needed to ensure my juniors weren't going to screw up while I was gone," pausing and tipping her head to one side slightly, "My son spoke very highly of you."

Laughter from the barkeep follows Indira’s quip all the way into his private chambers, so it’s with amusement that Keane waves away her words on causing him any discomfort. “Haven’t gotten any patrons in months other than those boys out there, thanks to that fuckwit back in Bitra,” he answers on that wryly. “I could use the entertainment, truth be told.” Mentioning of her son speaking highly of him seems to please the man with a grunt in acknowledgement to it. “Aye, and Bajaya speaks highly of you and your own in the Weyr,” he returns easily. “It’s good she has people down there she could rely on not to slit her throat. Such folks are in short supply these days.” Continuing to regard the younger woman in front of her, “I trust things are well down there?” he asks the pleasantries, seeming to become more at ease with Indira now that he’s gotten confirmation of where she hails. “How’s Olira doing? Settling alright?” He missed his barmaid, that was for sure, but he wanted her to be safe more than anything.

Dark blonde brows flirt toward each other in a movement that doesn't quite make it as a frown, "I brought someone with me that might change that for you. He's waiting out back," away from the prying eyes of those that had stepped outside. "Rordan is…multi-talented. Good behind a bar, knows to keep his tongue and most importantly, the sort of muscle you want when a fight breaks out," smiling for that last bit at memory of having witnessed the ex smithcrafter actually banging the heads of two bar brawling men together and managing to knock the both of them out in the process. Talk of Keane being in need of entertainment draws that selfsame sly look of earlier back into place, but Indira puts no words to it, simply setting the older man with what could be seen as an inviting smile. Jaya. That draws a warmth to expression and tone as she draws a hand through her hair, "Girl's got spunk. I'll give her that much. She just needs…some direction." She chooses to say of the spirited barkeep from the Weyr. Dipping her head faintly in a nod, "As well as can be expected given the circumstances," a nuance in her tone suggesting there's concern for her son and the recent claims made by him. As to Olira, dark eyes lift from where they'd dropped to pass idle study over whatever items are standing out on his desk and settle onto his face, her expression slightly pained for what the girl had endured. "I haven't had a chance to meet with her myself, but my sources say she's sticking to her guard's side," intentionally leave off name or designation of the brownrider under whose care she currently is. "No one's going to get to her while she's with him. And he'll keep her busy enough to…keep her mind off things."

When Indira mentions Rordan, Keane appears taken aback by the gesture. “That’s, uh, mighty nice of ya,” he ventures to say, clearing his throat as he wraps his head around such kindness that hasn’t come all too often in his long life. “Don’t have to do that, Indira, but if it means I return Kelarad’s men back and get my business back on track…” which is ultimately what he really wants. He nods through Rordan’s listed qualities, putting them to memory before he looks up at Indira again. “He, ah, okay with working with the type of clientele I draw?” he asks then, perhaps thinking that this man must be from the Weyr, and as such, might have a thing against renegades and holdless folks. “My bar’s not as clean as Bajaya’s down there,” both literally and figuratively. “It’s why I usually end up hiring from the lands or the crimelords themselves.” He meets that seemingly inviting smile to her silence with one of interest from his own, a hand running over his peppered goatee but putting no words to it. Business was top priority to him, but of course, a fond smile touches him on the talk of his former Bitran barmaid. “Enough spunk to cause my establishment to close,” he returns on Jaya, snorting as if the woman annoyed him to no end. “But, direction…yeah, I could agree there. Out of all the Dicoris I’ve run into, though, she’s the one that could break that curse of theirs. Unhinged, the lot of them. You know I used to know her father before he reformed,” he notes, nodding a few times. “Bhadri Dicori. Upstart bastard with a temper to blow for miles. I see the redfruit didn’t fall far from the tree with his daughter.” Hands coming together before him now, Indira’s answer for both claims her son has made and Olira drawing the amusement from his face. Shaking his head, “Good to hear about her,” he says shortly on Olira, nodding awkwardly. “Bothers me that what happened her…happened on my watch. Not suppose to be that way. Perhaps down there she can find some peace for a while.” He looks at her in silence then, his gruff voice lower as he adds, “Whatever I can do to help you and Max, you got it,” he says, his gaze in intense earnest to make sure that he can prevent what happened to Olira from happening again to anyone else.

Keane's thanks, draws warmth forth to soften the woman's features through a smile delivered as she puts forth simply, "We expect all our people to pay it forward. Rordan's time has come." Not elaborating on what she means by that. But perhaps the tavern owner doesn't need her to. The question draws a brow up in amusement and low throaty laughter to touch the air about Indira, "Darlin', believe me when I say, that where he's from? Your place is a regular Hold," giving suggestion that Rordan is not originally of the Weyr. That brow hovers in its upward arch for a brief moment for the interest generated by him, just the faintest splash of satisfaction in sloe eyes before she smoothly continues along the line of business, listening in silence to what he reveals of the Dicori clan and more in particular what he says of Jaya. Spoken with quiet sincerity, "From what I've been able to piece together, she wouldn't be salvageable in the first place, if it weren't for yourself. It takes a good man to do that for someone." Approval high. Leaning forward slightly if the distance isn't too great, she'll attempt to lay a hand on his knee in what is meant to be soothing gesture, "It's not your fault, darlin'. Men like that…" shaking her head and pursing her lips as she moves away again. With a quick little intake of breath as if to shake the nasty matter aside, a smile pushes out onto her lips, "We'll take care of her, Keane. Have no fear. She'll have whatever she needs and can stay as long as she wants to." Leaning back in her seating, she sets the older man with a long and quiet study for the help he offers forward. "Actually, there is something you could do for us. We…need a safe corridor to move people through on occasion." Pausing as she considers her next words carefully, "People who are in need of…disappearing." Long fingers flickering to emphasize her point, "That something you might be able to help with?"

Keane definitely can understand the time coming to pay it forward, so he nods a few times to that and doesn’t ask questions. “He would be a welcome addition to the Blood and Bucket, my lady,” he gruffly states on the matter, pleased to be getting some help around the place. “About time I got a male around here, though there will be men complaining about the lack of tits in the joint. Tits that matter, anyway,” he corrects with some wryness, fitting a lopsided grin towards Indira. Keane wasn’t one to mince words, being that he was used to being around men most of his life, so it’s safe to say he wouldn’t be curbing his tongue around Indira either. So yes, his eyes do manage to dip towards her chest, at least briefly, but perhaps the look wouldn’t be missed. Keane wouldn’t have cared either way. Talk of Jaya does fit a look of awkward appreciation of her words in his helping of the Bitran, twitching a shrug upwards as he grunts out, “Dunno about me being a good man, shuga. That boat’s been left the docks long before my last woman. Did the best I could with Dicori, and I reckon I could have done a lot more. I trust she’ll be alright now, down there. It’s enough for me.” Indira’s hand on his knee gets a brief smile for her words said involving Olira, however, the man unfolding his own to pat a hand over hers a few times and answering, “Men like that will get theirs,” as a finish to her sentence with meaning in his eyes. “I don’t doubt it. I trust Olira in your care as well. Kelarad did the right thing in letting her go. He might be a lot of things, but he’s smart, that one.” He silences when Indira mentions there being something he could do after all, a frown falling in place as he listens to her. At the talk of getting people to disappear, “How do you want to go about this?” he asks after leaning forward, figuring it was no need for him to verbally agree to it since he already made his commitment to their cause.

