Of Wingleaders, Bedroom Issues, and Official Bonds

Xanadu Weyr - Seaside Sentinel Weyr
Nestled high on a promontory where the Caspian Lake meets the Sea of Azov is a large weather-beaten structure, a crushed shell path leading to the windswept place. Built long ago, from the design the obvious purpose is to help guide ships to Xanadu's port. The bottom third of the walls to this enormous building have been fashioned from large fitted stones, the rest is wooden beams - huge logs that have been hewn square, faded to a soft grey by the elements, save where crisp, white-framed and shuttered windows are placed. Behind the structure, attached to its base is a round tower, the entirety formed of stone cut to fit the curvature, round windows spiral up until they end at a glassed-in enclosure compete with an automatic, electric light that beams forth come sunset.

Just inside the human-sized entrance, inset into the glossy, golden oak floor of the foyer is a pattern of light and dark - the inlaid wood imported from all over Pern. The contrasting natural tones create a compass rose that points to true north. The entire space is open and airy, the same rustic, rough time-silvered wood from outside forms the walls in here as well. Nothing is finished save for the floor, which continues throughout until it halts at the stone dragon portion, and the vaulted ceiling, both of the same fine-grained, silky wood, both highly reflective, cast a warm, honeyed light back into room. Arching gracefully overhead from one side of the vast space to the other, beautifully-finished curved beams span the entire room, ends on either side bracketed to the walls with brass fixtures that have the patina of age to them. The rich, reddish finish is polished to match the floor's sheen - they're obviously salvaged ribs of some great ship, restored, and used here to buttress the structure.

The living space is simple in dcor, furnished with comfortable leather sofa and two matching chairs, smooth mahogany hide softly gleams in the firelight of the nearby fireplace, creatively made from a mosaic of natural, rounded blue and green stones and topped by a twisted driftwood mantel. On one side of the hearth is a large glass netted float, on the other an ancient wooden chest. The kitchen is small, space used economically; cupboards of reclaimed pine have ship cleats for handles, hammered copper sink and ship's lanterns affixed to the walls - all likely taken from some ship's galley. Large bay windows flood the room with light, skillfully-sewn curtains of heavy sailcloth serve as drapes that can be pulled at night for privacy.

Shift work has been hard on the couple but necessary for the wingleader believed there would've been a conflict of interest should they work on the same shift, as the wingleader no doubted had his own judgement of why they failed to recognize a bad situation when they were standing on it. It could've been a punishment or it could've been with best intentions incase the couple had ever wanted a family (not that anyone believed Ers'lan would produce kids after his… jarring experience). Still, it meant that most days, Ers'lan would be leaving when Laera came home, or visa versa, or that one of them would be sleeping while the other was just getting off duty. It strained the relationship at times, since not all couples could make it through only seeing eachother for hours in the day and being alright with that. Having split weyrs also esclated issues. At times, the brownrider would be drinking his face off and come home intoxicated with a bad attitude… Othertimes, when life seemed normal and passions were stoked, there were issues with his junk which brought everything to a halt. All this on top of him accepting his boyhood dream of becoming a captain of his own ship was never going to happen, made for a relationship that was not all sunshine and roses… Granted, when the man doted on Laera, he did all he could for her. It was just there was bad and good now, the honeymoon phase was over.
Tonight, Laera was on the earlier night shift. Ers'lan would be heading out in a matter of hours after she came home - if she decided to visit him this night which with a message to her dragon from his own, he hoped she would. The night was cold but inside, the man had stoked the fire in the hearth, readied a simple but hot meal, and remembered to add in a few flowers for a center piece. He was currently settled in the comforts of his couch, eyes staring distantly into the flames, fingers tapping almost impatiently on the arm of the said couch. Zhaoth was nestled into his couch, though he was awake, likely knowing that duty called if only a matter of hours away, but refused to move as if too comfy to consider the possibility of it yet.

Indeed it has been a tough time, especially on top of Laera's healering studies and her own strain over the loss of her children. Well her own mood was not quite so pretty sometimes either and took well to the drink as well. There were passionate fights and passionate make up sex…or attempts at it depending on the night. Guilt of her own over the injuries both incured. Tonight though when the message was passed on to her, Laera did not pass go but came straight to his weyr still in her fur lined flight gear. It was cold enough in the upper reaches upon a dragon at the better parts of the year. Heading into winter, it was downright rough. There is a faint knock on the door before it is pushed open and a sigh of a relief as the warmth envelops her. "Reckon that is better than sex right now…" She murmurs as she crosses over to the couch and leans over the top to kiss him if he will accept it, before she notices the food set out and flowers upon the table, "Special occasion?"

