Skillets Are Useful Things

Xanadu Weyr - Guest Weyr

Rustic and simple, this one-roomed cottage sits at the edge of the forest near the feeding grounds. The decor is spartan with a wide, comfortable bed and a couch, table and chairs and small kitchenette. Kept stocked with food and drink, the bed freshened with sheets and coverlets after each use by the weyrstaff, it's nothing more than a place to give riders participating in mating flights a bit of privacy should they need it.

It is late afternoon, the same day Seryth rose in flight into the storm. Outside the guest weyr, snow no longer floats down or even blows around making fluffy piles. No now it is ticking against the window in freezing rain and has been for some hours. The front steps are coated in a few inches of ice, the door likely frozen shut. In the bed Thea is twined in a twist of sheets, dark hair tumbled over her face, deeply asleep. Seryth is curled up much like her rider, oblivious to the snow and sleet, likely with Yarovith if he is willing to twine. Seryth is a cuddler.

Yarovith is having the time of his life. He's never had this much attention from a female before, let alone one he caught. So he's gladly curls up with Seryth, one wing lifted to shade most of the sleet from stinging eyes or nose, twined. A'dmar, it's a different story for him. He's sprawled on the bed as if he were hung over, face down into the pillow, barely turned aside to breath, hair all scruffy and puffed out on the back of his head, arm dangling off the bed as well as a foot to the one side. He's waking, if slowly, limbs aching from sharing the cramped bed with another person. But it's one of those times that he doesn't want to really wake up, lingering in the happiness of his dragon's thoughts, even if the chill of the room is starting to undermine his own comfort. An quiet grunt is made as he pulls his feet in underneath what sheets remain untangled and somewhat useful, stirring to drag an arm underneath the pillow. At least one pillow stayed on the bed.

There's no pillow? Somewhere in her slumber, Thea has snuggled her head where it can find a comfortable place. That just might be on that arm - before it moves to slide under the pillow. It's likely Seryth's smug pleasure that keeps Thea so relaxed and deeply asleep but that can't last forever. The woman emerges slowly, by degrees it seems as her breathing pattern registers the first change. Her breath catches and the rate increases just a bit, dark lashes twitch on pale cheeks, moisture glitters as her eyelids flicker. Not quite awake yet, but in some shadowed place between the flight and the present. An uneasy sound emerges from her throat as she rolls over, taking the sheet with her and she burrows her face into the warmth of… an armpit?

At least the armpit won't smell too badly! The exotic man prides himself on being clean, which means that while she might get a nose full of armpit hair (hey she stuck it there), she's not going to keel over from bad b.o. Instead, she might come to sniff something akin to spices with the addition of cloves mingled in, and at least the musk of their sweat fading in with the cologne he has taken to wearing. Though maybe the cold nose itself or the fact that someone's leaning up against him and trying to burrow into him flickers his mind a little more to the present than keeping it in the place between. Dark eyes stretch open, the tinkering of the hard snow and rain on the windows causing him to blink a few more times. He moves, systematically at first, pushing toward that source that was burrowing into him, since he had his back turned to her and was on his stomach, lifting up enough to peer back over, eyes first on the eye pleasing form in the twisted sheets.

Maybe it's the tickling on her nose that does it. That or the movement beside her that has her murmuring something questioningly, arms (at least they're not wrapped up in the sheets) snaking around the form and her seagreen eyes drifting open to give the man a hazy-eyed smile. Oh it's serene for all of 2.5 seconds during which time her sleepy lids fly open and a sharp awareness replaces what little somnolence was left. Two things then happen at once: the woman flail-flounders backwards out of the bed (how she does this so fast with all that sheet-tangle is a mystery) and she shrieks. It's only when she is brought up with a thud by the other wall that her momentum stops. She's staring with wide-eyed accusation and chattering almost incoherently, one phrase might sound like, "You're not Donn." and the other, "Who-what-why-why-where-?" And oh, then it sinks in that there's an awful lot of skin showing on that form in the bed and she has the sheet, so she swoops to catch up the blanket off the floor and throw it at him with a shaking hand while she continues to blink in a sort of horror. A'dmar, meet Thea. Disoriented much?