A curious light enters Indira's eyes for his having used the words 'my lady', with her fitting a long look onto Keane and then quickly dropping it away once she realizes what she's doing, using laughter to cover the brief lapse in masking. "Tell you what, I'll have the Weyr seamstress knock up a couple of bags. We can fill them with sand and sling them around his neck. That way when he starts getting felt up, you'll know it's time to cut that customer off. Sound like a plan?" grinning widely by the end of that. Considering her line of work outside of being a Headwoman, one can be sure that the tousled blonde has both seen and heard it all and could probably shock more than a few men with the mouth she's been known to have on her at times. As such she doesn't so much as bat an eyelash at his way of expressing himself, finding herself rather to be relaxing in his company, the edge of a smirk forming for where the tavern owner's eyes go, shoulders shifting slightly beneath the leather jacket she wears. And then her mouth pulls around a quirked show of amusement for the awkwardness displayed by him for the praise given, "Don't sell yourself short, darlin'. It only takes a smile to brighten someone's day and stretching out a hand to help them up." Delivered as if this were some type of personal mantra for all that she comes across as a hardass most of the time. She doesn't shy away from the pat to hand, hers lingering but for a moment longer before it withdraws. Dark eyes catching to his, reading the meaning of his words there as a hard light enters, "Ever seen how a bull becomes an ox?" Dark relish tainting her tone for the innuendo lent on how she'd like to see Vaputero dealt with. Letting that matter rest for now, she turns to what it is she and Max need from Keane, "They'll need somewhere safe to bed down until we can get to them. If you could arrange for that…then we'll put word out that will have them knowing they can come to you while we arrange transport. Someone arrives; you need simply to send word to the Weyr. Bluerider by the name of Tha'xin."

Keane perhaps doesn’t notice the curious look he receives for his term of endearment for her – or, perhaps he chooses not to notice. His eyes still seem to study Indira enough to watch her drop her own away from him, and her quip on having the new guy wear bags for breasts has him smirking in his approval. “That boy might end up running out of here before it gets to evening if that’s the case,” he says, snorting. “Used to have one patron like it when they danced.” He was enjoying Indira’s company, considering he had only just met her – but then, the only female company he’s ever had around the Blood and Bucket were known criminals and victims of the lands. Her compliment as such has the smirk turn into something genuine, the bar owner sending a long look over at her before he withdraws his own hand. “So the Weyr breeds them as fine as you?” he asks offhandedly then, curious on her origins with the lopsided grin returning to his face. “And I haven’t had the pleasure of seeing a bull become an ox, but if it’s what I think it is, then perhaps you all oughta get Vaputero down to the stables as soon as possible. Man needs to go down, and hard.” He joins her in that indulge, then the business of what they need from him gets his close attention. He nods a few times, thinking of how best to go about achieving this without getting caught – which is what it’s all about, right? “There’s a cothold not too far from here of some brothers I know,” he says his brows furrowing as he seems to recall them. “They’ve helped me out with offering a few folks shelter before, and I imagine they wouldn’t have an problem with doing so again. Usually hid them from guards and dragonriders, the like,” he adds this just a touch apologetically, knowing she’s involved with dragonriders herself. “Just the nature of the business, shuga. Don’t think they wouldn’t mind expanding on their clientele and doing something right. It’s a woodcrafting place, so should anyone go sniffing up there they’ll only be met with a couple of nice guys and the furniture they sell. Don’t have a firelizard or anything like that,” he adds with a frown for the purpose of sending word down to the Weyr, “but perhaps I can get Ralik to make the extra trip. I’ve been using him for information, and he’s been down to Eastern for Bajaya plenty of times now.”

The chunky Rordan wearing fake breasts and dancing for Keane's patrons, has Indira laughing openly, quipping at the end, "Perhaps I should have brought you one of the harpers instead?" The compliment though coupled with query draws a wary expression to flicker but briefly across her features before a smile turns out on the topic of her origins, "Hunter stock, Weyr influenced." Letting him take that how he will. Amusement falls away with a hard and unforgiving light flashing in Indira's eyes, "It would be my pleasure." All but purring the last word for what she'd like to do to Vaputero, and one can imagine that given the chance, she's not a woman to hesitate in doing so. The faint trace of a smile returns and a hand twitches a movement as if to wave off the matter of his having been involved in hiding people from dragonriders, "That was something L'min never quite understood. A dragonrider will simply have someone in need running harder. We try to involve 'riders as little as possible initially. Those that are involved, know to have their dragons keep their distance and forego knots." Falling silent for a moment, she shifts in her seating, as if lending thought to the issue of trying to get word to the Weyr and then offers the following forward, "Rordan has a lady friend up at Telgar Weyr," which he doesn't have, "Give him leave to visit her once a seven and he can be the messenger between yourself and Thax'in." While at the same time delivering the weekly reports she'll be expecting from the former smithcrafter. Ah yes, everything to a dual purpose with this one.

“Then I’d really be rollin’ in the profits,” Keane quips on Indira bringing in a harper instead dryly, though his amusement is apparent in his expression all the same. He watches her expression when she answers his question on origins, nodding a bit to that as if impressed, in which he only says to that, “Nice.” Pause. “Few dragonriders would understand the work we do,” he continues onto the business at hand, his hands returning to their clasp in front of him. “Discretion is everything with this. I was hesitant a little, being that Eastern’s a Weyr and all, but having met Max and how he handled Kelarad, I’m willing to take a risk and put old prejudices aside. Who’s L’min?” He didn’t miss that name drop at all, the question tacked on without so much as a pause from him. When Indira speaks of Rordan going to a lady friend to deliver the messages needed between them, Keane’s eyes narrow only a fraction, but his expression remains genial. “I’m fine with that,” he allows after a moment’s pause, “but I’ll have Ralik check in and about anyway.” Likely to be his own eyes and ears down at Eastern as well, though admittedly he’ll be getting the reports much slower than Indira would with a dragonrider in her pocket. Makes one wonder why use Ralik at all, but one can bet the old bar owner has his reasons. Smiling some, “I think this arrangement will be good,” he comments, pleased by it openly. “I just might have someone for you that’s looking for a place to disappear for awhile. Got a young man not even 20 turns that’s looking to reform. Guards have been looking to track him down for his offenses, but I’ve been keeping him stashed at the cothold. He might appreciate a hand there, but I wouldn’t let him near any knives and card tables anytime soon, y’hear? Otherwise you’re going to have trouble of a different kind being welcome to your Weyr. Best to keep a man like him busy enough to tire him out everyday.”

