Some Advice

Fort Weyr - Weyrleader's Offices
Aged by time, this office has lived through the ages of Fort just as its counterparts have. But unlike the Weyrsecond and Junior Weyrwomen offices, this cavern is spacious and formed in a rough semicircle of three conjoined caves that were carved and modified Turns ago. The middle portion acts as a waiting room of sorts, holding only a few modest chairs and a simple tapestry to otherwise brighten up the plain stone walls. There are no windows here and the only light comes from well placed glow baskets. To the right, the smaller of the two adjoining caverns has been set aside for the Weyrwoman, a large desk situated in the middle and a bookshelf pressed against the wall. A small hearth allows for some warmth in the colder months and another cabinet rests across the room to hold various supplies, as well as several books, reports and records. More tapestries have been hung there, lending some color to room. On the left, the larger cavern belongs to the Weyrleader's office and the walls here are littered with a vast array of maps, as well as a tapestry hung behind where he would sit. The desk is large and the wood aged, looking old and a bit worn, but well tended too. Shelves and a bookshelf line one wall, crammed with rolled hides, other maps, books, reports and records and all arranged in an organized chaos. A small hearth has been built in here as well and various well placed glow baskets are hung to offer just the right amount of light in this windowless office. Both offices have stout wooden doors that have been carefully worked into the stone. They can be closed and locked if privacy is needed but are often left open.

Autumn is a colourful time of Turn for Fort, with the forests surrounding the Weyr turning to a riot of bright hues as the seasons change over. The sky is a crisp blue, the weather cool but not unpleasant. Most of the weyrfolk are out and about enjoying it. Not the Weyrleader though! Not that he's adverse to fun, but Th'ero does have a job to do. He's held the position this long for a reason, after all! And he's not about to start slacking now. Seated behind his desk, he's oblivious to the passage of time outside. Food was brought in at some point by a drudge; someone's quiet reminder for him to EAT but he's gone and ignored it. Nearing fifty Turns now, his hair has begun to grey along the temples and there's deeper lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth but overall little has changed about him. He's a man in his prime still, even if stuck behind this damn desk and always at it with reports and hidework. It's like he's the perfect/ target and doesn't even know it!

YOU CAN RUN, BUT YOU CAN NEVER HIDE SWEET TH'ERO. Not from his son's weyrmate at least, who's gone and abused that knot she possesses in order to get this far. It's a sneaky tactic, one that might come 'round to bite her in the end, but Risali is nothing if not shameless. So in she comes, shown through the door by those whose trepidation is so at odds with the confidence and authority Risali conducts herself with. It's… an odd effect, as if the Xanadian goldrider has adopted the mannerisms of terran-myth royalty to apply in instances like these. And she waits by the door SHE RUDELY BARGED THROUGH WITHOUT KNOCKING until people scramble back out and close the door, those grey eyes regarding Th'ero with an almost challenge in them as one, two, three moments stretch between them. And then the illusion is gone, Risali's shoulders slumping forward, the goldrider exhaling as she moves WITHOUT INVITATION ONCE MORE to plop herself right into a seat in front of Th'ero's desk. Fingers curl around her knot, pulling it from her shoulder to place on the desk just as she leans forward to place her arms on the edge, forehead thunking down on top of them. GIVE HER A MOMENT TO RECOVER, she hates the stuffy formal stuff, but it's not long before she's shifting to sit up with lazy form, elbow still resting against the tabletop. There's no hello, no gifts, just suddenly wary grey eyes back on Th'ero, studying his face, taking in his hair, cataloging it away as her eyes make their way to his and hold. "Why didn't you tell him?" It's soft, lacking accusation but certainly harboring some kind of unspent emotion.

Was she expecting a reaction like K'vir is prone to do? Open surprise and shock? Readable expressions? Then she'll be so utterly disappointed. Th'ero doesn't even so much as look up at her until she's leaning forwards and resting her head on his desk. Thankfully drudges clean that desk or… well, best not to think about it, hmm? Dark eyes lift and narrow, expression unreadable in stoic mask as he stares down at her. Then they shift to meet her gaze, dark depths to grey (K'vir totally got his mom's eyes) and holding steady. Fire and ice, baby! Only he's cold enough to burn. Her question, however, only brings a weary, tired sigh and a slow lowering of the writing tool he was using. "He was that upset?" A question for an answer! It could've been worse. Only it IS worse, if certain subtle allusions are picked up on. Judging from the delayed smirk that curves his mouth, Th'ero is definitely pushing to an unspoken 'did my son send you' and likely a dash of 'why should I care?'.

But Risali doesn't cower away — not from that cold burn that she's seen K'vir adopt, nor from the Fortian leader's regard that she meets with her own tempest, with that fire of challenge that refuses to be spent, or doused, or diminished to anything less than an inferno. She's a fighter in every respect, remember? That's why Leirith picked her, after all. But it's considerably less important than Th'ero's sigh, his question, that delayed smirk that Risali takes in with an expression that goes suddenly unreadable behind a smile. "He's your son," she answers instead, one finger pinning down a piece of paper and pulling it sloooowly towards herself. "You should have told him. Is this important?" she inquires, but doesn't actually wait for an answer, because it's blank. Still, she crumbles it up into a ball in her hands and then — yes, yes Risali did just throw it across the table at Th'ero. She didn't throw it hard at least, and she didn't aim for his face (THOUGH TRUST THAT SHE WAS TEMPTED). And then Risali scoots her chair closer, leans forward onto Th'ero's desk again as grey eyes find darker hues to hold despite her VERY UN-WEYRWOMAN-LIKE DEFIANCE. "So why didn't you?" Seems she's going to evade answering physical and implied questions — at least until she gets her answer.

