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((to be fair Pix isn't trying to offend Zafnir anymore than Zafnir is trying to frighten Pix. Just a cultural thing really, and I always loved seeing different alien culture clashes be they good or bad))

Pix began moving a bit quicker backwards as the fear slowly compressed her chest into a stranglehold she had difficulty fighting off. Her breathing was losing its already loose grasp on normality, and as she moved backwards, everything else in the room ceased to exist other than the Vyrin.

Pix didn't notice the stool behind her, even as she ran into it she couldn't take her eyes off the dragon. As she stumbled back over the chair, her left arm swung out in the direction of the table, desperately searching for something to steady herself before she fell. What she found was a glass of ale she mistakenly slapped in her descent to the ground, knocking it into the patron seated in front of it, soaking him in whatever liquid had occupied the glass. The glass bounced off the mans chest and fumbled to the ground. He stood up in the same moment Pix crashed to the ground, unable to keep her feet with the stool underneath her.

"Hey!" the man shouted, standing up to wipe his beard. Pix didn't completely realize what she had done, shuffling her arms and legs a bit wildly after hitting the ground to scramble backwards. She was only more panicked at having fallen, now feeling to be easy prey. Her eyes never once left Zafnir.

Xenith was about to respond to the bar keeper when he noticed the little frightened looking female with lime green hair. "A moment, if'n ya please sir." He walked over calmly, placing himself between the damp, agitated patron and the tiny girl. His golden eyes twinkled with a bit of warmth as he turned, ignoring the man and held out a strong, slender hand.

"Ya alright little lass?" He stood over her in a friendly manner, willing to help her up, and on his handsome stubbly face was a grin. Surprisingly, showing a mouth full of straight, white teeth. Xenith when looked at closer up, was muscular, good looking and not as wimpy or messy as he first appeared.

The Keeper smiles and gets to work. He has no idea what kind of drink Sox would want so he prepares two of the gold-labeled Old Janx Spirit. Then he sets the drinks on the counter and starts working on sweet drink for the young lady. He watches Sox dance from the corner of his eye; she's a lovely dancer. Her little flame trick sends ooh's and aah's rippling through the gathering crowd.

Zafnir tears his eyes away from the performance when he hears someone fall. His brilliant blue eyes lock onto the small girl. She's cute, child-like, being very short and having pale spring-green hair. She also looks terrified, but paying no mind to the man she'd pissed off. In fact, her eyes are locked on Zafnir.

He realizes too late that the girl's terror is aimed at him; he had already stood and taken a step forward to go help her up. Now he freezes and struggles to come up with something to say that'll assuage her fear. A pang of guilt twinges in his chest. He should have noticed sooner and let her be.

The Keep is watching this now as he works on more drinks. He won't intrude unless a bar fight breaks out. From the few interactions with Zafnir, he knows that the dragon is a calm, rational creature, and very persuasive when he needs to be. He trusts that he can handle the situation.

Sun-Na shook her head slightly, chuckling. She might have mistaken the ambiance of the tavern. It was quiet at first, but the silence dissipated as the number of new visitors grew. That includes herself of course, in spite of her neutral composure in a busy, homely lodge. She noted the comfort it brought to other races as well, glancing at the dancer in the center of attention. The quiet mage wondered what that woman's purpose was, and so did she wonder about the others as well.

She flashed a look at the man behind the counter, contemplating if she should strike a conversation regarding the peculiar household. Shrugging to herself, Sun-Na wiped the streak of blood on her cheek with a cloth, ignoring the short pin-like stabs through the flesh. Her fingers drummed on the wooden counter, waving her hand to catch his attention. She quietly hoped she wasn't interrupting him in any way.

Sox let her dance finally come to an end, seeing a drink waiting for her. She came to a stop, arms raised and out to the sides, head turned up, fans open, and feet together. The flames went out, and she curtsied slightly as she snapped her fans shut. With a stretch, she walked over to the bar, keeping as eye on the elf, girl and dragon, before sitting next to Paz and saying, "I'm happy you liked the show! Not everything's perfect, but I think it calmed things down a little. Got a name, rank, or title I can use for you?" She asked as she lifted the drink to her nos, giving it a sniff. Strong, but seemed pretty good. She'd wait for the name before drinking, though.

The angry patron with the wet beared stared at Xenith a moment, then looked down to Pix considering the situation. Whether it was the elf's bold interference, or what he saw as a frightened child on the ground, he decided to simply let go the mistake and take his seat, glaring openly at the scene between Xenith and Pix. He would look over to the Keeper, raising a single finger in a gesture requesting another drink as he sat there watching.

