Invitation to Aid the Supply Train

Xanadu Weyr - Weyrleaders' Office

Office and retreat, this is the domain of Xanadu's Weyrleaders. The door is in the eastern wall, quite close to the southern end while the northern wall is dominated by big, expansive windows, framed by sumptuous deep blue drapes edged with a brilliant gold braid and tied back with a thick rope of braided gold and blue cord. In between, the eastern wall is covered floor to ceiling with shelves that house all sorts of records, manuals and supplies that are used on a day-to-day basis. The southern wall has the Weyrleader's desk — plain fellis wood, well polished and masculine. From behind his desk, the Weyrleader can look straight through the windows and out onto the main airspace of Xanadu. The western wall is where the Weyrwoman's desk resides: a lovely piece of furniture made of warm cherry wood. From her seat, a glance sideways gives her an equally good prospect out the window. There are a few other seats, some comfortably arranged around a low round table for small, informal meetings while there also some that can be drawn up to one of the desks.

On the south side of the door, the space is occupied by a low oblong table where refreshments can be set without someone needing to intrude. There is also an 'incoming' tray where incoming correspondence or similar items can be left.

It's evening, getting on towards late but D'son still sits in the office, tapping away on the computer and waiting for Sigam, notified by note and verbally earlier that he was expected in the Weyrleader's office.

A gust of cold air announces Sigam's arrival seconds before the Dragonhealer scoots into the Weyrleader's office, hair askance, but eyes bright with curiosity. He takes a second to rearrange his windblown attire before clearing his throat and ducking his head. "Ah, greetings, Weyrleader. Sorry I'm late. Bumped into an acquaintance that needed help." By the tone of voice, he wasn't very thrilled by the bump-in, but he's trying to seem polite.

Up come hazel eyes taking in Sigam's appearance and D'son grins. "It's all right, working on some … stuff," the young Weyrleader says with a little shake of his head and gets to his feet. "Have a seat? I wanted to talk to you a little about Ista."

"Stuff. That sounds entertaining," Sigam notes dryly with a sympathetic grin for D'son. He does as he's told and takes a seat, but when the Weyrleader mentions Ista, Sigam's instantly on the edge of it. Poised for flight? Intrigued? Even the Dragonhealer doesn't know. "Ah… Ista, sir? What about it?" Eyebrows raise as he manages a lofty look, hiding the quick flash of guilt that was there only a second ago.

"Yeah well, you know, wing reports, weather reports, holder complaints …" D'son ticks it off one at a time and grin at the slightly older young man. "I've heard from some of the others who are … helping out over there, that you've been going along. Some of us are heading over for a special trip in the next few days and I wanted to see if you'd come with."

Sigam waves a hand and rolls his eyes, indicating he knows and almost pities the poor bronzerider. "Ah, yes, all that happy business. I know how you feel - the Annex is still catching up on filing old medical records into the machines. It's a wonder I'm not bald, with all the hair I've been pulling out lately," he says sarcastically, hands folding in front of him as he finally pauses to hear the man out. "Tattle-tales," he mutters with a smile, but he's nodding. "Yeah, I've been taking advantage of my old knot and family ties to get me back and keep me outta trouble over there. I'd be more than pleased to accompany you, sir, but if you don't mind me asking… Special trip? What kind of special trip?"

"Hair-pulling? Seriously? Shouldn't stress out that much," D'son says sympathetically. "I mean, it's a lot of work but um — anyway." He sits back down and lifts his shoulders a little. "Can you blame them really? IF the Weyrleader is asking for reports? I mean, I signed off on the whole thing. Need to know what's going on. I've been going over myself, a bunch, same deal." With the old knot.

"Computers and I are not on the best of terms. I respect them for what they can do, but I've determined that the 'Delete' button is the bane of my existence." A firm nod accompanies this, another smile curling up his lips. "Ah, I suppose not. Shards, I'd turn myself in if asked outright, sir, it's just… strange, keeping something a secret just to find out that in truth, a bunch of people know." His tone is good-natured as he finally settles back in his seat, visibly relaxing. "I forget, sometimes, that you're from Ista too. Do they recognize you, when you're there? I mean, I at least have the advantage of being from Hold."