He'd likely have profits lifted quicker than he can blink by the one or two harpers Indira has under her wing, which might explain the chuckle that greets his words. Uncertainty colours her expression when he seems approving of her roots, clearly that not being a reaction she's often gotten due to the somewhat rough nature and lifestyle of those in the hunting trade. And so it is that shoulders shift slightly and she puts out a query of her own, "And where does a man that runs a bar in the badlands, get his start from, hmm?" Genuine interest in her expression before it melts into a wry smile for his admission of having been dubious about dealing with a Weyr. "Exactly the point, Keane. A person wouldn't usually think twice about a Weyr being involved in such matters. Makes it easier to disappear people, aye?" A shadow passes behind her eyes and she looks away then, "L'min was my weyrmate." Simply stated and not lingered upon. Turning her attention back onto the older man a corner of her mouth curls upward when he all but calls her out on the matter of Rordan acting as messenger, "Two sets of eyes and ears are always preferable. It's why we always work in pairs." Letting him know that she knew, he was aware of what she was up to with that. As he speaks of the young man in trouble a brow goes up and she listens in silence, cogs already spinning and going over the various avenues she has open to her to ensconce the fugitive in need of a fresh start, into the Weyr. Once the tavern owner has stopped speaking she asks in businesslike tone, "Reckon he might have skills enough to fit in with the tanners?" Although that involves knives to some degree, it'll hopefully introduce the young man to the weapons in their useful form rather than the more deadly one, Keane was hinting at.

Keane regards that uncertainty in Indira’s eyes with veiled interest – it was obvious to him that there was more to the woman than meets the eye, which only served to intrigue him more. Heavy boots shifting under the desk on her return query, “Holdless, born and bred,” he responds to that easily, his own past seeming to be an open book. A man his age, along with the type of bar he runs? He has nothing left in his life to hide from anyone. “Dad was a tracker that ran with the renegade crimelord there in Fort back in those days before he got shipped off to the mines. Managed to knock up my ma before doing so. Settled us here while she went off raised trouble of her own until she didn’t come back.” There’s a twitch of a shrug to that, on his mother abandoning him and his siblings all those turns ago, though it’s clear that such memories no longer carried any resentments for him. He takes a moment to ponder Indira’s words on the Weyr, however, allowing himself to nod in agreement to it. “I take it the Weyr has done this before, then?” It was news to him, but then, he really only knew about the Weyrs in Fort and Telgar and as far as he knew it, they didn’t openly harbor criminals. And then, of course he knew what she was up to with Rordan, so her response to his own earns her a bare smirk. “Seen everything, shuga,” he returns with bland amusement. “Lorien has his folks in here as much as possible, so it’s no whip off my back. I and my bar have got nothing to hide.” His patrons? That’s another matter, but one takes risks in entering the Blood and Bucket anyway. Keane’s not responsible for that. On the matter of his friend hiding out at the cothold, “He can be trained, if that’s what you mean,” he answers with a sharp nod. “I doubt he’ll turn down hard work. He could do with some honest work, even. You have a tanner that wouldn’t mind taking him in?”

Indira seems just as at ease with what he reveals of his background as he seems to be in relating it. His father having worked for a renegade crime lord draws interest with a light frown forming for children abandoned by their mother but she doesn't make comment on it, other than at the end to state with a small smile, "History has a way of strengthening those that allow it to, aye?" That having been said a deep smirk appears, eyes dropping to where the fingers of one hand stroke along the arm of the chair she's seated in, and then lift to fix onto Keane with an impish cast to expression, "More than one Weyr has done this before, darlin'. They just don't always know about it." A wink delivered at the end. Nope, she's not looking one bit apologetic for having tried to pull a fast one on the tavern owner and being found out for it, as the crooked grin will attest to. Back to the more serious side of their business under discussion, "Got someone in mind that might be willing to take him under their wing. Quiet and solid sort. He's away at the moment, but when he returns I'll have a word with him. This friend of yours, how soon does he need to leave here?"

“History does,” Keane agrees sending Indira one of his smiles full of experience and said histories. Looking about the small room, “Seen a lot, here, in Telgar,” he relates, the place clearly a fond spot for the man before he meets her eyes. “Wouldn’t trade my life for all the trinkets in Lord Telgar’s coffers.” He didn’t have much, and even his bar may look to be falling apart, but it was clear that the lands and its people was all he knew and had no regrets. His gaze remains on her then when she admits that more than one Weyr has been involved in such business, a brow lifting in interest to this along with the wink. “You don’t say,” he drawls out before letting a chuckle spill forth. “Well, well. The world is truly changing. Thought the Weyrs for the most part were above such things. Well, above it enough to guard against such possibilities,” and he seems to bow to her on that, a glint entering his eyes as he regards her. “Guess we live and we learn, eh, my lady?” Leaning back a bit on the serious side of the business, “Sounds good,” he approves in his rough voice on the tanner. “Savod won’t complain. We can move him as soon as you can secure transportation for him. I was making plans to ship him towards Boll with Timekis – I, uh, figured the man would take his fate wherever he went anyway – but this is the better plan. Heard word that there’s a small group of guards here already, but they’ve yet to make their rounds here and at the cothold. The sooner the better, I’d say.”

An understanding warmth softens an expression often mistaken for cold arrogance for the way in which Keane speaks of his surroundings and her gaze tracks his about the room. "Trinkets come and go, memories," a hand lifts and fingers touch to her chest over her heart, "are what remain in the end." She being one to have been through the wringer enough times herself to have had experience with such things. Laughter held in dark eyes spills out in throaty gesture, with Indira holding his gaze easily, "The Weyrs generally are above such things. Which would be why I got tossed out the last one on my ass," shrugging easily for bygones, "Eastern's different though. One of juniors down there she's…of a similar mindset to you and I. She's recently been put in the knowledge of what it is we do and so far," her smile turning wry, "she hasn't tossed us out." Expression and words displaying her determination to carry on with what it is she does even if she were to be tossed out again. Leaning forward and then slowly unfolding herself from the chair, the tousled blonde makes a short pause where Keane sits, putting a crafty smile down onto him, "If you can get word to him, we can take him with us now. Got a 'rider with a brown pretending to be a lump of rock a ways out from here." And then she takes to openly meandering about the room, giving whatever personal possessions might be housed there, idle inspection as if to somehow better understand the tavern owner in some part.

While Indira looks about the room, Keane has his own study on her with one finger lifting to idly rub at the hair at the bottom of his chin. “Even the bad ones,” he notes on her words on memories, his amusement lingering along with understanding the woman before him better. It’s what said next that has his interest, however, brows both lifting up at her along with some quiet-sounding laughter. “They kicked you out?” he had to echo that one, and he doesn’t hide the approval held in his gaze there as he watches her. Yeah, perhaps his fondness for the lands over the Weyrs is still present even at this stage of his life. He’s looking at her anew though. “Quite a profession you’ve chosen, Indira of hunter stock, former dragonrider weyrmate.” He gives the title with no mockery in place, the barkeep more intrigued and curious about the enigma before him than anything else. “That is good that Eastern has more…ah, progressive views?” he chooses his words carefully, a finger briefly lifting up away from his chin. “It means things could change. Means the renegade lords will have to change, as well. I do wish you luck on that, in the hopes the weyrwoman decides to go with more progressive viewpoints enough to not kick you out. Something tells me we’re going to be needing Eastern more in the future.” We being those of the lands, both north and south. When Indira gets to her feet, Keane remains sitting and chooses to watch her instead. Head turns a fraction when she comes by him, the older man fitting one corner of his mouth to lifting up at her response on the friend needing transport. With a gesture of one hand, “It will be done by tonite. I’ll have one of Rad’s men take a runner.” Simple as that. He doesn’t seem to mind at all that the woman is taking a tour of his digs, her perhaps noticing how meticulous and ‘clean’ the place is despite how shabby and falling apart the bar is outside. The bed is made, there’s books and tightly-bound stacks of hides neatly placed about, there was a large map of the Telgar area on one of the walls all marked-up and seeming to depict trails and paths only a man of the lands would know about, and so on. There’s a locked chest at the foot of the bed that looks rich despite the humble room, and from the opposite side of where the map hangs is a large array of knives carefully lined up in the built-in wall shelf. Odd, smaller weapons are here as well, along with different object equated to navigation on land and sea. Rolled-up, older maps are in a large vase in one corner of the room – the only small space that would probably be considered ‘messy.’

