Who D'had, F'inn, K'zre
What It's D'had's turnday! But don't tell anyone…
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.

The day had started like any other day. Up at dawn, bathed, fed, dressed, stumbling out to the ledge with Klah in hand. However, from there, it differed. Once on the ground, F'inn was met with Thunderbird riders getting ready to head to construct fire breaks in the areas most affected by unseasonal fires. At first, the thought was exciting, accompanied by an immediate surge of adrenaline. Until, of course, he was handed the paperwork and it came crashing down on him that /he/ wasn't going off to get into danger. He was getting left behind to file paperwork and make sure wing assignments had been turned in. It had been distracting enough that he'd nearly forgotten to return salutes tossed his way. Watching them go? Even worse. Frustratingly so. But, duty calls and eventually, he'd made his way into the Administration complex to try to slog his way through the mountains of reports stacked on his desk. Exciting? Not even a little bit. Fortunately, what it lacks in excitement, it had made up for in satisfaction. Sort of. Okay, probably not really, but it is what it is. By the time he got free and could have Nymionth contact Yasminath, he was ripe for a drink and already heading to the bar. The request, however, for K'zre to join him was sent before his boots even hit the stairs. So it is that F'inn is seated at a table, ignoring the stack of paperwork he'd brought with him in favor of drinking his way through a pitcher of beer.

Having returned from the building of those fire breaks the riders on that particular shift of Thunderbird wing disband, each to their own focus. Some for the baths to rid them selves of the soot, others to family, books or naps. D'had is one that finds himself at Shenanigan's, old habits die hard apparently. He's managed to wipe the majority of the dirt from his face, but there's still smudge to be found here and there. A nod of greeting finding F'inn as he spots the young bronzerider, "How'd the first day go?"

Guess who else was participating in those firefighting activities?? K'zre! And he's still boasting the soot to prove it, too. A modest effort was made to clean himself off, but there's still dark smudges across his face, and his boots tell the take of having traveled through charred ground. The greenrider is not far behind D'had, one hand unbuttoning his jacket as he goes, gaze swinging around the cavern and finding his weymate just as the bluerider does. "Ah… "comes as though he might have had something to say, but thinks better of it.

Envy is the emotion one would be seeing in F'inn's eyes at the sight of soot on D'had and K'zre both. BOTH. /BOTH/ of them. And for a moment, he grimaces, sniffing indignantly at the /traitors/. Course, it's immediately followed with a lopsided smile as he kicks out a chair for the pair of them. "I think I have writers cramp already," he snorts as he reaches for his mug and takes a long swallow of the beer. "How did it go?" He's concerned, of course, surrepetiously giving K'zre the visual once over for any sign of injury. "I ordered food," he provides to both the riders. "Fried potatos," is asided to D'had. "And pickles," is added to K'zre. "And another pitcher." Cause really, right now there is not enough beer in Fort to suit him.

D'had can't help but chuckle. Sorry F'inn, he's laughing both at you and with you this time. For multiple reason really. Food pre-ordered, that's a good start. "A pitcher, hmm?" he comments, raising brow as he shrugs out of his jacket to toss it over the back of one of those chairs. A finger is held up to indicate he'll be back before he takes a moment at the bar before returning with three glasses - whiskey. One for each of them, lifting his own for a sip once he's settled into his chair. "Can't say I miss that," he notes with a nod towards that stack of paper.

And K'zre? He just looks… torn. Like he can't decide to frown or smile or… what. Blame exhaustion, maybe. "It went fine," comes in murmured return for the question of firebreaks and firefighting. And physically, Kez is no worse for wear. Dirty. Tired. But in one piece. There is a frown for the mention of delicious fried foods, and a protest on his tongue if that expression is one to go by, but it dies before he's taken the breath to voice it, sinking down into his chair in silence. It's the shot of whisky set before him that gets D'had a side-eye. "I don't know if I should be drinking…" especially not hard stuff. But he might have a sip of beer…

"Ooooh, you read my mind," F'inn groans at the sight of the whiskey. Immediately reaching for the glass, he takes a long swallow, relishing the burn before setting it back on the table. "That is not even the tip of the tip of the iceberg," he assures with a baleful glance toward the stack of paperwork. "I had no idea that people filed so many requisitions." So. Many. Course, he's quick to snag K'zre's whiskey, all to happy to slide it over in front of himself. "Nothing out of the ordinary? No sign of runner traffic?" Course as he speaks, the food is set on the table, a smile slanted up to the server before he glances between two. "Injuries?"

"Never asked for my opinion," D'had remarks as to the discussion of paperwork. "Coulda told you that." He shrugs then, sipping again at his drink. "And," this to K'zre now, "You're off duty, its been a long day. And its my turnday, this one's on me." If there's any time suited for a drink its now. "Nothing major," he goes on, attention turning more towards F'inn again at that. "The usual." Cuts, scrapes, mild burns. All in a day's work though. Right?

