A'dmar Delivers

Xanadu Weyr - Caverns

A massive cavern in it's own right, this one has been skillfully adapted for human habitation. The high ceilings have been painted a light, soft ivory, as are the walls where numerous tapestries hang to provide brilliant color and insulation from the stone. The floor has been left in its natural state, pale pink granite speckled through with glittering mica and dark flecks of basalt, leveled carefully but kept sufficiently rough to avoid slips.
The cavern itself is loosely divided into areas, each one set up to be suitable for some segment of the Weyr's population. The most frequently occupied area, however, is the one near the Kitchens where tables of varying sizes provide a place to sit down and eat or chat and a buffet of consumables is almost always kept stocked. Its plain that on most days, this area wouldn't accommodate anywhere near the full population of the Weyr and equally plain that on such occasions when a formal meal is laid out, tables are appropriated from all the other areas.
A big fireplace is set into the wall near the Kitchens as well, several comfortable chairs nearby providing haunts for elderly residents or riders who like a good view of all that happens. Rugs cover the floor in strategic spots, all of them abstract or geometric in design and most in the softly neutral colors of undyed wool.
Exits lead off in all directions, a big archway the largest and that leading outside. Shallow stairs to the west lead to the offices and administration area while tunnels to the east lead to the infirmary, kitchen and resident's quarters. Southwards, a sloping tunnel leads down to the hot springs and southwest is a wide tunnel, carefully roped off to avoid accidents.

The current time for zone 9 is: 2690.1.25 05:31:25

It's cool, fair, and surprisingly SUNNY…considering that Rukbat is just rising over the eastern horizon. Xanadu has not had enough days like this of late, and already the Weyr is up, collectively bright eyed and bushy tailed. Dragons can be heard about outside…especially one noisy green who seems ready to go up at any second. There's a clutch of riders lingering around the handsome redhead who seems to be her rider, and there's others nearby who lurk…betting, or just goggling because an early morning flight is always a fine way to start a day!

Amidst the hustle and bustle of breakfast, there is one little island of calm. There is a chair, oddly shaped, strangely made, and in need of a new paintjob (or being burned), and its in this bizaare throne that the young Headwoman sits, idly knitting while her assistants gather around for the morning briefing and klahklatch…

Yarovith arrives with less fan-fare than the pair usually create, no streamers flying off the sides of the bronze, nothing to highlight him in the brightness of the day. Dark hide creates a sufficient banner as the near black dragon lands with an astonishing grace. There's a final sweep of a back leg from the creature as he lowers to allow packages and rider to descend. While other dragons may be excitable by the rousing greens, Yarovith gives a simple yawn in to the dawn sky, a craggy old stretch and a disinterested look away. It was his rider who had to double check what the gathering group meant, slapping his dragon affectionately for the 'I will ignore what's going on over there' look.

Some time later, with packages strung over his shoulders and boxes laden in his arms, an exotic olive skinned rider trods in from the outdoors, asking people along the way where he was to met the lady called Ocelara. Times enough there's a point or two for the lady in the odd shaped throne of a chair, knitting. His approach is normal for a man whose finally found his destination, wary but generally glad the ordeal was over. Unloading some of the weight to the floorspace around him, he clears his throat, "Ocelara?"

Ocelara glances up, her soft brown eyes glimmering for a moment at the sound of her name in a stranger's mouth. Her gaggle of assistants glance towards the approaching rider, obviously a foreigner…and then they break up, some of them giggling like young girls as they make way…some of them RIGHT for the clutch of randy riders. Ahh…Weyrlife.

The young woman in the chair, though, is downright serene, in her element as she sighs after her companions. "Yes? I'm Ocelara." Yeah, and that big complex knot says 'Headwoman'. "What can I do for you?" She's polite, waiting for him to do the introductions!