Ooooo hey, an arm is snaking around him, it's nice and warm against his flesh, his eyes looking down to the press of fingers. At this point she might even get to see his tribal sun tatto on his back and the raven wings against his forearms, something not often witnessed as he tends to wear long sleeves. While it's definitely unexpected to be snuggled into like that and even smiled at, his confusion begins yet again at the sudden 180 the woman in bed with him does. He -was- about to do something with her hand, though it comes flying off him in theh abrupt insanity which takes place next, setting his heart beat racing as he springs up onto his knees at the shriek, alerting his inner most reactions to defensively protect himself. Flying limbs are matched with wide eyed tension, breathing rapid in his chest as he blinks for a moment, eyes turning one way and the other - as if checking for some form of attack. A heart beat later as the world comes right in his head, his gaze confronts the accusation in Thea's eyes. It takes but a few thought provoking instances to really catch up to what was going on here, left blinking a while at Thea in dumbfounded silence. That is until the blanket crashes against him, a soft thwump in the face, arms casting wide arcs to pull and climb out of the tangled affair, at lest so his head is uncovered again, muttering with a hint of curiosity, "Whose Donn?"

At least she didn't throw a boot at his head? It takes Thea's head a few seconds longer to clear, but the panic doesn't seem to abate. "Oh. My. Shells. And. Stars." Said with a quiet dismay with troubled eyes still wide, dropping to that tattoo then raised and fixed upon A'dmar. "She…she rose and you. You can't be Weyrleader." Can he? Blink. Outside Seryth stirs, catching some of her rider's emotions, lifts her muzzle and turns it towards the guest cottage. The queen chirrs, amused, nuzzles the bronze hide next to her and snuggles back down with what can only amount to a dragon-chuckle. Absently the weyrwoman's answer to the question of who Donn is, "He’s my weyrmate. The Weyrsecond- or he was." Oh then more realization sinks in and she winces, turning to flump down to a seat on the edge the bed with a wrinkled brow. "I… I think I fired him."

The dark skinned man has four tattoos to be precise, one even on his chest over his heart, small, a dagger with a faded half sun blazed about it. The ones on his forearms appear older, while by contrast, the one on his chest seems rather new by wear of the black. The dismay that he's witnessing overcome Thea may be something he's used to, or not, it's hard to tell since his expression is rather stoic for the time being. The repurcussions of the mating flight don't sink in until, she states the title. Yeah, that makes him jolt, eyes darting back and forth in their sockets as he deeply contemplates the meaning of it with a rising sense of panic folding brows down and tightening lips. "You're right… I can't be…" he grabs that opportunity, a hand flipping the blanket aside as he slides off the bed, stooping to grab for his pants. He's in the process of flipping his clothes right side out as Thea admits to firing her Weyrmate, watching over the broadness of his shoulder, "And you gave it to some greenrider, I recall. Probably for the best." Yes. Let her worry about the weyrsecond knot while he tries to step into his pants.

Given another place and time, those tattoos would be fascinating. Thea's got pretty good photographic recall, so likely she'll be asking him about them sometime. She sinks down to her seat on the bed during that eye-darting of his, nodding as her own thought is confirmed. "You have to be, though." Still troubled, she turns her head to eye him over her bare shoulder, just as he flips the blanket aside and rises. She whips back around, staring at the wall, making no move to dress. She is still clad in the sheet, after all. "You dislike Weyrs," she says lowly, those three words full of both foreboding for him and concern for her Weyr. She gave the knot away, he says and her eyes slide shut, the beginnings of a cringe twitching her slim form only to stop when he goes on. "A greenri- Huh. That's odd. I thought… Nah!" Oh, she'll find out later when some tidbit of gossip crosses her ears or the cherubic 16 turn old face of Kale triggers the memory, surely.