"It's your turnday?" The question is coupled with a frown and a very long study of the bluerider before Kez, with a sigh, reaches out to snag his stolen whisky back from his weyrmate. "Just the one," he decides, for the drink. Because who is he to argue with social conventions? But that glass will sit in front of him a bit longer before he gets the courage to actually pick it up and drink it, the greenrider using the excuse of newly arrived food and F'inn's questions as a means of distraction. "There is always paperwork," he notes matter-of-factly. "Who do you think all of those sweep and wing reports went to?" If he didn't know, now he does! "The injuries were superficial at best," he adds, following D'had's report of 'the usual'. "Nothing that required more than first aid." As for mysterious riders? "I didn't see anything…" Probably because he was… no where near that particular firebreak.

F'inn raises his own glass of whiskey toward D'had. "Happy Turnday, D'had." Tossing back the contents in one long swallow, he exhales a chuckle as he sets it on the table and snags a fried pickle off the plate. "Good, good.." Course, he's worried about the rumors of renegades lurking in the woods, but for now, that's enough to have him visibly relaxing. Course, he can't help slanting a grin at K'zre, his head giving a slow shake. "They go to me." And he is overjoyed. No, really. "It's interesting, though, knowing what is going on with wings I almost never deal with." It's the last though that has him frowning faintly, his head giving a mild shake. "Hopefully things stay quiet through the winter."

Okay, that was not supposed to be what they picked up on. Well, they weren't supposed to pick up on anything from all that really. As for that drink, its the good stuff, nice and smooth. D'had is content to sip around conversation with only a nod to acknowledge that yes - it is his turnday and the fact that F'inn wishes it a happy one. At least they both had enough sense to not ask how many. He just shakes his head for the glance that goes between the two of them. "Prioritization," he says a finger pointing towards the stack of reports and then to K'zre, "You make sure he doesn't spend all his time in an office."

Who would've thought there'd be a day where K'zre is being encouraged to make sure F'inn does not work too hard?? And he's AGREEING TO IT?! Because there's definitely a murmured, "Of course," in return for D'had's instructions. It might have more to do with his stance that, "Sitting at a desk for too long is very bad for your health," rather than any sort of… work-life balance however. "They go to you now," agrees Kez as he snags one of those pickle spears for himself. "But before that? My point is that someone had to have been reading them. They don't just… get written for no reason." Or maybe they do. And while he might not ask D'had how old he is (because Kez is either smart enough to know that's not polite, or more interested in his OTHER question) but he will ask, "When did you read Wing reports?"

"That," F'inn acknowledges as he scrubs a hand over his eyes. "Is something I need to conciously work on. I mean, I know to handle what is most important first… Just everyone thinks that /their/ particular issue is so much more immediate then the other person's issue." But he's not worried about. Yes, he has a stack of papers to go through at some point tonight, but it can wait. "Any word from Xanadu," he asks K'zre as he finishes off his pickle and reaches for the mug of beer. Of course, he assumes that Kez is keeping close contact with the Xanadu healers. "I ran laps," F'inn promises K'zre. "Shards, I read one report /while/ running laps." Cause there is no way F'inn can tolerate sitting for overly long. "Ran the stairs to the admin complex four or five times, as well." Cause, you know, glutes are important.

"Always do," D'had replies about everyone believing their's is most important. "But you'll figure it out," he adds with a smirk towards F'inn. His gaze narrows at K'zre's other question, the answer put off in favor of a sip of the liquor in hand and other questions. Better questions, at least as far as he's concerned. "You hear anything more from Xanadu?" He can't help but laugh for at the bronzerider's seeming inability to sit still for all that paper.

Dark eyes narrow at D'had, though K'zre's look is studious rather than put-off. Question dodged, and while he might be nosy (and oblivious) enough to repeat it, his efforts are cut off by F'inn's question and D'had's backing it up. In the wake of a bite of pickle, Kez offers a curt shake of his head. "I'm not sure what you mean by 'word'," he admits. "But yes," comes in answer to the bluerider. "I went to… investigate," aka: be snoopy, "and it's not good. Unfortunately, it seems that the rumors are true — even the… less believable ones." Zombie sleep-walking children? Totes. "No one has died, but it is… rampant." Spreading like wildfire with no end in sight. "I am glad we are in Fort, and far removed from it." Famous las works Kez… Dun dun duuuuuuuuun.

F'inn is, and has always been a very active fellow. Sitting still is simply not something he can stand to do. Reaching for the potatos, he pops a couple in his mouth, his legs stretching out under the table. Course, there is a furrow in his brow that makes it clear that he's worried about the situation in Xanadu, particularly since he has two very young sisters of his own. "Do they know how it is transmitted, yet?" Really, the whole thing is pretty unbelievable as far as F'inn is concerned. And, had K'zre not seen it with his own eyes? He'd likely not believe most of what is being said.