Certainly with the gaggle of assistances that break up at his arrival, the man's eyes scower them though not like the randy riders outside would, more irritation than anything for the giggling. That less-than-animated exasperation remains a little longer than intended, for when his gaze slips around toward Ocelara, it remains there. "After…Good morning," he corrects himself, the wear of *betweening* and 'zone' jumping apparent on the foreign rider. Letting the brief case scatchel fall off his shoulder, he removes a clipboard that has his orders listed on it, a receipt already apparent as he turns the clipboard toward Ocelara with a step forward. "I've an order for a woman called Thea," a pause as he speaks it so informally, "She said you would know her and would care for her items until she could gather them from you."

Ocelara quirks a brow, just a little, but doesn't hesitate to offer to take the clipboard…so she can see the manifest. "Did she now." But her lips twitch a little, as if she found it funny, in a way. "And a good morning to you too, sir…how large, exactly, is this order?"

The manifest would list the packages and the contents of, though he explains in an offhand manner, "Items she purchased from Ierne. The list is on the second page," he notes with a pointed finger, "Gifts, she mentioned." There is a certain fixing to his pale orange scarf, shifting with an idleness of business, "Yes, she knows. She mentioned I should wait for a few days. She did not explain why nor do I care to assume why." A boot scuffs against the floor, bumping one of the sacks, "Boxes, bags. Most of it is here. I've a few parcels left aboard my dragon." A hand slides into his jacket as he steps forward, pressing a business card forward, "I apologize, I'm A'dmar, with the Quoin Airmail services. Thea hired us and told me that you would authorize the payment. I was suspicious of this, as she claimed to be a holder."

Ocelara's brow goes up just a little more, and she hands the clipboard back almost summarially, "Can you describe this 'Thea' to me?" It never ever hurts to be certain! "The Thea I knew as a young woman was, in fact a Holder." But the way she says 'was' implies that was some time before!

A'dmar draws up a hand to the bridge of his nose, pinching it there for a time as if displeased by the line of questioning. As his hand draws back to his side, he makes an expressive roll of his shoulders to display the annoyance lining his crisp features, "Thea… brown hair… slim…" a thoughtful pause as he really concentrates on the image of the woman he knows a holder, "she's modest, has these piercing green eyes. She didn't giggle like a dimglow either, which is a nice change…" a glance over his shoulder for the gaggle who recently departed to be the left overs for the riders who aren't successful. There's a sigh as he considers Ocelara once again, "You know, if there's a problem with the paperwork or payment, I'd be gracious for a hint on how to find Thea."

Ocelara smiles, despite herself, but some of her guarded…blankness softens, "Indeed, that would be the Thea I knew…and know. She was born a simple holder's daughter. If you're brave, you're more than welcome to look for her, over in the Weyrwoman's office. But I can authorize the payment. Not to worry." She's all amused with herself, to be sure! "We were students together, at the Weavercraft."

The dolldrum upon his expression continues, until that bomb Ocelara seems to drop into his lap. His mouth opens despite himself and there's an unbelieving squint of his eyebrows, shifting his glance back behind him as if he could see where the weyrwoman office was (despite not having a clue!). Returning the gaze with a darting incredulity written all over his face, he mutters, "She… -Thea-… is …" there's a soft groan as he drops his head, the humiliation sinking in. "Uh…can you just sign those papers so I can go…" he asks with his head still down, eyes anywhere but on Ocelara.

She laughs…it's such a strangely merry sound…though she admits, "I have no idea what she was up to…I take it she wasn't wearing that boggle-tangle on her shoulder when she went shopping. How on earth did you miss that great gold lump she calls a lifemate?" But she's busy signing, too…even as the green outside gives her yodelling call of want, launching into the sky, followed by the flurry of would-be catchers behind her.