Pix glanced at Xenith then fixed her eyes back on the dragon. She reached her arm out and grabbed his hand, hoisting herself to a standing position with his help.

"I...I'm...." was all Pix produced before the dragon finally made eye contact with her. She froze, waiting for the beasts reaction. She still hadn't released the hand Xenith had gave her, and in the moment she knew she was seen by the dragon, her grip tightened greatly. That was when he appeared to make a move towards her. Pix tore backwards, trying to drag the unfortunate elf along for the ride with a strength likely unexpected for someone her size. She raised her opposing arm toward the dragon and a glow of lime green energy emitted from it. She knew any amount of energy she fired at the thing wasn't going to stop it, but she wasn't going to be lunch willingly.

Pix finally met the wall with her back, slamming into it harder than she wanted to. Providing the elf came along for the ride Pix would gesture him in front of her in a desperate attempt to stay hidden in some way from the creature, holding onto him with one hand while aiming the other around him. Certainly an elven meat shield wasn't going to stop it either. On top of that the dragon clearly already saw her. But fear does strange things to aliens of all kinds.

The Keeper fetches another drink for the bearded patron, a regular who knows exactly what he wants, then takes a drink to Sun. She strikes him a lady who wouldn't be fond of strong beer or ale, so he hands her a glass of sweet, red wine. "If it's not to yer tastes, I will fetch ya somethin' else." He smiles.

A flash of green; some spell at the ready, Zafnir supposes, and a desperate attempt to turn the golden-eyed elf into a shield. He sighs. "Child; I am not going to hurt you." His voice is rough and grating as a consequence of carrying a thick Draconic accent. He clears his throat, trying to hide it so she can understand him, then repeats himself, this time adding. "I am Zafnir, from the Draconic Queendom in Zeagni." He waits, standing still as if a mere statue. He's sure that any movement right now would set the small creature off.

The tall scruffy elf allowed the panicked child to pull him back and hide behind him momentarily. Xenith chuckled softly and very gently pushed her arm down as he turned to crouch in front of her, blocking her veiw of the dragon briefly.
"Aye... Little lass, easy there... breathe, take a deep breath, it's ok ta be scared, but ya really should take a moment to try an think clearly. He means ya no harm kiddo. Look at me... Easy there... You're aight... You're safe."

He gazed deeply into her eyes with his own unreadable, mesmerizing golden ones. He wasn't touching her, or holding her against the wall, there was about a foots length between the relaxed, crouched elf and the tense frightened girl. Xenith's voice was soothing, pleasant and extremely persuasive as he spoke to her.

Pix resisted her arm being pushed down at first, but the relaxed demeanor and easy voice of the elf helped calm her arm into place by her side. As it fell the green glow dissipated and she locked eyes with Xenith as he spoke. The soft words helped to calm her and, combined with the fact no one was eating her just yet, her mind slowly started turning to reason. Of course reason seemed just a little bit out the window right now, there was a dragon sitting at the bar, talking to her.

"Did that Vyrin just talk?" she asked the elf. Without waiting for a reply, Pix reached over and grabbed the elf by the cuff of each arm, pulling him slowly closer to her so she could peer over his shoulder at the dragon. She considered him a long moment, staring at his position, body language, and most importantly, how he wasnt eating anyone sitting near him. Of course fear can be more powerful than logic, and as such she was not completely convinced just yet he was harmless. She was, however, in much better control over herself now.

"I will have you know I do not taste very good," Pix called out to the dragon from over Xeniths shoulder. "I have even heard eating a Voldarian can cause skin lesions, upset stomach, poisoning, and even death in the Vyrin." Her voice was shakey and hesitant. It wouldn't be a secret she was still nervous even only in the tone her voice took. Of course none of what she told him was true, but whatever she had to say to keep from being eaten was fine.

She shook her head at the man, a small grin hovered her features that is easily missed. The woman had no troubles with drinks as long as it tasted sweet and sprightly. Shunned by the taste of stiff ale and alcohol, she preferred the sugary bits of the spectrum.

Taking the drink from his hands she analyzed its contents, shaking the mug to stir the liquid inside. She then realizes the absence of wine in her system, grasping the lack of flexibility during her travels. Averting her eyes from the red substance she faced him and asked, "You contain attributes of... a headmaster of a local bar, sir. Do you, perchance, hold some ground?"

