Trips Are For Kids

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.

Spring is upon the Weyr, trading melted snow for rain. Presently the light of the sky fades against the horizon, melting as it becomes overshadowed by the fingers of nights shroud, causing the man within the Weyrleaders office to flick on a lamp, spilling warm light over his desk. He's taken a meal or two in the office this day, the trays evidence of his seclusion within. Though the matter of what he's done and if he's been productive remain to be seen, as he's currently settled in the chair belonging to the title of a Weyrleader, spun away from the desk, turned toward the last wisps of the sunset pressed across the skyscape. A’dmar’s head is canted to the side, propped up with a closed fist, eyes half lidded as he's caught with a storm brooding within his mind, eyes distant, but not the same look one would share when conversing with a dragon. In his other hand, resting on the arm of the chair, fingers pinch closed around a wine glass, half of the contents consumed, though the bottle itself is still rather full. He's not a heavy drinker, even when he is in a brooding mindset. As for the rumors about his condition, there are only faint marks of where possible cuts or knicks might have been and angry red lines down his cheek and neck which have all but healed with the appropriate ointments. Though what might cause some concern is the way he's dressed. He's rather proud of his style and his cleanliness, but today, his shirt is rumpled and opened at the collar, his hair a mess and needing a comb through it, a matter of being dishelved than what he's used to presenting.

Seated facing the window will give A'dmar a view of Seryth as she appears from *Between* and banks to circle the Weyr on her landing approach. The fading light in the west, sunshot under the cloud ceiling, gilds her belly as she turns, wide wings catching the air and slowing her descent until the lands in the clearing. The Weyrwoman has been off on hold visitation all day and thus, the Weyrleader has had that office all to himself today. It is about a quarter of an hour before the knob turns and Thea lets herself into the office. She's dressed in a heavy damask dress, formal shoes, hair upswept into an intricate net and pinned with some kind of jewel matching the midnight blue of her outfit. Her full-length spring coat is thrown over one arm, a tray with klah and pastry held in gloved hands. "So," she begins evenly, "I've never put much stock in rumors. But I'm told there was an attempt on your life while you were at Eastern Weyr." Is she joking? Toying with him before exploding in wrath? Or is she merely all-knowing and waiting for him to hang himself with untruths? One never knows with Thea.

Dark eyes indeed watch the approach of Seryth and while it causes his stomache to roil with misgivings and dread, Yarovith has been waiting for the gold to return. Cuddles? See, the bronze is now obsessed with them, like a dog whose had their belly scratched, he wants more and will slide over toward Seryth to welcome her back with a nudge or two. A'dmar's gaze doesn't see this however, swiveling enough so he's not forced to watch the sickening display, where once he would've been amused, tonight he is not. Wine at least keeps him warm as he takes a few more sips in that quarter hour that slips by, gaze languidly lifting toward the door as the only one bold enough to enter without a knock is the Weyrwoman herself. Instincts correct, his sight lingers on her only long enough to acknowledge her presence at the door, a fleeting glimpse takes in the way she's dressed, half wondering if she went to Western for the costume party announced as having taken place. He's not his normal self, failing to even be polite enough to ask after her, to see if her trip went as planned. His certainly did not. Her remarks fail to bait him, instead, he merely finishes off his glass of wine with a heavy gulp, waving his hand at it as he swivels the chair back toward his desk, "Wine?" Regardless of her answer, he pours a glass for her and then another for himself. At least he has done that much before slumping back, not yet taking to hold his second glass of wine as of yet, keeping his head up with a fanned palm against his jaw.

Seryth is demure, purring a hello to Yarovith but not rushing right over. Instead her tongue flickers out to his muzzle and she arches her neck coyly, leaping skyward with a churr of invitation. She doesn't fly far though. She wheels to land on the starstones, draping her tail over the edge to twitch the tip at the bronze enticing him to join her. There is where she'll cuddle, pleased to tickle him with said tailtip and perhaps he'll forget someone might want a ride escaping somewhere. Lalala! Is there a subtle plotting teamwork afoot? Thea doesn't seem to expect an answer from A'dmar. The metallic sound of the tray being set atop her desk, the shushing sound of fabric slipping off her arm as her coat is dropped on a chair the only sounds in the silent, semi-dark office. Footsteps cross the carpet, the light switch snaps on, flooding the room with light before she re-crosses the space, hooks a toe in her chair and tows it closer to where the Weyrleader is sitting. "Thank you," she says sitting and reaching for the glass he's poured. She sips, studying him through her half-closed lashes. "So," she says calmly after several more minutes of silence, "you look like you encountered a feline during your visit to Eastern. If you'd rather not talk about it, that's fine, just don't try to get me to believe you did that shaving. Please tell me though, do I need to re-patch Xanadu's relationship with Eastern by paying for damages or sending reparations to Fiona?"