Turning from inspecting the map on the wall, Indira puts a rueful smile over to Keane on having been kicked out of a Weyr, "Seems they don't like progressive viewpoints up High Reaches way," giving out her former Weyr with ease, "And with L'min gone…" words trail into a little shrug. Having moved over to where he keeps his books and taken one of them up to idly page through, she turns once again, dark eyes resting an unreadable look onto the older man, "The life chooses you, you don't choose the life." She states solemnly a brow lifted in pointed meaning. Turning more fully, leaning a hip against where the books are kept and hugging the one she hold against her middle, Indira puts a smile blended of maternal worry and pride, "They'll change if Max has his way." Twisting her upper body about, the book is carefully set back in place and she's soon drawn back to the map and more especially the knives on display. With a finger tracing along each blade in turn, the smile that turns out is again unreadable, though she keeps her attention on the weaponry, "The South will remain as safe haven to those that need it for as long as he," her son, "and I draw breath." Meandering steps carry her on again but this time she comes to a halt and without invitation drops down onto the chest at the foot of his bed, using it as impromptu seating, "Good. We can leave with him in the morning. As Rordan, his story is that he's a cousin of mine come to help you out in the absence of your having a barmaid at present. He's very good at playing dimwitted. So you might want to use that should anyone start getting too nosey."

“High Reaches don’t like coals shoved up their ass, either,” Keane counters on the Weyr not liking progressive viewpoints up that way, leaning back more comfortably now that he’s thinking the more serious part of business is over with. He tracks Indira’s progress through the room, body barely moving even though his eyes are. “Sounds like he was the unlucky one,” he answers on her losing her weyrmate, though he makes the assumption that he is still alive and the two had a falling out. Lips twitch upwards at her statement on life, but he doesn’t respond since he’s finding her going through his things far more interesting. He hasn’t made the connection that Max is her son, either, and so he remarks, “You seem to trust that he can do it.” Pause. “The South will be a welcome to those looking to leave the heat up here,” he says the words ironically. “I really appreciate what you and Max are doing. Makes me sleep better at night knowing.” Eyes lingering over her frame when he says it before meeting her gaze again, now that she’s seated over his bedchest. With business finally being put to rest, the man pushes his seat back from the desk but rise from it just yet. “The cover story fits,” he agrees to it with a brief incline of his head. “I like it. I also extend one of my rooms back here for sleeping arrangements for the night,” he continues to say, playing the good host with an unreadable smile. “You are welcome here, Indira, and if the boys out there give you a hard time, I’ll knock them back into shape. I’ll get on sending one of them out to the cothold shortly.” Rordan is welcome too, but the man doesn’t feel the need to verbalize it. Finally getting to his feet then, his eyes falling on his knives that she was looking through earlier, “Liked what you see?” he asks then, the barkeep moving from around the desk to pass her and approach those very weapons. Of course, she could take the question the wrong way, being that he makes no such gesture towards the very objects until he moves that way.

Quiet laughter greets Keane's comment on the Reachian Weyr and its ways, "Especially not if you set a light to it," the metaphorical coal he'd spoken of. That falls away and her expression closes a touch, "You could say so." This to L'min being the unlucky one. She doesn't however offer forward explanation, incorrectly assuming he realizes her weyrmate to be dead. Fingers trace over the texture of the lid of the chest she's taken up as seating, dark eyes following the tavern keeper as he stands noting quietly, "Jaya will be glad to know you've healed well. She was worried." As to Max a brow goes up in amusement, "He sharding well better be able to. He was trained by the best." Arrogant much? Perhaps not if the older man knew it was the beast manager's father that had had the greater hand in his training. The tousled blonde head tips to one side, sending a cascade of hair over one shoulder, meeting that lingering of his eyes over her quietly before adding with a short smile, "Then I must be on the right track." That to his being able to sleep better at night. She gives a simple nod to arrangements and cover stories on Rordan and then quirks a grin out as she gracefully comes to her feet, moving to stand a step or two back from where he studies his collection of knives, "Darlin', there ain't many a man that would dare to try putting me on my ass," her accent drawling through, "A few of have tried. Most have failed." Tone lending that double meaning to the words. And so of course, she does take the question put to her the wrong way, sloe eyes running an unashamedly open look over the older man, smiling slightly, "I'm always one to appreciate quality and skill. Time and attention to detail, are becoming lost arts." That last said with such innocence and with her attention now turned to the knives that he might think she's speaking to the fine craftsmanship of a few of the weapons on that shelf. The quarters offered for the night draw an odd little smile in return but she merely dips her head in polite thanks.

Indira’s return quip sets Keane to quiet laughter, thoroughly pleased that she had a sense of humor. When her expression closes his interest in her short response on the account of her ‘alive’ former weyrmate raises a touch. His eyes finally let off of her for the decanter of liquid hanging by the desk. Reaching over for a small empty glass, “That kit she brought up helped,” he responds on his healing well, though there was just a slight favoring to one leg that may be noticed when he walked. Tipping the decanter over a little to pour a glass, “Jaya needs to not worry about me so much,” he continues to say while doing so, taking his time before he looks over at Indira with a knowing smirk on his face. “But admittedly, I worry about her. Keep an eye on her for me?” He wouldn’t ask just anyone to do so, and it was likely that the Bitran woman could take care of herself well, but the barkeep was all the way up in Telgar where he couldn’t see her as often. “The drinking,” he only hesitates to bring up briefly, the glass now filled and set aside to pour another. “The nightmares,” he adds then, perhaps relating the two as he pours. “Just…don’t let it get too bad, eh?” He straightens up then, collecting both filled glasses and turns away from the desk to face her. His amusement is bare at her arrogance with Max, a brow lifting in almost askance for its origin before dropping. It’s once she gets up and moves towards the collection of knives that he takes a step closer. He sidles close but not close enough to be in her personal space – slightly behind her and to the side as he watches her study his collection. Her cheeky response has his eyes twinkling in the lighting of the room, and he extends a hand from behind her with the glass in wordless offering. Eyes slipping down her shoulder, “I imagine most have,” he doesn’t argue the point of men trying to fall her, “but it really only takes one, shuga.” He will lean forward enough to send a wink her way, letting her know that he was aware of the double meaning and would respond in kind. It was a game aged with time for him, and he was duly enjoying the banter when he has little time for it these turns. If she takes the glass, he will then reach out to pick up the knife with the dark brown hilt – glossed to a sheen of much use. Meeting Indira’s study of him, along with words that could very be meant for his weapon collection, “Too many these days like to speed through such…craftmanship,” he notes, lifting the knife and turning it over in his big hands. Yeah, he could very well be talking about his weapon collection, too. “One should take their time, pay attention to such details…even if it takes all day and night.”The look he sends is open innuendo, no innocence in his tone at all. Then, and only then, does he raise the knife in his hands and adds, “The man that made this one took months. Strong grip, easy to throw. Could cut through skin like butter.” He sounds like he would know. At the polite nod of thanks, even though he notes the smile as well, he lays back down the knife then only take a long drink of the brandy – his eyes never leaving hers. Wry, he lets the pause linger heavily before asking. “So. I suppose we still got another hour or so before the boys out there actually believe in our getting it on. Anything else you want to discuss, my lady?” Or? There’s an ‘or’ hanging in the air, unspoken.