Then quickly she remarked, "And the drink is no problem. I was just curious about this place, that is all."

"Out that door? Patrol Sergeant PD 52-02-1. "

With a finger pointed toward the exit, his drink hand goes forward to click her cup in cheers, before throwing back the shot. An appreciative shudder ran through his body, slamming the shot glasses down with an apperciative 'Aaah...'.

"But in here? Dialed. Paz Dialed. This worlds most eloquent, elegant, yet humble troop... at your service. "

With mock seriousness the trooper clicks his heels in salute, a grin playing at the corners a scarred, sun-bronzed face.

"And who do I have to thank, for keeping me company?"

"Out there," She started, teasingly, "Neyesha Sunspark, heiress to Sunspark Arcane Materials ltd. and Sunspark Heavy Industries. In here," She echoed his action, taking the shot, though holding the glass in her hand as she appreciated the burn of the drink rather then putting the glass down, "You get to call me Sox. Nice to meet you Paz."

Nightmare walked into the pub. He had been expecting to have charged into a room full of armed mecha-assassins, but it was a nice change of pace. He sat down at a table and looked around, trying to figure out what was happening.

"Charmed, Sox." Moving his helmet across the counter top for more room, he waved at the bar keep, jovially indicating they were both ready for refills.

None of what she mentioned rang bells in the Imperial's mind. Arcane Materials? Sounds like an antique shop. He'd always been a little thick on the history of things -- it was enough to keep ones mind in he present. "Heavy Industries, huh? Outside of ships yards, we don't have much on this planet. Is your outfit from somewhere in the Outer Rim?"

"Yes, I run this establishment," the Keep says. He sees gestures for refills, and also a newcomer. "Ah, pardon me, miss." He makes a refill run, taking care of Dialed and Sox's drinks before greeting the boy with the green skin. "Good evenin', sir. What can I do fer ya?"

She thinks he wants to eat her, not unusual. The Tavern is the last place he expects to have to handle such problems, though, so it still stings. Burying his hurt, Zafnir replies with a joke.

"For me to want to eat you, I'd have to be quite hungry," he says, "and you would have to be a literal turkey." Perhaps the joke is in bad taste; it arouses only a few small chuckles from the bystanders. He smiles as sheepishly as a dragon can smile and tries to sit down again. He stands in a position where a table lies in the way of his rear so he sets down only the front of his body, posing for a moment like a playful dog, then he twists around a little and lays curled up into as small an area as possible. His heavy tail does manage to knock over a wayward stool, but no one seems to mind it.

"What I mean to say is; I do not want to eat you. Or anyone, for that matter."

She giggled, "I think we might both be veerrry far from home right now, and from very different corners of reality. The two companies are headquartered on the urban trade-world of Gyalith, though obviously have facilities in other places to take advantage of more helpful manaspheres. They used to be one company, and more focussed on the arcane materials manufacturing, but they started making enough products, mostly void sails for freighters and luxury craft, but also magic-assisted manufacturing equipment and sensors and magic based weapon systems, that they decided to split off the heavy industries into its own company. My family still owns most of it, but there's a mostly seperate board of directors and executive branch for each one," she explained, bringing up a holographic projection from a small, flat, rectangular device, which showed more or less a company website. It featured a large red-orange beast rearing up over a similarly coloured sunburst as the logo, and a number of pages of products of various kinds, most of them referring to strange terms that he'd probably at most seen in fantasy, and a lot of references to magic.

Nightmare looked at the barkeep. "I'll take a couple shots of whiskey. Thank you." He continued to look around, suspicious of what the other patrons could do.

The pirate chuckled at the dragon's words, still crouched, as small female peered over his shoulder at the harmless behemoth. "Aye, that he did, he seems to be a rather jolly fellow. Now, why should there be a reason to fear?" The elf waited a moment before standing up again and beckoning to the girl. "Come along, you'll be safe with me if ya are that a'feared of the scaly sir. Ah'll get ya a lemonade."

Xenith turned and walked back to the end of the bar, closest to the main door, and a bit farther from the Dragon, although he gave the big lizard a friendly wave. "Ah'll have a whiskey or rum, no ice or such nonsense, and if ya could gimme a bottle, not the glass, that'd be mighty appreciated. Also a lemonade for the little lass with the lime green curls if'n ya please." The elf's golden eyes twinkled briefly as he said this casually, and patiently to the bartender when he was available, plunking down a handful of gold coins.