That sentiment that he -has- to be the Weyrleader earns a perturbed grumble from the man, raking his fingers through his deranged hair around a rattling sigh, other hand holding his trousers pinched together at the crotch. Seems there's a button missing… or two… wonderful. The silence ebbs, broken only by her observation that he disliked the Weyrs, answered with an honest, "Yes." The irony of it as his gaze settles over the squareness of his bare shoulder, peering at the woman tucked in the sheets on the bed. Why do women do that, he's already seen her… flash backs are wonderful, especially prompted by a few dragonic embraces. Dark eyes glitter with an internal battle, pivoting, "This is your tradition…" the tone of his words imply that it wasn't his. He's more accepting of what goes on at the Weyrholds, their leaders are elected by vote! The other part of the conversation is left for her to worry about later, or… maybe it will be his worry. The tinkering of the sleet against the window draws his thoughtful gaze, brows knitting, still standing there with a hand propping up his pants though, so it looks semi-comical in this oh so serious moment.

Some might be over-modest. Thea? It's anyone's guess. Maybe she makes them work for what might otherwise be a freebie. Holdbred at this point in her life is a small part of it and she's trying to forget those flashbacks that send shiver up her spine. "It is probably just as well D'had's not Weyrsecond," she agrees with him sagely. "He won't like you. He doesn't like many of the bronzeriders who win Seryth's flights." She rises, idly pacing the room bending to pick up a few buttons, peer at them and then offer them palm up to A'dmar somberly (though if one were to look closely, her eyes are dancing). Not that having them will help much, but he might want that fly mended. She turns to peer out the window, full lips twist at the weather. Ugh. "It's how it is done. Like with impression, the dragons decide."

A'dmar seems to not even bother feign interest in the particulars about D'had, dull gaze peering at Thea in a bored manner, "Then it's moot and so is this man, D'had." The sienna skinned man adds stiffly, "Like the matter of …" a pause, as he debates the word, and fails to put it to his lips, derailing his train of thought with a shake of his head. Somethings were better left unsaid and kept away securely. And other things, were supposed to be secure. His hand reaches out for the buttons as she gathers them, dark shadows in his eyes tracking her movements as she finds one and then two of the missing buttons. His fingers pluck them out with a roll of his jaw, "These were a good pair of pants." As if they are ruined now! His fingers wrap around them, trailing his sight after Thea as she moves to peer out the window. Those words cause his skin to prickle with gooseflesh, staring down into his fist as fingers uncurl thoughtfully around those buttons, "No. People decide. They decide to stick to tradition."

"To you, maybe," mutters Thea rebelliously of D'had. She still lives with the man, loves him even. Ice green glitters in the eyes that regard him with curiosity at his dropping sentence, but she doesn't pursue it. She actually laughs about the pants, assuring him, "They can be mended! And be done well enough to be good as new. I ought to know. I am- was- a weaver." Not that she's offering her domestic skills, mind. "You are welcome?" she says rather pointedly before turning away to gaze out upon the icy wasteland winter is making of the Weyr. She sighs at his next words, eyes closing in a 'Faranth-give-me-patience' sort of way. "They do," she says shortly of tradition. Then crisply, "And I'm not about to change it." Firmly, "The dragons decide. You might not understand, but that is how it is done. You are stuck with us until Seryth rises again. Or…" her eyes sparkle with a hint of malice and… challenge. "…if you are afraid, you can decline the chance to influence Xanadu, return to Ierne and I will appoint an acting Weyrleader in your stead." Ignore that Mona Lisa smile ghosting about her mouth. Ignore!