Yarovith has become her shadow, more often than not, teased easily to do as Seryth wants, nipping at the coy arch of her neck, fanning his wings to follow. People would clearly get sick at the show of affection the bronze has for the gold, at her mercy completely, launching to the starstones where he'll cuddle. The bronze isn't going anywhere anytime soon, content to playfully return the tail flicking and muzzle nudging. As for the man in the office, like his beast above, there is no escape, nor does he make it appear as if he's going to make an attempt. His eyes squint for the additional light, having enjoyed the warmth of just a solo lamp, instead now more of the office humming with the electricity generated to fill the room. Her study of her would find the man sullen, his usual stoic expressions replaced by the touches of despair and dark thoughts. Casting his eyes toward the woman as she tows herself a chair to close in on his space, he waits for her to say something yet again, to press him for information. He expected this since he returned from Eastern, anticipated that there would be consequences. "I believe we need to go visit Weyrwoman Fi and Weyrleader S'rok directly." He pauses as he snaps his eyes to the wine, still not taking it, "As for paying for damages, a few glasses suffered the worst of it, shattered beyond repair, but not by my hand. They'd have to seek compensation from their weyrling."

Thea hmms, without commenting her thoughts on the matter. "I'd do nothing less," she says of meeting with the new Weyrleaders of Eastern Weyr. She sips her wine quietly. Her brow is untroubled, without the gathering of storm clouds that herald judgment or fault-finding. She had her reason for wanting that bright light, and with that reason satisfied, she rises languidly and heads over to the wall to snap it off. On her way back by her desk, she turns on the lamp there, adding a second pool of soft light to the one by Admar's desk. Returning to her seat she sinks down, works at loosening the fingers of her gloves by plucking at the tips of them. "Tell me," she says, though it's the tenor of a question rather than a demand, "why a weyrling would want to throw glasses at the Weyrleader from Xanadu?" She's looking at her gloves rather than him, pulling off the elbow-length things and wriggling her slim fingers in relief.

"Good…" he responds with a deadpan tone finally, turning his chair back on the swivel so he could stare outside to the gathering darkness, as it would be helpful to ensure relations between the Weyrs aren't damaged by the incident. He has still left his second glass of wine untouched, eyes lost in his own brewing storm, continuing to stare dejectedly out the window, seeing naught but moving shadows now and the odd light that gleams as guards and other residents walk around with personal glow baskets, any out door lights making pools of orange light here and there. He is troubled and has something worse than the burden of a Weyrleader on his mind, in fact, it looks to be a matter of the heart. Where Thea went ahead and made repairs to her weyrbarn, this man has decided to wade in his thoughts, deal with the outcome, suffer the anguish inwardly of it. The man's eyes turn in their sockets to regard her, outlined by a somber tilt of brows, his admission almost harsh sounding even if it really was pain in his voice instead, "Because she loved me."

People have their lives. Thea knows this. A'dmar has had his own, living in Ierne while conducting business all over the planet. There is no surprise that he'd meet a woman in Eastern Weyr and form an attachment to her, a woman who impressed at Eastern's last hatching. She knows the names of all their new Weyrlings already and so asks, "Which? J'me or Etzlix? And it is loved and not loves?" She's failing to connect any dots here, so asks, "Why would loving a bronzerider from Xanadu cause her to want to throw glasses at you, if you don't mind asking?" But he probably does, which is why Thea is having to drag the story out of him one line at a time. She isn't entirely unsympathetic to his pain, but really, this is quite confusing.

There is some heat in his eyes as the Weyrwoman says not J'me's name but Etzlix, satisfying her curiosity at which woman it was indeed who had captured his attentions and much before the girl was at Eastern to impress. "Loved… I did not give her the choice to continue, I ended it," he notes with a final reach for that wine, needing to wet his lips, closing his eyes as he goes on and admits, "She lived with me in Ierne and I built her a shop." That alone hurts, having invested in the young woman only to watch her impress, and not impress to a color that would welcome their reunion anytime soon. He gulps down the wine, eyes shifted away to the windows again as he goes on, sensing that Thea would not be satisfied until she knew the whole story, "I may be selling it as I doubt a weyrwoman would ever leave her weyr, gold dragons tend to chain a rider to a Weyr for life… as long as they are fertile at any rate." All the infertile ones seem to make their way to Ierne. He looks down into the glass, the wine sparkling underneath the glow of the lamp, "She fought against my abandonment of her, though she fails to see it now, I only had her best intentions at heart." Or his own. How impossible is it to take care of a business at Ierne and Weyrlead at Xanadu, and have a relationship at Eastern with a weyrling who should only have a relationship with her dragon at this point! He cut ties so she could grow into the dragonrider Eastern needed her to be.