D'had is oblivious to that look from the greenrider. Or at least he's good at pretending. Avoidance tactics successful. This time at least. The man frowns however at the other's confirmation of what's going on at Xanadu. Blowing out a breath he then finishes off his drink, setting the empty glass back on the table. "Ain't nothing we can do about it from here, but let the healers do their work." Not that he sounds terrible happy about the inability to do anything, but its the truth.

A shake of K'zre's head accompanies his, "They don't really know anything," in answer to the transmition question. "They're too busy… dealing with it." Or, trying too. It's enough to have him reaching for that whisky, by-passing the toast and going straight to the drinking part. A toss of his head sends the shot down his throat. "There are rumors that Monaco has a few now, as well," he adds. Because isn't that just wonderful? "But there are no reported deaths yet." So… there is that. "They are doing everything they can." Those healers, whom Kez will defend because… he is one of them. "But there is not much to do…" It is an echo of D'had's words, truly, and comes with a reach of the greenrider's hand for his weyrmate's mug of beer (because it is somehow better than his own? Who knows) to sip at. "No," he agrees. "There is nothing we can do from here…"

"I'm more worried about it spreading to Fort," F'inn admits. "We get shipments in from Xanadu fairly regularly." And it if is something that can be easily transmitted? Course, he's not so secretly concerned about his sisters, as well. "Monaco?" Frowning, F'inn sits up straighter, one hand raising to drag through his hair. "What is a few?" Scowling, he slumps back in his chair, resolving to write to S'van the moment they get back to their weyr. "If their healers are to busy dealing with it, then maybe we need to see about other healers getting involved? Surely that is already the process of being arranged?"

D'had glances towards that now empty glass of his, frowning deeper the more he's hearing. "They'll find something," he comments. "Once they do, then we'll see." Hope is a place to start, though he's worried about it all too even if it's not saying it out loud. "Look if anything comes up that we can help with, I'll be the first to volunteer." He for one doesn't like being helpless.

Kez can offer no more than he already has, and he'll scowl all the more for it. "I don't know," he admits to F'inn. "Four? I tried speaking with Cinni, but she didn't respond." Probably because she's busy doing healer things. "The Hall is involved," he adds, defensive. "And they're doing everything they can." He might be Search and Rescue officially, but K'zre will always be a healer at heart. "There isn't anything we can do right now." This, though, is more for F'inn than D'had, though the words are sufficient for both. "Maybe you," and again, for F'inn, "can see if Th'ero will allow volunteers?" Even if Kez maybe… kinda-sorta… has already been sneaking down to help.

"You and me, both," F'inn admits Course, in reality, he knows that whatever needs to be done, he'll likely be doing it from Fort. "I'll.. Maybe I'll fly down and talk to S'van," he offers to K'zre. "I haven't talked to him in a while." It's the defensive tone that has him leaning forward, not so much as a care given for the fact that they are not alone as he brushes a kiss over K'zre's lips. "I know they are," he assures as he leans back in his chair. "I have no doubt that the healers are working very hard. What I meant was that perhaps Fort can lend a hand in regards to looking at the disease, itself. I'll definately talk to Th'ero about it," he assures. "If it's already spread to Monaco.. Well, better to get ahead of it, then have to catch up to it."

D'had rubs his face which only serves to smear the dirt more. "I ain't no healer," he notes, he's not but then he doesn't know that K'zre was/is either. "They need to be able to do their job, but I'll help where I can when I can. You both have a point, don't need it spreading here if there's anything anyone can do to prevent it." Beat. "For now, I need a bath." Nough said. If his drink wasn't already finished, he'd do so now before standing. "Let me know." If they need him, they'll find him.

D'had might just get wind of K'zre's old (current?) profession sooner than he thinks. The greenrider is not shy about it, and often brings his kit along with him on Search and Rescue rides. Someone is sure to tell him, if Kez doesn't do it himself. But for now, maybe it's that altogether very defensive expression and posture that might give his background away. Kez certainly doesn't look happy in the leastm and even the kiss from his weyrmate does little to smooth that scowl. "They are looking at the disease. The Hall is—" but he just stops there, the last word a bit of a hiss as he huffs in annoyance and grabs for the beer. A few swallows later and he's… maybe a little better? A flick of a glance for D'had, and maybe it's the soot (or the mention of a bath) that reminds him of his own state of being. "I should, too." Get a bath. "I'm going home," he announces, sliding the beer back toward F'inn and snagging a slice of fried pickle on his way to standing. "Don't be long with… that." The paperwork.

F'inn glances up at D'had as he stands, noting. "Thunderbird needs a Wingleader, you should think about it." Because frankly speaking, F'inn respects the man and thinks he'd be a damned fine choice. Finishing off his beer, he rolls to his feet, as well, stepping over to loop an arm around K'zre's shoulders. Blinking once, he leans back and scoops up his paperwork, tucking it neatly under the other arm. "I'll do this at home." Cause he's going to unruffle the greenrider's feathers, first. "Take care, D'had," he calls as he escorts his weyrmate out.

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