"Precisely," A'dmar completely concurs with Thea on that matter - D'had's approval was no weight on A'dmar's shoulders. It was her weyrmate to deal with and where he did not have to tred he would not go. At least he likes the woman well enough now that he's not completely removed from the idea of running off. A good working relationship is to be respected. A shame then that she's not offering her workmanship to mend his pants, "I'm sure they can be, but the buttons are never… proper after. Thank you." He'll linger there a while longer, letting her words touch the frosting windows over as his hand clamp once more about the buttons, stuffing them away in one of the pant pockets. Her crisp words make his shoulders straighten in his own rebelious manner, "You make it sound as if I haven't a choice in this matter," right before she issues the challenge that he was afraid, which earns a scoff of laughter, "I'm not afraid." He stoops to pick up his shirt, which seems to have a tear in the shoulder, frowning as he slips it over his shoulders, extending and flipping the collar up, "I have obligations. I am not about to leave the roots I have planted in Ierne for some dragon's fancy and whim." His fingers slide down the front of his shirt, starting to button there, a tightness in his voice, "I promised." Eyes dart up toward that Mona Lisa smile, "Send my best regards to … who ever it is you'll… no, whoever the dragons will appoint to the position."

D'had might not remain Thea's problem, but A'dmar will discover that all on his own soon enough with the man glaring and growling at him. She's given fair warning. "Whiskey works best on him," she notes sagely, letting the matter drop. As for his buttons, well, she's keeping her eyes on the wall. Ripped shirt, eh? The wild woman in her escaped her confines during Seryth's stormy flight. "Weyrleader comes with a salary. Buy some new clothes?" Simple solutions but then she smirks to herself and says as if just recalling, "Oh right. You don't want the job." Is that a sly chuckle he hears right after he tells her to send his regards to whomever the dragons appoint in his stead? You betcha it is! The Weyrwoman rises languidly, still clad in nothing but the sheet and wanders to the breakfast nook, settles in a seat at the table, props her chin in both hands and regards him, not even trying to hide the impish dancing in her eyes. "Yarovith caught Seryth. It's up to them to decide. Let’s ask them who would do better than you, hmm?"

Salary. That's probably the first point in the conversation that changes the mannerisms in which plays about A'dmar's person. The hurried efforts to button up his shirt are now left alone, hands dropping absently to the side, the shirt left with the top two undone. Ierne was hard work to live there. Everything must be paid for and while he was successful at his business, he almost never had a private life outside of work. His tongue works underneath his lip over the bottom of his teeth, one hand eventually resting on a hip as the conversation continues, dark gaze twisting only slightly to consider the Weyrwoman clad in her sheets, ambling by so casually, that impish look upon her expression causing him to ask, "What's the salary?" Ignoring the question of asking the dragons, since Yarovith would inevitably revert to him, "What about other perks? Yarovith eats when he wants on the fodder beasts without cost? Are meals included? Is there somewhere I can be housed, a private weyr?" Okay, he might as well discover what the job entails before he totally walks from it, after all, he's getting on in his Turns, it was harder to pretend to be as sprightly as he was when he was younger.

If Yarovith lets him walk away with it. Gotcha there! Thea's looking like the cat that got the cream, but she’s probably more smug at his change in tune than worrying she won't have a Weyrleader. "I'm sure if you decide to go home, Romth will prod Xe'ter to step up to Acting Weyrleader. You want some klah?" She does, apparently, so she hops up, tucks the ends of that sheet in firmly and begins preparing some from the stocked pantry. "Weyrleader's salary is five marks every two weeks," she tells him nonchalantly although the figure is nothing to sneeze at. Akin to $200 Earth dollars per month, it goes a long way in Pern's society. As she talks, she's setting the kettle onto the heating element to start the water boiling, frowning after a few seconds. "Huh. It's not heating." In fact, with a flip of her finger, she tries turning on some lights and still nothing. "Power's out," she says with a glance out the window frowning at the ice she sees bending the trees. The rest of his questions need answering, but they'll have to wait a bit. "Can you get a fire started in that stove? It's getting colder in here." She indicates the woodstove and supplies with a tilt of her chin and continues with her preparations.