Thea absorbs the story without comment, sipping her wine quietly. "So let me get this right," she hazards rewording his account putting her own spin on it, "You don't feel that *Betweening* to visit her on your time off will work? Because it takes more time to go to the lavatory. And well, you might only be here for two turns." She's helping with an objective viewpoint, see? "How is sacrificing your relationship going to help matters in the long run?" She doesn't know anything about his relationship with Etzlix, but that once he had told her he'd met someone who comforted him. "You could, in the event Yaroith fails to catch Seryth, operate your shipping from Eastern Weyr just as easily as you could from Ierne." Go Thea - toss out ideas hotheaded emo weyrling and Weyrleader haven't thought of heretofore.

The spin that Thea has on his choices forces him up out of the chair, so abruptly that wine spills over the rim of his glass and he nearly dumps the lot of it on the carpet, saving it only at the last moment and setting it on the desk. He draws out a napkin from the tray which the remains of his meal sit upon, dabbing off the wine as he moves toward the window, arms crossing once he's done wiping up the wine. He frowns through the glare of the window, peering long and hard out into the darkness. Finally he pivots and turns to regard her, eyes hard, "She's a goldrider. Her obligations are to the Weyr now. She's also a weyrling, learning to accept her impression and build that bond with her lifemate. I would not suffer her to wait." He closes his eyes, head pivoting back out to search for answers in the darkness, "It is the right thing. I'm a selfish man and cannot accept knowing where her path will lead her… paths that I cannot walk with her." He shakes his head, "I cannot expect you to understand, nor could I express it to you in words." A grunt, "Please let it be."

Butbut! The answers aren't out there - they're in here. Thea will set you both straight! The Weyrwoman arches one slim dark brow at A'dmar. Her voice is rich with irony, "And what - goldriders cannot have love? Oh please! She'll have to wait for a relationship that long regardless. Until her queen is ready to rise. Besides, how difficult is waiting when you love a person?" It seems she thinks this whole spat between the pair is a needless waste of personal anguish. He goes on with the self-sacrificing and she's heard enough, "I have never heard something so idiotic in my entire life!" She rises with her empty glass. Obviously she does not understand him at all (par for the course!) but at the grunt and plea to let it be, she does. "Men!" Said with an eyeroll and extreme exasperation. Should Eztlix and she meet, no doubt they'll both agree that men should not be allowed to think. Ever.

There's nothing but armor going up now. He's tried to explain why he did it, to ensure she had two turns of bonding with her lifemate uninterrupted by worrying about him and worrying about him with another goldrider. It'd be too complicated to manage right now and neither of them needed that complication. So from a woman's perspective, he earned the scratch marks and the cuts from shards of glass exploding near him. Truly, he did. "Two turns is a long time…" he knows it, especially for a young woman with so many demands, he can't anticipate her waiting for him, regardless of her dragon, "Especially when life can change in an instant." And opportunities that weren't there the one day happen on the next. He narrows his eyes over his shoulder at her disbelief of how stupid he could be, jaw clenched as he frowns, turning his eyes back to the window. Anything said now would be out of anger and is better kept under his collar, not doing or saying anything to stop her exasperation.

Actually, no. Thea doesn't think he earned those scratches and cuts. And she doesn't know Etzlix at all. Love is complicated, she'd agree with him there. But worth it in the end. "It's really not such a long time," she says quietly from over at her desk where she's placing her empty glass. Her back is to him so she can't see the glare he directs her way. But then neither can he see the shimmer of tears as she recalls, "D'had once thought that's what I wanted, less complications. He kept offering to leave…" But that is in the past and her life is free of the complications she'd welcome back with open arms if the choice were hers. "I just hate to see people throw away-" She stops right there. They are two grownups and can manage to sort through their own affairs. "You do what you need to do, A'dmar," Thea says quietly. "Just be sure it is what you want." She snaps her desk light off and gathers up her coat. "Choice is a wonderful thing though. Asking her if she'd wait for you might be a better way." And with that she slips out, closing the door softly behind her. On the starstones, Seryth lolls over to lean on her companion, her sides bulging with those developing eggs. The queen drapes her neck over Yarovith's and nuzzles him. Silly humans, trips are for kids!

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