The knock on the door alerted the man and he stopped rapping his fingertips on the top of the couches arm, face turning toward the door instinctively in time with the lifting wedged head of his lifemate. It hadn't been an easy go of it and at times it seemed that Ers'lan was on the brink of leaving Weyr life altogether caused by edgy attitudes and unspoken blame. Though tonight it didn't seem as if that mattered, or mattered less, considering there was a curl of his lips for her decision to seek out his weyr before her own. Before he could push himself out of the couch, she had crossed the distance and all that left him to do was stretch his neck a bit and turn his face to receive her greeting. He does press upward out of the couch when she looks over toward the food and the flowers, causing the man to shrug, "Reckon there is none," a pause, "yet." His hands reach up toward her shoulders to help her out of her jacket afterward.

At his response she can't help but smile, "Well I wouldn't mind coming up with a reason. How long do you have sailor?" She asks him, looking at him as he removes her heavy jacket to reveal a light form fitting sweater underneath. "I have a mind to go to the wingleader and get him to fix our shifts. This is shit and I am tired of only seeing you coming and going." She says as she reaches a hand up to him, her fingers freezing cold despite the gloves that had just been on them.

Lan gives a light smirk for her acceptance of making a reason, noting with a tinge of regret at his time, "A few hours, three tops." The lifestyle they've been granted because of their mistake, the second for Ers'lan, is a harsh one, not one that will sustain a couple for long. The brownrider had gotten the worst shift possible - dead night. In a sense, Ers'lan was being swept under the rug, until needed. Ers'lan does remark with a tad snappiness to his tone, "Reckon I dun narh like bein called a sailor no more." A beat, "And ya know he won't change my shift… I screw up too much for his liking." Screwing up too much or was he being groomed the hard way for something else? It was hard to say. Folding up her jacket over his arm, he hisses against the cold press of her fingers, "Reckon ya best stand by the fireplace to warm up some." That said, he goes to hang up her jacket near there, so that it too can warm.

"Oh shove it, you are one of the strongest members of the Wing. If he can't see that then he can get stuffed." She looks to him at the remark about the sailor and frowns briefly, "You got sea in your viens Lan…you are a sailor as I am a healer. Just because you don't have a boat and I spend more time on a dragon then in the infirmary, don't change it. I ..well if it bothers you I will stop." She says with a sigh and moves toward the hearth at his urging and extends her hands to the fire. She is quiet for a time, a thoughtful pensive look upon her features.

"Reckon he wouldn't take kindly to that sort of advice," he notes with a sardonic sneer, fiddling with her jacket and turning back to her with a shrug, "Whar he be sayin, all brawn and no brain." Lan steps over toward Laera after a time, coming up behind her with a hand gently settling on the side of her hip while he stands on the opposite side, putting his chin on the nape of her neck, "T'would be like me calling you healer all the time…" he notes quietly, though he says nothing more of it, as if picking up on her pensive shift. His fingers creep to settle over her belly button, as he pulls his chin back, voice lowered, "Let's eat before it cools…"

"Probably not, but I would still like to give it. He gonna ground the Weyrwoman and Weyrleader too? We were all there, we all missed the signs. We now know what to look for, lesson learned." Laera says with some irritation to her voice before she settles back against the warmth of him as he comes up behind her. There is a soft sigh that comes from her lips and her eyes close at his touch. "I want more of this…" She murmurs in a husky whisper before his words draw her eyes open and she nods, turning in his embrace to kiss him before heading to the table.

"I reckon if he could… reckon if he had a big bronze at his backside with sway over the Weyrwoman, he would," of that Ers'lan seems to have no doubt. There were leaders and strick taskmasters and the current Galaxy wingleader seemed to be of the latter group. As for her comment in regards to needing more of this, he rubs her belly a little before stepping away with an unspoken promise. Pulling out a chair for her he acts the part of a gentleman to seat her, then uncovers the hot meal he had made up for them. Nothing too extraordinary, simple food like fried fish, tubers, and other assorted veggies that are easy to make for a guy none too familiar with a kitchen. After pouring her a glass of wine, he sits at the seat across from her, eyeing his plate casually, gathering a large intake of breath as if going to ask something which he needed to work himself into, though what comes out is: "How was your shift?"

Her hand goes over his for the last touch of her belly and she closes her eyes ever so briefly before settling into her seat and smiling at the meal. "Looks great Lan…looks hot." Laera comments as she lifts a fork to start digging in. "Probably the old goat would…can't wait till he retires. If I didn't enjoy search so well I would transfer out. Maybe I could go into the crafter wing.." She says with a slight shake of her head. That would never do for her no doubt. She needs that time on the wing, not just sitting around an infirmary. At the question she looks up from her plate, not yet noting his discomforture, "Cold and uneventful alas. Something exciting might have warmed up the blood a bit."