Bending to retrieve the carrysack she'd dropped next to her chair upon entering, Indira pulls out a replica of the medical pack Jaya had brought with her and lays it on the chest. "I wasn't sure if you'd have anything left so…" sounding for some reason, a little awkward in this gesture and frowning for the unfamiliar feeling. A quick smile covers that as she straightens once again, softening for the request to keep an eye on the Eastern barkeep. "I've given her one of my best. He…has a special talent for soothing those with whom he spends enough time. I believe you met him when they came up here?" The tousled head of blonde hair moves just a fraction. Enough to be able to keep Keane within her peripheral vision, a faint smirk tracing out for the lifted brow given over Max, "His father." She states in simple explanation with a crooked smile. One knife in particular captures her attention, although she remains at all times aware of where the older man is in relation to herself and so there comes no startlement with him stepping in closer and then reaching around her to offer the glass forward. As he leans to deliver that wink, so she twists her head about slightly to meet his eyes, expression unreadable. Silent a moment and then giving through a faint smirk, as she shifts her bodyweight marginally toward him, "Most don't understand the nature of the feline." Enigmatic words. Only then does a hand move to take the glass, fingers brushing lightly against the tavern owner's. His movement toward the very knife she'd been studying has her head turning back toward the collection, raising the glass to her lips for a sampling taste. Indira's mouth curves into a sly line around it's rim for the return given on craftsmanship, a low chuckle slipping out for the telling look sent with along with his words. "Ah," she breathes, using her glass bearing hand to tip toward the knife, "Like fine wine, some things shouldn't be rushed. For once the bottle is opened and the contents will demand to be savoured until there is nothing left…but a fond memory." Observing the manner in which Keane handles the weapon, and how he speaks of it, her head turns once again in that close proximity, "This craftsmanship is yours?" intrigued to hear if he had crafted the knife himself. Her eyes hold to his, unwavering as a slow knowing smile curves her mouth upward, "I think…" she states with deliberate care, pausing to take another swallow of her drink, "I'm about done with talking." The last lent husky voice with her moving neither closer nor away, leaving the 'or' of matters, quite literally, in his hands.

Keane turns in time to see Indira pull out the identical medical pack he still had around the room somewhere, the simple gesture and the awkwardness he picks up on in her voice seeming to endear her to him. Noting the quick smile, he crosses over to where she is once he sets glasses aside and takes the kit from her with a grateful smile on his face. Looking intently into her eyes as he takes it, “Thank you,” he says the two words with such meaning to suggest the gesture means more to him than those words could convey. Taking the kit to his chest as he turns to set it on the desk for later perusal, “You ladies have been more kind to me than my late wife on her best days,” he notes, turning back to her with the two glasses once again in hand – indicating her and his former Bitran barmaid. He looks pleased to hear that Indira had set one of her own to watch Jaya, his eyes narrowing a fraction as he tries to recall all those that came with her and Max the time they were here. “Ah yes, the, quiet one,” he remembers in the brief pause, nodding shallowly a few times. “I did notice that one lingering about her a lot, but I was only assuming he was keeping an eye on the both of them.” That being Max and Jaya. “Good. No one her age should be dancing with darkness like she does, but, seeing all she has to deal with…” a light shrug is given, letting the matter drop now that he’s been assured that she was taken care of in that particular sense. But now, Indira’s short answer in regards to Max fits a long look onto the woman, now realizing that indeed she and Max were very closely related. The slight smirk touching his features then, “I see where he gets his fire,” he now states, pleased in learning something new about the Eastern woman as he watches her study the very knife he ends up picking up. When he’s behind her and close enough to deliver that wink, her return response to his draws amusement to light his eyes. Gaze briefly touching off of her towards the knife collection before them as she finally takes the glass from him, “Can you blame them, my dear?” he counters, eyes finding her own. “Only the skilled won’t get eaten alive by such a feline. One with experience?” He lets that last syllable linger between them, reveling in the brush of her touch when she claims the glass offered before the knife gets both of their attentions. “Well said,” he approves of her words on wine, leaning back a little to see all of her face. “It’s not everyday I get the pleasure of witty banter with a woman clearly worthy of it. I forget how much I miss such play from my younger days.” Eyes back on the knife for her question, “Yes,” he answers on crafting the knife. “That was a lifetime ago, from a young man that had far too many ambitions for his own good.” Eyes meet her own then and there, watching her take that drink with an openly heated look before she announces she was done with talking. Knocking the last of his brandy back, Keane sets the glass down along with the knife without taking his eyes off of Indira and slides an arm around her waist if she allows. Done with the verbal foreplay, the woman igniting in him something that has been asleep long before his wife had died, the barkeep wraps a free hand around her glass as if to take that away too while he tries to lean in and claim her mouth with his.

A light frown flickers across her features though it may be hard to establish whether it's for the depth of the thanks given, or his words on his late wife. And so an uncertain glimpse of a smile hovers as she responds on Jaya's bodyguard, "Shijan," lending him name, "will stay with her for as long as she needs or wants him around." Solemnity draws in over words given to the darkness the Eastern bar owner lives with and she utters simply a quiet, "Aye." Enough to suggest she can relate to that on some level. Vague amusement lifts up through a vestige of maternal pride when Keane makes the connection between herself and Max, "And his pigheadedness." Yes, because her own stubbornness is absolute not the reason she and her son bang heads so often. Again, an odd light of wariness enters the eyes of a woman usually so self-assured when the older tavern owner delivers his response to the nature of felines. Masked by what is meant to be a seductive smirk the pull of her lips carries the flighty edge of nervousness to it, Indira slowly pulls her eyes away from him, forcing them back to the knife under study, uttering a non-committal, "Perhaps." Swallowing slowly a crooked smile filters into place and she puts out light tease, "They say…" calling on that reserve of self-assuredness that seems to dwindle by the second, "that you're only as old as the women you feel." Deliberately using the plural there. The tousled blond head tips to one side and Keane is regarded with silent interest for a moment when he confirms his hands to have been those that crafted the knife, "You have talent," sincerely given, "We can all use a hobby to distract from life's little temper tantrums, aye?" Perhaps meaning to encourage him to take up the craft once again. Dark eyes catch the heated look coming off of him, a light of a similar kind flaring in their depths, sparking higher as he slides an arm about her. Her free hand slips upward and plants lightly against his chest as if to ward him off and yet…she puts no strength behind the gesture, merely laying it there, splayed fingers crumpling and then releasing the fabric of his shirt as she battles some or other internal demon of her own. Freed of her glass, there is but the barest heartbeat of hesitation before her chin lifts, his name whispering from her lips with the barest shake of head as if to suggest she's about to take flight a moment before his mouth claims hers. With a soft whimper lips part under his and arms lift to wrap about his neck, the full length of her body leaning against him.

