Who D'had, F'inn, K'zre
What A trio of Thunderbird Wingriders share snacks and stories, including some scary rumors coming from Xanadu.
When Autumn - Month 9 of Turn 2720
Where Shenanigan's Lounge, Fort Weyr

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Fort Weyr - Shenanigan's Lounge
The natural walls of this cavern haven been completely covered and replaced by straight and sometimes curving walls of brickwork. There's method to the madness of covering stone with stone. It's as simple as the electric buzz in the room. New grade electric lights dot the fancy brick worked walls, with wires cleverly hidden behind, allowing more focus to be centered on the rest of the room rather than the numerous strings of wire needed to operate the lighting. Each bulb roosts in a bronzed metal flowering fixture, giving the room a rich atmosphere. Still, the walls are not the only place which has stone on stone appeal. The floor has been run smooth, the surface now slate rock, creating an imperial cast.

Beyond the actual foundations of the lounge, the luxury continues. High backed wooden chairs with padded white seats have been stationed all around the room. Between the individual chairs are benches fashioned out of the same rich wood with pillows made to flatter the cushions. There are low lying coffee tables or end tables near the individual chairs, while there's larger dinning room sized tables with chairs to match scattered as well, giving much variety to those who find themselves in the room. Decorative hangings and framed artwork has been neatly hung around the room, but to offset the meticulous method of the room, there's some pieces that give a sporty feeling to the room - such as a fishing rod or a snow shoe.

Of course, the final appeal of the room comes in the form of it's purpose; athletic competition. There are several games of darts lining the walls, various decks of dragon poker cards available, a large velvet lined pool table centered to one side of the lounge, a mat area surrounded by ropes, and an area that keeps track of all the runner races around the world via radio signal, giving constant updates on the status of the runners. Lastly, there's a bar here, small and built with brick as well. There's usually a bartender on duty willing to mix drinks during the evening hours.


F'inn is still tired from the early morning trip to Half Moon, a fact made clear that he has his head braced against one hand, the mug of beer and accompanying pitcher before him utterly untouched. Fortunately, sweeps are done and spacing out while staring into lovely amber goodness is perfectly acceptable. Granted, he's not alone, and is probably making a concerted effort to listen to whatever K'zre is saying. At least there is the occassional nod and 'Mmm' to indicate that he is making an effort not to fall asleep right there on the spot. It is without warning that he glances up and points out from out of the blue, "We need to send your father bunny slippers. Pink ones. Big ears. Bigger eyes. Disgustingly cute."

"That sounds like a present for my granddaughter instead of anyone's father," D'had notes with a lopsided smile towards the pair, that last comment about bunny slippers being all of the conversation between his fellow wingriders that he caught in passing. "But then, I can't say I know yours," he adds with looking to K'zre.

Honestly, K'zre was probably not saying anything that would be terribly interesting to anyone besides the healer. The bronzerider is forgiven his disinterest, even if there's a slant of brown eyes, and a huff and final mumbling of, "Did you hear anything I just said?" It is followed with a sigh and a grumped, "never mind," that comes with a reach for his own drink. Which is nearly spit out a moment later for the sudden assertion of bunny slippers. "What? Why?" Does he want to know? Probably not… A shake of his head answers D'had's words, a legitimate swallow of his drink taken (this time not threatened to be spit out) and swallowed before he adds, "He is not the sort to wear bunny slippers. Let alone pink ones."

F'inn grins as he glances up at D'had, a mellow laugh humming in his throat. "Which is exactly what makes it the perfect gift for K'zre's father. He'll glower about it for turns and turns. Join us?" In the wake of the invitation, he remembers his beer and picks it up, taking a long swallow before setting the mug back on the table. "How old is your granddaughter," he asks curiously. Course, he slants a glance back at K'zre and grins, blue eyes slanting up and to the side. "Every word." Not a one. It is K'zre's last that has him smirking, his brows twitching as he takes another swallow of his beer. "Which is exactly why we need to send them. N'sir will love them, R'sner will hate them, but he'll have to wear them." It's the perfect revenge for getting him out of bed before the sun.