"She's not the first to make a fool out of me," he admits with a biting tone, pulling the 'sun' glasses (modified goggles) down over his eyes as his chin lifts. There is a quick shake of his head, "No. She wasn't. I asked her if she was a rider…" he trails off, chewing a corner of his lip as he reminisces over the conversation had, a chuff of amusement for some unknown result. "Did I miss her lifemate? There -are- other goldriders who live in Ierne. I -was- indoors for the better part of the day I met her. Yarovith doesn't pay mind to -every- female dragon that walks passed him… That.. -green-…" subsequently followed with a swear in a twisted tongue as a frown wrinkles his forehead, the yodelling having driven the craggy and aged bronze to fly. "Should… sign that quick…I might be preoccupied soon," a piteous tone on him, "He usually doesn't chase when I'm on business…"

She's quick, though…suddenly all business, as she hands it off, "Mind he doesn't hurt himself on those straps…and his packages." Ahem. Chasing with cargo straps on. That seems an oddly familiar thing. "There you go, A'dmar. Pleasure to meet you, and I'll take those." The packages already in. "If you don't see me, feel free to give the rest to any of my assistants."

A'dmar repacks the brief case, twitching a little at the thought of his bronze trying to chase with those saddle bags still on, "I promised her the best of care!" He notes with a plead, likely more toward his lifemate than Ocelara as his eyes waver. Hasty movements shove in the clipboard, barely remembering to tear off the receipt for the headwoman as he gathers the brief case up to his chest, "Pleasant day…" he remembers to say as he comically power-walks out of the caverns.

Ocelara manages to retain her Headwoman's dignity at the sight of the man fleeing. Well, between the inconsiderate green and the gameplaying Senior…her life. It is never dull! At least she doesn't GIGGLE after him, like some silly girl. No. She waits until he's out of earshot to do that.

Some hours later.

From dawn to dusk, the hour in the Weyr has wound down for another day. A green flew and the consequences were written in the sky as near black bronze won out and caught the wayward green, with parcels on and all. While the hours after were spent trying to untangle from a rather clingy greenrider and then replacing the parcels which were damaged by the over zealous bronze, the foreigner found himself exhausted at the end of the day. An empty stomach that had been rumbling since high noon had yet to be filled, since straps too needed to be mended and leather sought out to replace whole lengths of strap where dragon talon had ripped through. The day clearly was rough, from neatly polished businessman to a guy whose got rooster tails sticking up and wrinkles in his clothes, mussed up from frantic pursuits of the day. At least, as he means to fill his belly, he's carrying the last boxes belonging to Thea, hoping to find Ocelara still around.

Ocelara is perhaps as close to omnipresent as any Weyr could want. Though as dusk falls, she seems to be found coming out of her offices, speaking to the assistants who will be in charge while she's on her off-hours…not that any Headwoman is ever truly offduty. She's carrying large basket, overflowing with wooly treasures, each puff of fiber brighter than the next and certainly not at ALL the usual colors of ovines. She makes her way towards her chair, followed by a strange little brown flit who seems to spend most of his time standing PERFECTLY still…moving only when he thinks no one's looking. He spends a LOT of time blinking in and out of *between*…making his movements a little unnerving! One moment he's over there, and then when you blink…he's a lot closer than he was, but completely still.

Initially it was toward that oddly shaped chair he had glanced, on a whim that she would still be there after all the hours in the day had passed. Rightfully empty, he does lift his chin up, those modified goggles over his eyes with a glint of painted gold around the lens hide the scan of the room underneath tinted lens. The color is what pulls her out of the background of milling people, since the array of rainbow wool is not to be missed. Juggling his packages, he tries to flatten out the back of his hair, knowing its mussed, unable to do so even after several pats downs. Straightening his shoulders, he waits at the strange throne since she does appear to be headed that way after all. A ghosted amusement settles on his face as he sets down the packages at his feet, a couple more boxes likely holding shoes and fabrics. The brown flit, as he pops in and out, does make the man knit his brows and show lines on his forehead, mistrustful of the creature who cannot seem to stay in one spot too long if he's been spotted moving.

It's probably best to keep an eye on ANYTHING that doesn't like to be spotted, no matter how small a predator it seems to be! But it finally takes roost on the chair, and Ocelara settles in, humming softly to herself and utterly preoccupied with the wool and the basket. She crosses her ankles, makes her green skirt lay just SO with a delicate flip of her hands, and then bends down with the willowy grace of a well tutored Lady Holder, to take hold of wool and spindle alike; what makes her look up for the lurking presence is anyone's guess, but she smiles after a long moment, "Ah, A'dmar…there you are. Did everything turn out alright?" Her eyes TWINKLE with an inner amusement…but not meanly so.