…. Some time goes by . .. .

Breasts rise and fall quickly against where they're pressed in against Keane's slick chest, breathing still coming in quick gasps, lids closed and cheeks flushed a rosy hue as her body continues to tremble on its descent down from those dizzying heights. Swallowing she tries once or twice to speak as his head drops in against her neck but words to seem to fail Indira, at this time only able to offer a very shaky but throaty moan of satisfaction in response. Perhaps lending belief that the woman might indeed have passed out and is slowly starting to come to when eyelids flutter and slowly but surely a languid smile curves about her mouth. Eventually she manages to get a hand to co-operate, sliding it up his back to come to a rest at the nape of his neck, fingers caressing through sweat damped hair. Inhaling a shuddering breath of air, the smile deepens into a grin, "That…was some…welcome." Her sense of humour quick to rise to the fore as she stretches beneath him unwrapping her leg from about his back and letting it fall back to the bed with a slight thwump. Yeah, he's about done her in. Which in itself should bear testament to the older man's prowess.

“You’re welcome,” is perhaps Keane’s play on her words, finally pulling his head up from the crook of Indira’s neck to roll over and lay his back on the bed. He’ll grab her and pull her with him, not want to break contact of their bodies if she doesn’t protest. Heavy breathing take most of his words from him, Indira clearly having exerting a man that really wasn’t fully recovered from the attack to be engaging in such passionate activities. The smile falling on his face is one of open satisfaction once he lays back on the pillow, trying to wrap his arm over Indira. Allowing his breath to slowly come down so that he could speak, “You just might be the death of me, love,” he grunts that out, fitting one eye down at her now that he is settled, alluding to his injuries still. “I suppose that room I offered earlier is now a moot point.” No question there where it should be, for the barkeep is not about to let Indira leave anytime soon.

A small moue of disappointment starts to form as she feels Keane starting to roll over and then morphs into satisfied sound as he takes her with him for in all honesty, she didn't really want to break that intimate contact just yet. Resting her cheek against his chest, fingers of one hand tracing idle patterns through the silver streaked hair on it, a smirk fits into place and she lifts her head, concern mirrored in dark eyes as she peels herself away slightly to peer down at him, "Oh shit. Are you…okay?" Searching for whatever injuries might be showing as flaring up again. Her mouth seeks his out, lips brushing tenderly across his as she murmurs reply to his question, "I'm not leaving, love." Almost daring him to try and throw her out as she nestles her head in against the crook of his neck and shoulder and asking in the quiet after that passionate storm, "You want the other pack?" of medical supplies she'd brought with her.

With Indira tracing patterns on his chest, Keane has an arm around her shoulder with fingers running up and down her arm before she moves to check on him. “I’ll be fine,” he is easy in assuring her, drawing a hand to her cheek for her concern. “It’s gonna take more than an upstart renegade and a wild feline in my bed to bring me down,” he seems to tease gently, the smirk one of amusement. He meets that tender kiss eagerly, letting it linger as hand moves to the small of her back possessively at her response of not leaving. Openly approving it, “I wouldn’t have let you leave if you asked,” he returns, letting his amusement lace his gruff tone. “This just happens to be the best accommodation in the whole bar. I’d be a bad host not to oblige you in showing my…hospitality?” Yeah, that’s what he’s calling it. A kiss goes to her hair when she nestle her head against the crook of his neck, the sigh escaping one of pure contentment. He grunts initially to the pack before answering more properly after a spell, “Heart’s fluttering but I don’t think I’ll croak a good while yet. My knees on the other hand…” He knew he was going to have to pay for that, especially with Telgar being so cold at this time of day. Then, after a moment’s silence, “When do you have to leave?” he asks quietly, moving his head a fraction to look down to catch her eyes.

"Mmhm," Indira gives in open skepticism of his being fine and then low laughter flows out, causing her frame to shudder slightly against him at the quip over a wild feline in his bed. "Not my fault the stag had such a full set of antlers on him," she teases back. With his greeting her kiss with such eagerness, her lips part slightly returning it kind before breaking away to put a long look down onto him for his stating he'd not have let her leave, a tentative smile appearing before it washes away behind a feigned show of solemnity as she plays the Headwoman card, "You're right. It wouldn't be proper. One always has to be aware of…extending full and…" smirking, "satisfactory hospitality." Although he could have pushed her into a broom closet and taken her there and she'd likely agree to it being the best accommodation in the establishment. Arms move so that hands lace together over his chest upon which she props her chin and sweeps her attention over what can be seen of his chambers from that vantage point stating quite simply and truthfully, "I like it here. There's something…honest and uncomplicated about it." And by extension, with these being his private quarters, him too. But she's not quite aware of that yet. Something that's likely to hit her only once she gets back to Eastern. His sound of contentment is mirrored by a low purr of gratification for the kiss pressed into her hair. A light frown mars her features when he talks of his knees bothering him and she shifts to go and get the medical pack she'd brought with her, teasing gently as she does so, "You die on me and I'll never forgive you." That movement to peel herself away from him stops at the question put to her, and again that quiet and unreadable expression comes into play and then a smile covers it over, a regretful note set into her tone, "Tomorrow."

“Stag’s been out of commission, until now,” Keane counters with a rumbling chuckle that reverberates through his chest and against her, watching Indira intently once more now that is breath has settled down. “Satisfactory,” he picks out that particular word with a feral grin touch his lips. “The feeling’s very mutual, love. You are quite the woman, Indira of Eastern.” Fingers lift to touch her lips idly, the barkeep watching her looks about the room before he lazily does the same. Her comment on his room getting a wry, “What need have I to keep secrets?” he returns then, meeting her gaze. “My place is an extension of me. I don’t like complications. Leave that to the young ones. Life’s too short for all that, love.” He searches her eyes then, such honesty in his own in the fact that he truly didn’t have anything to hide. He was essentially, an open book – which considering that he’s an admitted criminal, is a lot, and that suggests that he must have connections that keep him from the guards’ clutches. When she gets up to get the kit, her doesn’t let her go right away before he chuckles at her words and frees her. “I won’t die,” he drops shortly. “Those boys out there may have dropped, though.” If they were listening. “Tomorrow,” he echoes that quietly, giving her nod to that. “Unfortunate, but understandable.” He gives her a smile then, his gaze making her a wordless promise to make the best of the time they have left as long as she wanted his presence.

Indira's head tips to one side, sending Keane a curious little look for his admission and then a slow smile starts to form, dark eyes holding to his with an impish cast to features. Oh yes, she wasn't done with him. Not by any means. "Secrets kill the heart," she finally gives in a low tone, expression closing for a second before she forces whatever that was away. Once he releases her, bare hips sway in tantalizing display as she moves the short distance to his desk and rummages through the medi-pack left there. Turning with a jar of numbweed in hand a deep smirk settles into place, a light shrug setting breasts to swaying slightly, "Let them gawk. Keeps the cover story straight doesn't it?" winking and then moving back over to where Keane is still laid out on his back. Settling herself between his legs, knees tucked up under her, hands still in unscrewing the lid and a solemn look presents itself. "You'd want for me to stay longer?" the quiet query spoken with cautious edges onto the air between them. Without awaiting a reply a finger scoops out a blob of numbweed and soon cool strong hands are gently working the ointment into one of his knees.