"Reckon I know how to cook fish, at least…" he does, it will be pleasantly spiced and moist, not overcooked or under. He does give a bit of a laugh for the nickname to their taskmaster of a wingleader, "I doubt he be retiring any time soon, he does narh even have a second … tis like none of us are good enough fer his likin." A roll of his shoulder, as he starts to push around the food on his fork, eyebrow lifting up at the mention of the crafter wing. "Could do the weyrling wing…iffin ya like babysitting," he notes in the midst of her contemplation about abandoning ship. Though he too, after a moment, waves that off with his fork bearing hand. The last has him nod a bit, "Best stay that way tonight…uneventful." Some food gets eaten in the meantime, before he sets it aside and gulps down the pieces already in his mouth, eyes staring across the table toward her, pondering, then he spits it out, "I dun reckon I can … give ya… kids…" OK. That doesn't seem like what he wanted to say either, since he looks down at his plate, but clearly that idea was bothering him too.

"Bit different from when my Ma was in the wing…I dare say. Unfortunately it has some of hotheads in the wing doing damn fool things to try to get his attention. He needs to name a second so everyone can get their head back into their work." Laera says as she dives into her food, taking each bite as if it was a delicacy. No doubt anything warm is welcome right now. At the suggestion of Weyrling wing she looks up thoughtful, "I suppose …I don't mind the youngins, its just not the right fit for me. " As the words are finally spat out, Laera looks over to him. "Is that what has you up in the rafters tonight?"

The matter of the wing is dropped, since he has no experience to draw on but that of which he already knew. He doesn't really comment until her last, at which point he stills his fork yet again, looking down at the plate with brows pitching downward. "No, not… not.. entirely…" Ers'lan admits with a little side glance over toward the door, toward his dragon, anything but looking at the woman. Yet, eventually, some moments after, his eyes languidly returns to her: "Speaking of the right fit…I know what you just went through with… D'len," the name that could spoil the evening, "and… your kids… I … I uh…" This is where the man stumbles again, rubbing his hand in his hair as he sets his fork down with the other hand and sits back hard against the chair. His hands clench at either side of his plate, and with another breath taken, he mutters, "I reckon I be ok with jus bein with you, but I dun know whar ya want… iffin I be good 'nuff fer ya…now…" OH yes, while the rumors alone did enough damage to a man's ego, the truth of the matter was he did get injured and had started to believe the prognosis.

<OOC> Ers'lan says, "oooh, btw, he has been taking Harper lessons and his accent isn't as thick anymore, which is why I'm not heavily Rping it out."

Laera sets her fork down as she looks across the table to him, one hand sliding across to him. She does tense a little at the name of her ex and looks down at the table for a moment to keep her composure. As the fears are spelled out she shakes her head slightly. "You are worried you are not man enough for me? You think a dick makes a man?" She rises from her seat and moves to kneal next to his chair. "First off, this may well be temporary and can still get better. "If I never have another kid or I have another ten…makes no odds to me. As it stands I have always had them for the wrong reasons. You got fingers, you got a great tongue dear…but most of all, you have great arms that hold when I need it..strong shoulders to help me bare my burdens…If I just wanted a fuck, then I could have my pick. I chose you."

Ers'lan is reactionary to Laera, the second she tenses, he does, stilling himself so that he would be able to respond to whatever she was going to do, even if that meant deflecting a flung dish. It is her rising from the seat that has him bite down hard, jaw flexing, almost humiliated that he said what he did and admitted to her his own fears. Another blow to the ego when she kneels next to him as if he were a youngin in need of reassurance. Truth was, that as his eyes came to peer at her, he did need the reassurance. As he listens, he does not counter with another word, instead, as she proclaims that she chose him, he fishes something out from underneath his shirt. It's the odd copper ring that has been hanging around his neck since the Windy Waters went down. While he takes it off to bathe, he often has it on every other time. Now, he's taking it off, slipping it up over his head. He moves it over and places it into Laera's hand, folding the odd ring (the end of a spyglass) into her grip.

Perhaps it is the healer in her or the years she spent watching D'len with patients. Yes he needs the reasurrance and that much she sees. A fair amount of her 'libido' has been driven by trying to feel, trying to find something in sex she wasn't gonna find there. To placate the abandoned person inside of her. The words she said hold more sincerity then ever before and for a moment it looks like they even surprise her to say it. Perhaps some of the fights have been driven by fear more than anger. As the ring is placed into her grip she looks from it then back up to Ers'lan questionly.