A foot shuffles back as the woman arrives to seat herself on her stately throne, the man acting like he was a courtier waiting for the Queen to signal him to speak, face tilted toward the roosting brown when he forgoes further movement. There is no doubt that the man -was- there and observing the preoccupied motions of the headwoman, a brow tweaked for the noble mannerisms Ocelara mimics. The lack of reaction other than the tweaked brow suggests the man has dealt with pretentious personalities, waiting to be acknowledged like a proper gentleman when approaching a royal figure. That /twinkle/ in her eye causes his lips to thin, his answer accomplished with a deadpan tone, "Yes. Straps are fixed and packages replaced, thanks to your industrious staff." A beat, as his foot bumps against the box of the other packages, "These are the packages left to deliver for Thea. Please give her my apologies for being late."

She smiles, though, warmly enough, "Thank you, A'dmar. I must say, you've certainly gone above and beyond the call of duty…" Her smile just dazzles for a moment…she's so pleased. But maybe not entirely at the service! Strange woman. She ohs, and goes into the basket, producing a small leather purse, "I'd hoped you'd be here. I'll let Aldama know I've paid you. I think this should cover your delivery costs, plus the replacements for those straps."

A'dmar swoops forward to accept the pouch of marks with a semi-bow involved in the gesture, long arm reaching out with palm poised upward. As the pouch exchange hands, it disappears underneath the layer of his jacket, hooking it a safer place than on his belt where such things would be visible. The success of a man in Ierne can often lead to unwanted guests. "It is not often done with… such… indolence." A tilt of his head down, "If Thea or yourself wishes to obtain my services again, please let it be known that I'm available upon a shout, with as much alacrity as I can muster." As for the straps, he tweaks his lips, "It wasn't any fault but mine. I realized too late I should have taken them off before leaving him out there to moon over that green." As if having said to much, he dips his head in a departing gesture, just as grandiose as her earlier movements, "I shall not keep you Ocelara. Thank you for your assistance."

She smiles a little more, but notes, "You don't have to vanish from my sight. I tend to reserve that sort of disdain for fools and weyrlings…if you've not eaten, please, by all means, Xanadu offers its hospitality." Even if Xanadu's current financial and food straights are the gossip of Pern! "You look a bit kerfluffled. No harm in gathering your wits back before you return home. I'm told going *between* while tired or unsettled can be dangerous."

An uplifted brow in unison with a tweak of a corner of his lips is by chance the only indication of his mirth, as in the next moment he is taking a long gander toward the food tables. Hesitating, he asks, "Was there not a shortage here? Would you be willing to feed non-Weyr members even still?" He speaks it as if he expected that to be the first thing which changed once the shortage had reached the extremes in which they have. "Kerfluffled…" he sneers with a trickle of amusement lingering in his deadpan tone, "The less distractions the better, yes. An empty stomach poses a distraction but not one large enough to derail a dragon or rider from their destination." A glance off again, "Would you like anything while I'm over there?"

She shakes her head a little, lifting her hands up to show off the yarn she's spinning from fluff and skill. "No no, I'm fine. And we're not so much…short at the moment, as very tired of the routine. I won't promise anything is exceptional at the moment, but it's good, honest fare, and it keeps body and life together." It's bland, in other word, and famine food…simple bread, basic soups, porridge. Fish. A LOT of dried fish.

Quite calculation is offset by an idle tug at his jacket, the straightening of his scarf which was more or leff rumpled in the out-set of his lifemate's victory. "I'll try to keep it in mind to bring by something less routine, if I'm to receive another job to Xanadu," he starts off toward the spread. Bland was better than none. While the selection was minimal, he took a fair share of it, unable to keep from popping dried meat almost instantly into his mouth.

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