The goad about acting weyrleader doesn't necessarily bother him, instead, he clarifies, "I will be going home, as much as I can. The business must not fail. It's taken me nearly six Turns to get this far. I will not see it become dust." The matter of the klah perhaps makes him realize how cool to the touch he really is, the chill felt closer to the windows definitely, but in general the air in the weyr was cooling significantly as the ice rain continues to fall. Though he doesn't answer if he wants some, stuck on the wages of the Weyrleader's salary. The figure was impressive. Maybe he's counting the figures between the position here and his business at Ierne and hearing dollar signs chinking in his mindscape. Clearly absorbed in calculating one thing or another, it takes until Thea mentions that the power's out that cants his head back over his shoulder toward her, pivoting in the pot to regard the electric stove. Apparently at her request to get the woodstove going, he offers no resistence. It's likely because of the logicistics! Yes. The man considers what there's for supplies, proceeding to absently build the fire, asking over his shoulder, "You know I've been out of the Weyrs for a long time… other than visiting, to live in one is … will be strange." In a few moments there's some smoke billowing out as he leans in to breath life into the fire, getting the tinders crackling before he adds more wood.

It isn't lost on Thea, the materialistic focus of the man who is, at least for the present, Xanadu's new Weyrleader. Giving the man an understanding look, she says, "I know that business has been your focus for turns and you don’t want to lose all you have built. And you shouldn't. I accept your mindset towards the Weyrs in light of your past. However," she lifts one forefinger to stipulate, "The generous salary is contingent upon your doing a good job here. If you cannot do both, you will either need to appoint a foreman at Ierne or step down as Xanadu's Weyrleader." She's dead serious about it, for her prime concern is the Weyr's welfare. She falls silent then, allowing him to sort through things a little more while she rummages in the pantry and finds bread, fruit, ham and eggs. Moving towards the now-hot woodstove with the kettle and a pan, she places them both on the surface. Her concerns for how the power outage might be affecting the Weyr is put aside for the moment to answer A'dmar's. "You'd have your own private weyr, one of the very best and all you and Yarovith wish to eat as well as clothes from stores and care from the healers. Your vacation is likewise paid for." And then she studies him closely. "Living here would be different in many ways but you’re welcome to have family join you." Perhaps thinking of his newfound daughter or a weyrmate, if he has one.

Materialism was all that had kept A'dmar thriving for all those Turns on his own. Things, things to comfort him and to distract him. Fingers pull away from the woodstove as he shuts it to let a few logs burn, looking up with those dark searching eyes of his to Thea as he stands and she expresses her empathy for his situation, despite adding an ultimatum at the end. In response, his tone dripping with his professionalistic politeness, "It will be an adjustment, though I anticipate no disruptions." Though he does start to shuffle back toward the nook once she's at the stove, taking a seat at the table, taking a deep breath and a long exhale as one hand settles outstretched before him and the other props up underneath his chin, eyes distant as they turn out toward the frosted and iced window. Perhaps the additional mention of what else will be included falls on deaf ears as he refrains from speaking, just lost in the world of his thoughts. Even the talk of family doesn't stir him immediately, as his hand slowly shifts from being on his chin to resting on his forehead, with spikes of black hair jutting out from between fingers.

Thea allows the barrier of professionalism to remain, understanding his pride although he's like none of the other Weyrleaders she's worked with since becoming Senior. She leaves A'dmar to his distant thoughts, providing him the space he needs, maintaining the silence while the sounds of sizzling over by the woodstove fills the guest weyr with the scent of crisply-fried ham and the pungency of klah brewing. Somewhere in there, while A'dmar's forehead is in his hand, she slips into her clothes. She reaches out for Seryth, the bond giving her strength and comfort as she silently communes with the sleepy gold until presently the skillet is brought to table, silverware and plates set, the klah poured. Sinking gracefully into the seat opposite A’dmar, she reaches a gentle pat to the hand he has on the table and says quietly, "It's not forever. I mean, it rarely is, anyway. Two turns until she rises again to mate." Drawing a breath, she adds, "the mother of Xe'ter's daughter declined our offer to reside here, but he went often to visit them. *Between* is but a breath away and it's not like we're fighting Thread or anything."