"Sensible then," D'had notes, a snort of an amused fashion following at the idea of the greenrider's father glowering. "Don't mind if I do," he says then, settling into a seat at the table. He can only shake his head for the pair as they continue their banter. He knows better than to try and get into the middle of that. As for his granddaughter, "Youngest is … five?" Or something near that.

K'zre does not get sarcasm. This might be clear from the furrowed brow and skeptical stare aimed at D'had. But he won't comment on the sensible nature of the gift, perhaps because he's learned that it just isn't worth it — if F'inn is gonna do it, he's gonna do it. Kez might as well enjoy the show. "And she likes bunnies?" is his contribution to the conversation, odd though it might be. He's trying. He'll even flag down a server and order another beverage for himself. Cause more alcohol can only help, right? Right.

"Oh really?" Interested, F'inn sits up a bit straighter, the mug of beer held loosely in his hand as he glances at D'had. "A little young, but.." And before it gets creepy, he adds. "I make porcelain dolls. I was a potter before impressing. You'll have to let me know if they'd be interested in something like that." Cause really, it's been way to long since he's had opportunity to sit down and practice his craft. "And yes," he notes with a snort. "R'sner is nothing if not sensible." He does, however, aside to K'zre. "He meant R'sner was sensible for not liking pink bunny slippers." Snorting, he does not point out that /he/ has pink bunny slippers and loves them. Course, they were a turnday gift from his little sisters, but still.

D'had can only shrug. "Don't most little girls like bunnies?" Either way it still sounds like a better gift for a child than a grown man. "Ah," he notes for the added detail of dolls. "Maybe.. thought if I did would probably need more than one." Fair warning. At least there's F'inn to translate that misunderstanding for his weyrmate too.

"Oh," comes in quiet acceptance for the clarification. But Kez is quick enough to accept it and move on, spending only a moment in quiet contemplation. "I don't know," he admits, for little girls and bunnies. "I'm not a girl." But it sounds right. "F'inn's sisters like bunnies," he decides. "So, I suppose if they are indicative of the norm…" He'll leave discussion of dolls to the bronzerider, however.

"Course," F'inn agrees with a quick nod. "Can't give one girl a doll and not her sisters." He's the only male in a family of women, he completely gets how that works. "I just need to keep my hand in the game, you know? Those sorts of skills require use. Let me know, though? I have a ton of materials in our weyr as it is." If one were to ask around, they would find out that F'inn is good. Really good. He'd been on the fast track to Master when he was searched and his life changed. "My sisters love bunnies," He admits. "Yasminath loves bunnies," he reminds K'zre. "It's a girl thing, I think. Course, N'sir probably loves bunnies, as well." (He does), but the 'girl' thing still holds true in a sense. "Any news on the fires," he asks D'had curiously. Yes, he's changing topics like a mad man, comes from no sleep.

Doesn't mean that boys can't like bunnies. But lets all just agree and say its a girl thing. D'had nods "I will," he assures, of letting F'inn know. "How long do you need do you think?" Curious in case he goes that route, how much lead time does the bronzerider need for him to have one when he needs it. The fires however are a welcome change of topic, the man nodding again. "They're still smoldering, but the break's holding so far."

"Yasminath is a dragon. Her opinion on bunnies is invalid." And this entire discussion has gotten far too technical. It's bunnies. And slippers. And maybe Kez gets a clue because he doesn't carry it further than that. A slant of his eyes comes for the mention of the fires, and F'inn is definitely given a long, hard look for a moment or two. "Good," is said with some relief, for the firebreak. "If it would rain a bit, that would help. Smoke inhalation is another concern." But apparently not an immediate one.

"I have most of the parts already made," F'inn admits. "They just need to be painted and fired and put together. Depending on how many you'd need? A few sevenday should do." It's the mention of the break holding that has him exhaling a relieved breath— he'd been worried about it not being wide enough for days now. Course, he's aware of K'zre's look and lightly clears his throat as he takes a swallow of his beer. "Not planning on repelling into a fire if I don't have to," he assures. "And Yasminath's love of bunnies resulted in a bunny funeral if you recall."