Keane fits a long heated look onto the woman for her words on secrets. He watches her then, perhaps detecting that such words have deep meaning to her enough to lift and draw fingers through her blonde hair in the pause. “That it does,” he agrees solemnly, studying her. He wasn’t going to pry – at least not yet anyway – so he lets it go and watches her with the medical kit intently. He couldn’t hide the hunger in his eyes, now that she had ignited the sleeping beast from within, and that beast had plenty of turns to make up for. “I just want them gone,” he states on the guards, such passionate encounters giving him enough energy now to perhaps take on Vaputero if he walked through the door. Once Indira’s settled between his legs and start to apply the numbweed, her question doesn’t even get any hesitation from him: “Yes.” The look he gives is a quiet one, full of the need for her in his arms so that he could sate the both of them – and to maybe get to know more about this woman that has captured his renewed interest in such passions again.

A light shiver goes through Indira for his fingers drawing through her hair and she leans her head slightly into his hand meeting that solemn study of her for a moment before dropping her eyes away with a quick flash of a smile. The hunger coming off of Keane doesn't go amiss and has the effect of her licking and then catching her lower lip between teeth in a coquettish gesture. Starting to work on his other knee, her head turns fractionally toward the closed door and the unseen guards beyond. "Perhaps once Vaput's dealt with, Kelarad will see fit to remove them," this said as she crawls up him, dark eyes putting an intent look down onto the older man as she straddles his stomach, "You just don't go doing anything stupid like getting yourself killed or I shall be sorely vexed." She looks set to say more until he answers her earlier query with so little hesitation. Her response isn't verbalized instead it comes in the form of an open mouthed kiss that carries with it desire and a trace of oddly placed yielding.

“He’ll be moving them much sooner than that,” Keane manages to grunt out with his mind clearly on other more local things, if that look to her body is any indication. “Lorien’s an ally, but there’s only so much he can take of Rad’s men cavorting about his territory. He’s a paranoid fucker if I ever met one.” Forthright in his opinion of the local renegade lord, the barkeep watches her work on his other knee before it lifts when she straddles his stomach. Leaning back to drawl his arms around her in protecting gesture, the smirk sent her way is full or roguish delight at her admonishment before he answers in a very dirty manner, “Yes, ma’am.” Yeah, somehow a weyrling would get punished if they ever spoke to their Weyrlingmasters in such a scandalized tone. Her response to his wanting her to stay longer didn’t need words for him. He takes up that heady kiss with his tongue mingling purposefully with her own, trying to steal her breath away. Breaking the kiss to breath against her neck, “What the fuck are you doing to me?” he asks in a bare whisper, feeling like a randy teenage boy having a girl in his cothold room with his parents just next door. “I can’t get enough of ya, Indira.” No, this was not like him – at least he thinks so – and quite frankly it was starting to get to him. Vaput was becoming a distant memory when all he could think about was having her again and again before night falls.

. .. .. Time passes .. ..

If she were more in possession of thought, Indira might have been intrigued by that grunt of laughter, but she's about as far from cognitive thought as a tunnelsnake is from being a dragon. After a moment or two, she shifts her head slightly so that it's laid over where his heart is. Perhaps as surreptitious means of satisfying herself that hasn't just done the older taver keep in? Maybe. More likely she simply finds the hammering of his heart beneath his chest a soothing sound as she comes down from that briefly ethereal existence, swallowing through gulp of air, and swiping her tongue across lips parched from the recent exertion. Whispered out into the blend of their combined breathing, "Keane?" Yeah okay, so maybe she is a little worried after all.

Once Indira falls against him Keane has his arm up and over her shoulder involuntarily. His eyes are closed as he works on his labored breathing, feeling her against his heart and clutching her tightly there. Chest rises and falls heavily, but the man doesn’t look dead at least. Even through hearing his whispered name, he remains like this for a few moments longer before he slowly opens his eyes to meet her own with lips slightly apart. Fingers starting to rub her skin, “Indira,” he breathes her name back, watching her through slight lids before his free hand lifts up and very gently caresses her cheek. After another moment, “I’m alright, love,” he tries to reassure her in case she was indeed worried, shifting a little to accommodate her more against him. “Just a bit…spent.” There was no other way to word that, right? His finger continuing to brush her face, “Are you okay?” he asks then, letting his gaze roam over what he could see of her briefly as a yawn starts to threaten to come forward.

She likes it there, exhausted in the best possible way, with his arm slung over her, nothing but their breathing rasping across the still air. Mental faculties starting to drift back in as her breathing starts to turn from torn to something more manageable. As such awareness of his injuries has Indira reluctantly releasing him from that internal embrace and shifting her body so that her lower half is lying alongside him rather on top of him. she does however maintain that close contact by hooking a leg over his and pressing her hips in against the side of him, her upper body not moving an inch. Moving her head against his chest in a nuzzling gesture a tired smile pulls into place as she tilts her head in order to be able to meet that lidded gaze, enjoying the simple and gentle gesture of his hand caressing her cheek. "You're more than alright, old man," giving gentle tease, "You're fucking amazing." Double entendre intended. A short chuckle greets his admission at being spent, "Mmm…" agreement to her being much the same, and then adding, "starving." This to the query sent after her own wellbeing. Although she doesn't look to be moving an inch to actually go in search of food. Perhaps it will miraculously appear from Between and drop into the room.

Keane is keeping her right there in his embrace, the feel of her against him proving to be warm comfort that he never thought he would miss in all the turns after his wife. He watches Indira now that his breathing was beginning to return to normal, her compliment drawing a genuine, tender smile from the man as he reaches up to kiss her soundly on her the lips. Drawing breath from that, “You’re fucking amazing yourself, my passionate lady,” he returns, a finger now brushing her lips. “If I had known I’d be getting such a welcome…” the tease fades to something more sober, his intent gaze studying her face before she mentions that she’s starving. The crooked smile warming his features then, “I can go find some,” he offers, leaning down to press his lips to her forehead briefly. “No use getting those boys to get it. They’d likely serve you something only a watchwher would eat.” Arm tightens reflexively about her, then he lays his head back down on the pillow gratefully. “I could draws us up a bath,” he offers idly as well, though he’s not making no moves himself. At this rate, he’ll be lucky to get out of the bed after an hour, but as far as he was concerned, he would be loathed to move from such a woman at this very moment anyway.