The physical comfort, the pat on the hand, causes him to drop the other hand from his forehead so that he might regard Thea with a queer glint in his eye, appreciating in not so many words the gesture implied with the patting of his hand. He nods absently about the time frame, looking toward the klah mugs with a gentle tip of his chin, drawing back his hands, wrapping one around the mug. What to say?! He does clearly state his gratitude at least, "Thank you." A tip of the mug before he draws it up to his lips, testing how hot it is with his tongue before sipping at it, the warmth simply rejuvenating. "I will see to my daughter and my sons," he finally gives some indication of what his thoughts might have been about, "My daughter would need her own space, assuming she would want to leave Western." He gives a deep sigh and looks sincerely at Thea, those dark eyes of his piercing, "This has brought sudden complication to my life, yet, we do not go where we were not intended to walk." Some tribal wisdom coming out in him, before he looks toward the mug, "I will do this for you," finally some hint of acceptance, even if it wasn't with excitement.

Thea’s smile into those piercing dark eyes is meant both to reassure and state her belief in him. He can do this! She too pulls back her hand, lifting the spatula and mutely offers to dish him up some ham and eggs. If he wants to eat, she will fill his plate, then hers, listening as he speaks of his family. "We have a few private rooms in the resident caverns," she assures him about his daughter, not prying about anything further regarding the mother of the sons mentioned. He'd spoken of someone bringing him comfort and thus she assumes their mother is the one. She picks up her fork, looking thoughtful about his tribal quotation. "You can do the name of your people proud-" she starts to say when he says he'll do it for her. His lack of enthusiasm is obvious. Silent on the heels of this, several expressions flit across her expressive face while she catches her lower lip between her teeth: concern, perplexity but finally a cautious approval for him. "I'm honored," she says, tucking a tumbled strand of hair behind one ear, "because it is a sacrifice for you to do. I think I know why you wouldn't feel you would do it for Pern or for Xanadu, but why for me and not yourself?"

There's nothing wrong with getting a meal into his belly, after all, they're suffering from a bit of flight hangover and definitely a world of change. He nods to the mute offering, listening to the condition or the terms that his daughter would have to stay in if she did decide to come over, agreeing to it with a bob of his head. Settling back into his chair he's definitely starting to pick at the hame and eggs, eyes fleeting on them because they return to Thea as for his people being proud, "They will be shamed in actual fact, that is, if they even hear about it or recall that I still exist." There's a hardness behind his eyes caused by the resentment not for Thea, but of what happened to his family. He'll pick away at the meal in that tapering silence, eyes fixed on the dish, only to lift a brow once Thea breaks in with conversation of being honored. Putting his fork aside he washes down whatever he was working on with a sip of klah as the question is allowed to work the gears in his head, a profound space in time where he goes deep into finding some answer, something he can tell her to satisfy her question. "Unfortunately I'm not confident that there's some benefit in this for me, save for the financial perk," at least he's being honest.

Yes, his tribe would be certain to be doubly disdainful of him for being Weyrleader as well as a rider, she knows, understands this. "I meant," Thea explains quietly patient, "that you will do your best because you are Quoin. Not in spite of them." She nods towards his chest and then forearms where those tattoos are, adding with an irony that speaks of her own past, "You are of your people, strong and proud because of their blood in you, regardless of their attitudes and actions." Hungry after the flight and possibly because Seryth's glowing suppressed her appetite for a few days prior, she eats neatly and silently, giving him plenty of time to consider her question. She could gush with false assurances that he will find it rewarding, fulfilling in a way he'd never expected, but she doesn't because few ever do. "Aside from the perks, it's a thankless job most days," she says truthfully, easily accepting his sentiment even if not shared. She has her reasons for serving the Weyr and he'll know them in time. That he's willing to accept Yarovith's choice for her moves her and the emotion is writ on her face. "I'm doubly honored then."