D'had nods solemnly. "Yeah, rain certainly wouldn't hurt," he agrees easily. "Long as the wind doesn't change we should be okay." The weather however, does not always cooperate. He sends a glance between the two for that look they share, but he says nothing of that. He nods again given F'inn's answer, "I'll keep that in mind."

K'zre will not even dignify that with a response. At least, not one that has anything to do with bunnies. "I'm getting food," is declared as he shoves himself upward, pausing only long enough to ask a quick, "do you want anything?" of the other two at his table before heading for the bar. Whatever he comes back with food-wise is likely to be less than healthy — bar food at it's best — but his other hand at least has a pitcher of water and a spare glass.

F'inn leans back in his chair, the mug of beer carried with him as he takes another long swallow before setting it on the table. "I can get a bit.. Erm… Adrenalin happy, at times," he provides for D'had. "Grab something," he asks of K'zre as he heads over to get food. Watching the greenrider head to the bar, his expression softens, pale eyes crinkling at the corners. "We had a call a few winters ago," he provides. "Some ice fishermen trapped out on a lake that we had to respond to. One of them fell in the water and K'zre had to watch me dive in after him." Is his way of explaining the exchange to D'had. "I had a harness rope on but still, the water was freezing. It was not good all the way around." And K'zre has not forgotten it. Probably never will. "He gets a little worried about my being to quick to jump into danger."

"Fried tubers?" D'had suggests when K'zre mentions getting something. Simple, yet it's something and well.. food. "Ah," the bluerider nods for the explanation. "I can understand that I guess. My weyrmate was always worried about what might happen on those calls. But you know, sometimes you just need to jump in and not over think the situation." When the greenrider is spotted returning he moves to stand, to help the other shift items from hands to table if needed.

A murmured, "Thank you," comes for D'had's assistance — which is definitely necessary given he's balancing plates of food and mugs and water and just… it's a lot of stuff for one person. Fried tubers are definitely among the munchies, along with an assortment of other friend goodies. "Here," comes with a very decisive thump of the water glass in front of F'inn, which is promptly filled with water and nudge-nudged toward him. A flicker of a frown, a moment of pause, and he wonders, "How long ago were you in Xanadu? Was it recent? I can't remember…" It might not just be idle inquisition, either.

"Exactly," F'inn agrees. Course, K'zre is NEVER going to accept that and F'inn knows it, but it is nice to know that he is not alone in the sentiment. Course, he's taking the water and snagging a handful of fried food at the same time. "Thanks." With K'zre asking questions, he's more then happy to settling in to drinking the water and tasting a bit of everything on the table. F'inn? Definately has an appetite, although he avoids anything sweet like the plague.

"Welcome," D'had replies, settling back into his seat once everything's been placed on the table. A shoulder lifted in a half shrug for F'inn. What can you do? Right? First order of business, snatching a few of those fried tubers to munch on. "Couple months at least," he answers for the last time he was in Xanadu, voice lifting slightly in the unspoken question. Why?

A fried pickle is K'zre's snack of choice, one wedge slide onto a plate and left to cool. "There are rumors of some sort of… rash going through Xanadu's population," he explains, his words chosen rather carefully (and with a suspicious lack of looking at his weyrmate). "Some of the riders sitting at the bar were talking about it and…" And he overheard, and wants to know if it's true. "Do you know anything about that?" A grimace, and he adds, "It might just be… well. They weren't exactly sober…" Drunk dragonriders aren't necessarily the most trustworthy sources of information. And don't worry F'inn. There is not a single sweet thing to be found on that table.

F'inn frowns as he listens to K'zre, his brows drawing down in a slow furrow. "Rash? Like.. Diaper rash?" Leaning forward, he snags the pickle off K'zre's plate and takes a bite, his cheeks hollowing as he sucks in air to cool it. "Hot, hot…" Course, that does not stop him from twisting around to glance toward the bar to see who is there gossiping.