Ers'lan regards her for a moment then shrugs, "Reckon it be yours now." It's that simple and it could be he never explained the significance of it, though he mutters begrudgingly, "Reckon it be me supposed ta be on my knees though… Ya kind of … spoiled that fer me." A teasing voice there, a comfort zone that he uses to get into some of the more serious conversations. One such follows: "T'was a piece of a lookin glass, belonging to Capn' Jonas…" A glance down to Laera again, "Means… a lot … Yers now." Another nod as he starts to eat as if he didn't just give a piece of his heart to her. Right, the man was trying to regain some of his ego and pride after losing it there from his worry of not being able to be the full of what she wanted.

Given its ever presence she figured it meant quite a lot to him but as he explains its full worth Laera blinks and looks down at the ring then up at him again. It takes a few moments before the full weight of things hit her. There is a hitch in her breath before she sets the rope around her neck and moves back to her seat. One finger still touching upon the ring. "I will transfer to the crafter wing." She says with resolution to her voice before forking up a bit of fish, a touch of a smile on her lips as she looks across from him. Her green eyes sparkling despite her apparent casualness. "So, can I move in now?"

There is a hint of relief in him when he doesn't have to explain much more beyond what he already said, poking around on his plate with his fork as if to make it just as casual. Clearly it may not be, considering his eyes continue to flicker up toward her and where the odd piece of metal sits; definitely not something that most people would consider worth while to string around their neck, let alone keep! Shock hits him, despite himself, when her resolution is made and he shakes his head, lifting his shoulders some, "Ya can't quit Galaxy. Tis whar ya love…" He was still on that when her last request seems to sink in long enough to sit. There's a few blinks there, then a mutter, "Ye would give up whar ya do …?" There is reluctance there, "Reckon ya can still be in galaxy and be here."

"And be here and never see you. I can find plenty of business in the crafter wing. The healers there routinely get called in for the fun stuff anyway." Laera says with a shrug, her voice resolute. "I will have more control over my hours." One finger is still touching on the ring as she looks across to him. "This is great fish." She says and forks in another mouthful as casual as ever, though there is a lightness to her features as she looks to him.

Oh there is a little bit of a grumpiness in him now as his eyebrows lower and his chin sits on a balled fist, eyes observing and calculating the woman across the table from him. "Yer going to be stubborn on this…" he notes without question, as if stating the facts, causing him to heave out a breath, "Promise me one thing. Dun go painting my walls purple or redecoratin too much. I like the feel of this place." Finally, his hand drops away from his chin and he continues to eat, smirking a bit in between bites. "Our wingleader sure isn't going to like it much…" said around forkfulls.

"Yes." Laera replies before taking another bite of fish. "When he realizes he has lost the best flyer in his wing, maybe he will rethink the shifts or not." She shrugs. "I need some more clinic time anyway." She shrugs before laughing at the promises estracted from her and extends a hand across the table, "I promise not to paint your walls Purple.." She looks around specutively, "Periwinkle perhaps, but never purple." She says with a teasing glint to her gaze.

Ers'lan lifts a warning finger to her teasing about the periwinkle, before he extends his hand across to make the agreement, "Aye, reckon I best not return and the walls be some abstract color." He keeps hold of her hand for a little longer, smiling quietly at the turn out of the evening. Even if the further conversation has a sour note to it, "Reckon he best be rethinking a lot… I figure I could go teach the little ones iffin he don't appreciate what I can do…" Zhaoth shuffles from his roosting spot, a signal that the shift was likely going to be called in sooner rather than later. Ers'lan scowls toward the door, "I have hours left, tell 'em I'm busy." He grumbles, "Jus once I would like to finish a meal…"

Her fingers lace with his once they make the agreement, "No funny colours." She repeats with amusement to her tone. As he thinks of doing the same she takes a slow breath and nods. Boycotting a wing. Well won't that be a first. At the apparent call from the dreaded wingleader, Laera rises from her seat. "Not before we have some time with your strong arms around me and my chest against yours." With that she leans down to kiss him, drawing him up to her. No expectations, cuddles or more should the feeling come to rise.

"Figures I be supposed ta be doing more than whar I be paid fer…" he mutters something about that's what wingseconds are for under his breath, whispered because the kiss that she leans down to kiss him with is much more inviting than further conversatioon of his current protagonist. He does have time to growl to her, "Come 'ere…." before his arms do scoop her up to carry her over before the fireplace - currently the warmest place in the weyr. Fact of the matter is, the former sailor is going to use all of his freetime remaining to ensure his woman gets what she needs of him.

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