There needs not to be any more said about his people, his tongue stilling on the issue, even when she indicates the tattoos that she clearly has seen. Instead, he bypasses the conversation by choosing to eat, the hunger growing as he realizes how famished he truly was. It was one way to evade talking about things that don't come easy to him. For a while that is all that he does, trading out klah for the subsequent spooning of eggs and ham. Then it comes to why he should want to do it, her sentiments only serve to confirm his feelings of the matter, the position will provide more of a headache than reward and the man has always know it - perhaps why he stationed so easily at Ierne. There clearly was no more to discuss on the matter, except for, "Where do we begin?"

While not appearing to hurry, Thea has a smaller appetite and so is finished before A'dmar. He will, most times, find her tranquil and not one to press for confidences people are not ready to share. While he finishes, she carries her plate, empty skillet, mug and the kettle to the sink, where she leaves it for the cleaning crew that will restore the place once they've vacated. "We start tomorrow morning when I'll show you your desk and go over your new responsibilities," she says with a half-smile. No use scaring him off the same day he won the flight, is there? "The headwoman will see you to your new weyr - there are several to choose from, so that will take you some time. And I'm sure you'd like to get your affairs settled in Ierne.” The sound of rattling precedes her, “Huh!" She's moved towards the door as she's been speaking, peered out at the weather, grimaced at the sleet still coming down and then attempted to open it. Of course it doesn't budge. It’s frozen shut with a thick coat of ice.

A'dmar has come to appreciate food in ways Weyrfolk may not, having had to pay for every meal since he decided to join the Weyrhold has been a bit of a burden. Any free meals are savored and cherished, as if his last. Therefore he doesn't seem to get up to help Thea with the dishes, content on filling his mouth and enjoying the salted ham. The phrase 'new responsibilities' does have him shift uncomfortably in the chair, frowning at whatever thoughts are running through his head. From the rumble outside, it's apparently something to do with Yarovith, the bronze having to fight a bit of the ice layering himself. Imagine if the beastcraft didn't get their animals inside! "Yes. I would like to have sufficent time to settle-" and at her huh and subsequent inability to open the door, he puts his utensils down, regarding her grimacing from the table, "It's the ice, isn't it?" There's no need for him to pull on the door to know, Yarovith's problems with keeping Seryth sheltered from the ice as they cuddle was enough for him to put it all together, "Does the Weyr stock firestone?" Easiest solution, or, "Flamethrowers could work too."

"We have a whole mine full of it, but they're not burning down the cottage to get us out," is Thea's tart reply, tempered by a snicker as she again rattles the doorknob experimentally. "I wouldn't mind so much if one of them rips the door off though. We can replace that. But only if you can't kick it out." She tacks on a hasty, "Don't break your leg." Speaking of dragons, Seryth stirs when Yarovith moves. The gold caresses him with her muzzle and streeeeeetches. Her mood is hazy, mist off a glassy lake when she notes, « Let's go lie on the hatching sands. They're warm. » Well, if the generator is running, they will be baking. Which might be a pleasant change. If he's willing, she'll lead him to it. Iced-over is not her cup of tea.