Any answer is further delayed by Risali taking that paper and tossing it at him once she's crumpled it. It ends up pinging off his shoulder and his head turns but a fraction. Brows furrow slightly, as close to a 'wtf' sort've expression he'll yield to her. When he does glance back to hold her gaze, there's a note of disapproval in his eyes and his tone. The only reason he'll put up with her and not immediately dismiss her with barbed politeness, is solely based on the fact that she's the weyrmate of his son. Leather creaks as Th'ero shifts his weight to lean back in his chair, arms folded over his chest as he is unruffled by her behaviour. "Because it slipped our minds, in the wake of everything else. I explained as much to K'vir and we gave our apologies." From his tone, unspoken are the words: I owe you nothing. Not for his lapse in memory, which he secretly regrets and not for the behaviour of his son.

And Risali watches him, regards him in a way that might be reminiscent of her own father — distant humor, though the similarities end there. Risali's temper is surface-ready, dancing in grey eyes, whereas Ila'den is more prone to bouts of indifference. There's certainly defiance in the slow smile that only seems to grow in the wake of his disapproval, undaunted and undeterred as she waits and — well. Th'ero answers, and Risali's gaze drops to her own hands, fingers coming together and tangling amongst themselves as she struggles for words and settles on a rather hushed, "And if the birth of your grandson had slipped our minds, Th'ero, would a, 'It slipped our minds, but we're sorry we forgot about you,' have been good enough?" And now those grey eyes are back on Th'ero's, holding, waiting, lips pulling at the corner in self-deprecation as Risali registers the expression and allows a soft huff of laughter to escape her lips unbidden. "Of course." An exhale. "I'm not here to lecture you, it's not my place. I'm asking you not to forget K'vir's feelings again. You may owe me nothing, but you owe Kyzen at least that much. I won't stand by idly and watch him be hurt, not even by you." Bold statements from the tiny woman, but she delivers them without looking away, without backing down, without showing any hints of weakness or signs of crumbling resolve.

"Yes," Th'ero doesn't even hesitate in answering Risali's prompt, his voice level and steeled. "It would've because I am aware that we're all human and prone to mistakes. Now, I'd be upset and disappointed, to be sure." Hard to even picture that, given he's barely showing a twitch of emotion currently. "But I'd forgive. Can't speak for Kimmila, however…" Was that just a joke? A little teeny bit of humour? MAYBE! A brow quirks for the rest and for a few tense moments of silence, Th'ero does nothing but stare at Risali impassively. Did anything she said sink in? Or is he internally laughing and trying not to show it? Could be both. "And yet," he drawls, cooly. "Here you lecture me. Now, for some advice?" Th'ero leans forwards again, presence looming without him even having to stand. He won't give her the edge or time to protest or speak, either. "Let K'vir fight his own battles. If he's that upset? He can come and speak with us. I don't intentionally hurt him or ever intend to repeat my mistakes." But, he unfolds his arms long enough to spread his hands in a helpless gesture. It will happen! Especially given the type of man Th'ero is and how much K'vir… isn't like him in a lot of ways emotionally.

Maybe Risali gets the humor, but the smile that comes in the wake of words is tight and fleeting, more a pulling in of her lips that looks wrong and carries a darker emotion with it. Still, those grey eyes hold as Th'ero speaks, and leans in, and offers her advice. For a long moment, it seems as if she might not say anything; she sits there quiet, intent, focused on the Fortian Weyrleader before she pushes her chair back just enough to lean forward across his desk, to allow her tiny body to tip forward so that she can press a kiss to his brow if he doesn't pull away fast enough. Either way, she's dropping her hands to settle on Th'ero's desk, maintaining the ground she gained by leaning as she breathes out, "No." A beat, two, three. "K'vir's strong, we both know that, but he'll never have to fight on his own. He has me in his corner, and he always will." And then she's righting herself, smoothing down her shirt, picking up her knot to curl one fist around as she hesitates. "He's a good person, Th'ero. He's strong, and he's funny, and he's the most forgiving person I've ever met. So thank you — for him, I mean." And there comes a slow smile, quiet almost as she goes about reattaching her knot. "And thank you for agreeing not to repeat your mistakes. I would hate to have to sign some kind of paper cutting you off from our wicked supply of tequila." SHE'S JOKING. They probably don't even have that kind of an agreement. And it shows for just a moment in her fleeting smile before she continues. "Faranth forbid Fort Weyr can no longer do shots off of their Weyrleader." SHE HEARD ABOUT YOU AND HER DADS, VILLAIN. SHE SEES YOU. "Anyway, you should come and see the boys; they're getting big fast. Kyriel looks more and more like Kyzen — and you." And, you know, they're family. Still, that knot is secured, and Risali is shifting to dip into a bow of sorts, another smile on her lips. "Weyrleader Th'ero," she says, and then the tiny, fierce, SMOL BALL OF FURY is making her way out of the door. GOODBYE FOREVER.

Th'ero doesn't move from her when she leans in and places that kiss upon his brow. He IS visibly surprised for a fleeting moment by the gesture, but intrigued enough not to say anything or move until she's completed what she set out to do. By the end of it, he's smiling in a vague way that is almost secretly mischievous. She thinks she figured out his secrets, huh? No matter. Untroubled by whatever news she heard, he'll take the rest with a respectful dip of his head. "We have already planned to visit shortly. Kimmila would especially enjoy seeing Kyriel. We'll send word in advance," POINTED STARE. "Of our arrival. Clear skies," A pause, as his smile twitches slightly broader. "Weyrwoman Risali." He'll wait until she's out the door and gone for several moments before letting his masks fall. It starts with a quiet chuckle, but soon he's quietly laughing to himself as he returns to his work. Now he's beginning to understand what his son ever saw in her! … and he approves.

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