D'had too glances towards the bar to see just who those riders might be. A shake of his head the response to whether or not he'd heard of it before now. He's distracted now though, that distant look of one bespeaking their lifemate crossing his features soon enough and he falls quiet for a moment. He does, after all, still have contacts at Xanadu. "No," he replies to F'inn's question. A second shake of his head to better clear his thoughts. "As in fever and… it doesn't sound good." Lets just leave it at that before people start overhearing them gossiping.

K'zre's "No," comes about the time that D'had's does, in clarification for that rash. But he's not going to explain it further. Not here, at least. Still, there is a press of his lips into a thin line, and a clench of his jaw, and a dart of his gaze in the vague direction of the infirmary. But he stays put, even offering a bit of a sigh at his weyrmate's expense, though a little nudge of the water seeks to assist in aiding that burnt tongue. "They just came out of the fryer," is explained unnecessarily, given F'inn's now experienced it firsthand.

F'inn frowns faintly at D'had's words, one hand raising to brush over the back his neck. He does, however, note K'zre's glance and, in the wake of drinking some water, he lightly clears his throat. "If you need to go find out what is going on, go ahead." He'd never dream of standing in the way of duty. "I can grab food and bring it back to the weyr." Clearly something dire is happening and its just as clear that he's going to have wait til they are alone to find out the details.

"I should go too," D'had says assuming F'inn was talking to K'zre. Moving to his feet he reaches to grab one or two more pieces of tuber to go, "But thanks for the food," he adds. He'll just have to pay them back for that at at later time. A nod to silently excuse himself and he's heading for the door.

F'inn was definitely talking to K'zre. He knows him far too well. "I don't," he adds quickly. "I can't. It's…" Another Weyr. One he has no connections at. "It's not my business." Yet. A nod for D'had at his words, a murmured, "Thank you. Clear skies," following his ascent. It is once he is gone that Kez shift-shifts over until he's smooshed himself up against F'inn, one hand resting on his thigh while the other finally picks up that pickle to nom. He might not be allowed to go yet, but he definitely, definitely wants too.

F'inn slings an arm around K'zre's shoulder, his head tilting to brush a kiss to his cheek. "The healers here might have heard more," F'inn points out. "You know you won't be able to focus on anything until you find out what is going on." Pressing a kiss to his cheek, his expression softens, his wrist twisting to allow him to brush his fingers over the back of K'zre's neck. "Whatever you need to do, I get it."

K'zre's teeth find his lip, biting hard enough to leave a small intend though thankfully not to draw blood. For a long moment he stares at F'inn, searching his eyes and weighing his options before, with a drop of shoulders and gaze, he admits, "I want to find out. I just… I need to know if the rumors— I don't want to get worried if the riders…" but D'had confirmed that it was bad, and Kez has no reason to believe he would lie. "I won't be long," he promises, leaning in to press a kiss to his weyrmate's lips. "I'll wear a mask, and I won't touch anything." Because he has every intention of going to Xanadu, straight to the source, to see for himself.

F'inn reaches up, using his thumb to tug K'zre's lip from between his teeth. "I know you'll be careful," he assures. "And I'll have food waiting for you when you get home." Returning the kiss, he combs his fingers through dark hair, his expression utterly confident. "Be polite, remember to say please and thank you, and don't forget small talk is important. People are probably worried and the little things mean a lot. Now go on, I'll be waiting for you at home."

It may be a mark of how serious the situation is (or at least, how seriously Kez is taking it) that he does not scowl for the reminder to employ his manners. "I love you," comes quickly, chased by a kiss that is quick and rough before he's pushing up from the table and heading swiftly for the bowl. Yasminath is already there, waiting patiently and quick to head up. Unfortunately, what K'zre intends to be a quick visit turns out to be anything but, with Yasminath relaying to Nymionth that it might be hours before they return. In fact, it will be at least a day before he returns, unless someone comes to collect him (at least Yasminath will relay that he is OK, and is just caught up in helping and not in any way sick himself).


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