A'dmar gives a quiet chuckle at the thought, "At least we'd stay warm," the man has a humor, it's just here and there, spotty as he pushes up out of the chair. His eyes haze over with the communication of his dragon, attempting to convince the bronze to meander over toward the cottage, away from that lovely gold in which he's currently cuddling so nicely with. "We'll see what we can do…" he does offer as he nears the door, a hand sweeping out to put Thea back a step or two. He's not overtly strong, more lithe and average in muscle than overly built with it, but it's worth a shot. A hand tests the door knob and he gives it a jerk outward, to see how much give the door has. Nothing. A bit of a shoulder is thudded into the frame next, bouncing it some, but not to the point that it'll open and crack off the ice freezing them in. Next is a kick. In dramatic door-busting style, he puts all his energy behind the kick, only to get a resounding echo in return and a slight crackling of ice and frozen wood. Meanwhile, Yarovith is being stirred by Seryth to pursue her to the sands, putting him in a perplexing position. For whatever reason, dragon instict perhaps, the bronze settles in beside the gold as he nudges her with his head, pretty clearly sucking up to Seryth. A'dmar stands there at the door with a drawn expression on his face, pure disbelief and exasperation. "That's new…" he states in a deadpan voice, at a loss for his dragon's choice.

Thea shouldn't laugh, really she shouldn't. But she's been peeking out the window while A'dmar has at that stuck door and so spots the gold and bronze pair leaving them for greener pastures, so-to-speak. Not that she can blame them. It's the expression on A'dmar's face that does it. She laughs quietly. "You get used to it after awhile," she says. In her life, ‘used to it’ is every mate Seryth has had. And every clutch. "You'll bruise your shoulder,” she warns. “We should just break a window. The glasscrafters can fix it later." It doesn't seem to worry her overmuch, the cost of the glass but then, they make it here in the crafter's complex. Her eyes sweep the cottage… ah! She strides to the sink, lifts the cast iron skillet. "This ought to do nicely." Back to the window, she offers the skillet solemnly to A'dmar. "Would you like to do the honors? You might be surprised to find it a strangely gratifying stress-reliever too." Dark brows waggle invitingly. Come on! You know you want to!

The fact that his lifemate decided to up and leave him for dragon tail clearly disturbs him. Could it be he might be here longer than anticipated? At least until Seryth rises again, thank Faranth for that! The man steps back from the door after his attempts fail and they're left to their own devices. Dark eyes turn toward the laughter that fills the space of the cottage, it is a small space no matter how quiet her laugh truly is! "He's never … " and that is why he's here right now, since Yarovith has never caught a senior either, and the odd gold has been from Ierne. The option of the skillet has him nod, agreeing to it, accepting it with another grimace. How dare his dragon do that! It's not like he can really get mad at his lifemate though, this would be the first time that another dragon has shown continued interest in the poor bronze. "Stand back then…" he sighs, defeated, as he approaches the window. He focuses on the window and then the skillet, then back again. It's heavy enough…. but with the ice, one can't just throw it through. In fact, it takes two powerful swings to rattle against the glass for A'dmar to finally bust through. WHACK - Splinters and spiderwebs show through. SMASH. Fragments and shards scatter and fall everywhere, leaving them with an abrupt vaccum that steals the heat in the cottage, the breath of winter quickly replacing the heat leaking out. A'dmar continues to break the glass, using the skillet to clean up the frames, leaving no sharp pieces to hang themselves up on. Once it seems okay, he puts the skillet aside, moving for the table to push it up against the window, extending his hand for Thea to go first, "Ladies first."

It takes some restraint not to snicker while A'dmar fumes about Yarovith. She has no words of wisdom for him there, seeing she's the rider of a female. Thank Faranth for that! She stands well back while A'dmar whacks the window and when the winter air floods the cottage, she remembers: she left the caverns without any sort of jacket. She snags the blanket she'd lobbed at A'dmar, folds it into a shawl and wraps it around her shoulders. She ducks out the window, crunching carefully over glass and ice on her way out, waits for A'dmar to exit, then walks with him to the caverns in search of the Ocelara. It's clear that the ice storm has done much damage from the mess they can see with powerlines down and thick, heavy ice everywhere. No doubt their trip, fraught with much skidding and slippage on the ice (how comical) is spent in silence save for the gunshot crack of breaking limbs and an eerie silence of a grounded Weyr.

And maybe some swearing.

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