She meets that kiss, lips parting beneath his, with a deep tenderness, smiling against the finger that brushes over her mouth before meeting his sober regard with a touch of that wariness from earlier bleeding in. Silent for a long time, simply holding his gaze and then dropping her eyes away to follow the path of a finger tracking through chest hair, "Southern hospitality…" pausing and sounding oddly awkward, "The warmer weather down there…it would be good for your knees when it starts to get really cold up here." Making it sound like she was thinking of his health and comfort rather than…asking if he'd come to visit her. That having been said his crooked smile and offer to go and get them food is met with a fond one from Indira, "Mmm…food and a bath." Seeming to really like that idea. In fact, she'd likely be quite happy putting the two together and nibbling on whatever food there is, whilst in the tub. With him. Fingers move toward her mouth and stifle a yawn as her head moves in a sleepy nod of agreement against chest, "Just now…" Limbs and eyelids languid in the afterglow of their highly physical and more than satisfactory couplings, the woman is likely to fall asleep right there, just like that, sprawled halfway across a man that up until a few hours ago, she'd never met before but that now…has somehow managed to maneuver his way in under her skin.

Keane holds his gaze to hers when she speaks about Southern, his fingers continuing to lightly caress her as if the thought of not touching her would be too much for him. Pausing as if to consider her words, “And I could see you,” he puts out there, the honest look evident. “And Jaya.” Pause. Eyes dropping briefly to his own knees, “Southern, huh?” he muses on that, that intense gaze returning to her own. “Well. I guess I should be worrying more about my health, right? Maybe it is time to start taking care of myself.” And if taking care of himself meant his braving Between to go south and visit his barmaids – and the woman that has gotten under his skin in a way that not even his late wife could – then he was going to take that risk. Indira’s smile is infectious, one of his own arriving until she’s stifling a yawn and laughter erupts from his lips. His voice lowering to something more intimate, “We’ve got the rest of the day,” he murmurs against her, his own sleepiness threatening to take over now. The rest of the day including food, a hot bath, and his going off to send one of the guards towards the cothold for the one needing solace down south. He hasn’t forgotten, no, but none of that just wasn’t important enough for him right now to detach himself from her and leave his room. All he wanted right now was to recover from unexpected bliss, and to keep Indira by his side and against his beating heart while doing so.

One arm moves and stretches upward, her hand brushing fingers lightly down along his jawline and then coming to rest at his goatee, tugging lightly at it as her heads tilts backward to better see his face and a crooked smile turns out, "I like this." Perhaps a strange comment to make, but there you have it. And then he could see her…the smile wavers for a heartbeat under that intense gaze and she swallows slowly before giving simply stated, "Aye." With her mouth curving into a lopsided line when he speaks of taking better care of himself, she lifts her head, seeking his mouth out to murmur against his lips, "I think you should," before kissing him rather thoroughly. Even if she doesn't say it, she's pleased by the idea of his making a trip down to Southern and then out of nowhere low laughter spills out, "You'll get to experience the gossip mill that is a Weyr, firsthand. Hope you're feeling brave, lover." Giving him that claim to title without much thought. Clearly someone's head is still not quite together yet. Settling her head back down against his chest again, hips press flirtatiously against the side of his as her leg cast over his own lifts to brush her foot up and down his calf, "Mmm…aaaall day." Eyelids start to droop despite the lazy tease, lulled toward sleep by the steady sound of his heart beating beneath her head.

That playful tug to his goatee gets a devilish smirk from the barkeep, and her odd statement to him isn’t taken odd at all. Running a hand through her blonde hair to settle on her back, “I could definitely get used to this,” Keane murmurs close to her lips, oddly pleased at such a simple statement. He returns that kiss thoroughly then, his breath catching by it before breaking away to catch his breath again. Damn, to be young again! Head laying back on the pillow, “I can take on all of Pern, baby,” he states with pride, the look he sends Indira showing a more vigorous light to them. “The Weyr doesn’t scare me. Should be an experience, and,” and a finger lifts up suddenly, “there’s the beach. Fort and here in Telgar don’t really afford much in beaches. I’d like to see that. At least once.” A desire having been said, he notes the title given him and he punctuates that with another kiss to her lips before her shifting against him has the man returning the favor. All day. The look on his face definitely likes that. So in return, when her eyelids start to droop, he presses a kiss to her forehead before he secures his arm around her more and settles himself to much-needed sleep.

The Next Morning…

Mid-morning of the next day with Rordan settled in and already behind the bar and getting a feel for where everything is kept, sees Eastern's Headwoman giving him a last few words and a stern look before turning and heading over to where Keane is, regret showing in her eyes for having to leave so soon. However despite the obvious weariness, she wears a warm smile for the older man, heedless of whatever Tillekian thugs there might be about to make note of such a thing for it holds to the cover story she'd come sauntering in with. The young man she's to take back with her, obviously waiting out of sight so as not to arouse undue suspicions. Coming to a halt before the Telgari tavern keeper, a secretive smile fits into place as she murmurs quietly for his ears alone, "Sun, sea, sand and…" smirking a little, "a whole lot of…yesterday."

The Tillekian thugs are definitely about this morning, with a few of them already setting the table up for another daily round of cards. Keane is not there with them this time – choosing to settle against another table watch the proceedings between his new employee and the Eastern headwoman – and the guards at the card table. There’s a far less stiff change in the man, the way he leans so casually with his arms folded across his chest as if he has all the time in Pern to do so. The man from the cothold was already collected and outside, the barkeep having already had a few words with him about not causing too much trouble for the Weyr that he would have to go down and get him. Well, he was planning to go down there anyway, but… With Indira approaching him right then, those murmured words draw a crooked smile to his lips that get caught by the few guards looking their way. Yeah, they weren’t stupid. Straightening to try and draw her into a hug, “You’ve given me something to look forward to,” he returns in like kind, his hands reaching up to settle on either side of her face. Looking intently into her eyes, “I will see you soon,” he makes that promise, barring no renegade crimelords should decide to fuck with him again. “Tell that son of yours that I’ll be looking forward to hearing what he does down there with the south.” Perhaps he’ll see it, too. Either way, he boldly presses his lips to hers then, not caring about the smirks and look going on between the young men in the bar.

Indira is easily drawn into that hug, her arms slipping about the tavern owner. It's once he's captured her face and the intent look coming from Keane however that has her putting out a smile a little too quickly, as if she might not believe him but will pretend she does anyway. "Aye, soon," echoed quietly before a hand slides up to the nape of his neck and his kiss is returned in such a manner so as to suggest she likely believes this to be the last time she's likely to see him. Rordan's eyes all but bug out of his head for seeing the usually austere and stern woman behaving, well…like a normal woman? Reluctantly she breaks away, melancholy set in dark eyes as stepping backward her hand trails lightly down the older man's chest and then pats a last touch before falling away, "Fair skies, Keane." The others staring and smirking are completely ignored as she then re-settles the carrysack over her shoulder and with chin up, walks out without looking back.

Keane is not one to miss a thing, and so that quick smile along with such parting kiss has him fitting a long study onto Indira. Not too long, of course, with all eyes on them in the room. He’s reluctant to release her from his hold, but he does, letting her step away from him with a respectful incline of his head. There was just something about this woman that he wanted to get to know, and long distance was not going to bar him from doing that. His intent gaze tells her that before her parting words have him returning gruffly, “Aye. Be safe, Indira.” Probably the chastest words he’s ever given the Headwoman since her stepping foot into his bar. He watches her walk out then, the guard following suit, and his gaze will linger there long after when he lifts his chin and orders those about, “What, you ain’t never seen a woman before? Back to work!” Work being, the games and their usual activities before a certain Eastern woman had showed up and upset the routine so thoroughly.

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