"Ohh, just learned them when I got here myself but um — I like them," D'son says with a sheepish look. "Well honestly, I'd rather be doing all this stuff out in the open, but the way things are, that's not possible. It's just most of us who're going over, we can't not do something. I'm from Ista myself and just sitting by …" he shakes his head. "Well, I'm careful about when and where I go, smudge up my face and don't bring Inimeth straight in. That worked well early on when people were helping a lot and there was a lot of digging out to do. But it's pretty well emptied now. At any rate, this mission is guarding some supplies being sent from healers to healers."

Sigam gives a shrug to that sheepish look, saying, "To each his own. I think if I worked with them more, and got used to it, we'd be on better terms." The Dragonhealer averts his eyes a bit, but the man's frustraton shows in his clenching hands. "I think all of this tiptoeing through the tulips is absolutely ridiculous, but you're right. It's just not feasible to sit around and let things fall apart because someone has a hard head." The words are a touch judgmental, but Sigam seems resigned. "I should have guessed. Sorry I asked, I was just curious - never seemed to recognize anyone, though we were all too busy at the beginning of the ban to really care." He nods carefully, considering the task ahead before glancing back over at D'son. "That sounds simple enough, something I'd certainly be willing to help out with."

"Absolutely. I mean, why not let people who have a personal stake help out, right? It doesn't make any sense," D'son says with a quiet sigh and looks down at the papers on his desk. "I was working things out with K'ael while he was Weyrleader but now that he's not …" he trails off and shrugs helplessly. "Anyway. Yeah, the group is pretty small and we've been staggering when we go." Dels nods a few times, listening. "Great then. I'm pretty sure it'll be in three days, meet up on the road just outside the Weyr first thing in the morning."

"Sense. I think that was tossed on the backburner a few weeks ago." Sigam's words are just as dry as before, but this time, there's a lingering sadness in his eyes. "Oh well. Viva la resistance, right?" One eyebrow twitches, a roguish grin on his face. "Ah, yeah. I heard he'd headed to Ierne. I… I heard the Weyrse- er, X'hil was going over. Would he still be able to give us an in, or would he just be eyeballed all the more for having spent time here?" A speculative hand strokes his chin before his own shrug is tossed. "Three days. Alright, that'll give me time to arrange things with the folks. I'll be there, you can count on that."

D'son brushes a hand through his hair and lifts his shoulders. "We'll see. X'hil and I get along okay, so maybe. Most of the issue is Ysa and Niva, so." Shoulders up again. "All right then, thanks for the support. It's mostly a just-in-case thing, for the dragons and your healer knowledge."

Sigam nods, rising out of his seat, sensing the discussion's coming to an end. "If nothing else, threaten him with a crossbow," he laughs, eyes mischievous. "Or, more particularly, weyrwoman Thea with a crossbow." There's obviously a story there, but D'son'll have to go to Thea herself to hear it, apparently. "It's my pleasure, sir, and I appreciate the offer. It never hurts to cautious - an extra set of eyes can do wonders." With a gesture that can only be defined as a jaunty mock-salute, Sigam's heading for the door, clutching his coat tight against the cold once again.

"Right … crossbow," D'son says looking a little uncertain about that. "Not much for weapons, honestly," the Weyrleader confesses. "I'll see you around then, Sigam. Thanks for the support." And he salutes more precisely as the healer heads out.

"Really?" Sigam glances over his shoulder, hand poised on the latch. "Well, I guess I can't blame you. But they do come in handy." Mischief is again running rampant in his eyes, but he takes the time to follow the Weyrleader's lead and correct his salute. "Never did know how to do that right without copying someone," he explains, turning again towards the door. "Aye, see you in three days, sir. Not a problem at all." And then he's outside, closing the portal quickly behind him against the stiff winter wind.

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