Fort Weyr - Weyrlingmaster's Office
Large and fairly spacious, the Weyrlingmaster's office appears to have been fashioned for the dedicated, dutiful rider that undoubtedly will end up spending most of their days in here doing hidework. Several tapestries hang about the room in way of decoration; one large one hanging on the wall directly across the doorway is spun in the colors of Fort Weyr, the fort clearly visible amidst the black background. A bright, diamond-shaped marking upon the front of the fort gleams a bright peridot, undoubtedly for the weyrlings' wing. Settled in the center of the office, beneath the Fortian tapestry, is a large, polished desk made of durable sky-broom wood.

Zuvaleyuth's mind enters as gently as normal, the stream flowing but the setting she brings with is a storm, the glacier of her mind dark and onminous with no light to make one aware of the presence of danger. « I would like to inform your rider that mine makes her way to his office. I, additionally, extend my apologies for her state… » Her tone is not, despite the words, condescending. Instead? They linger in the realm of sorrow filled.

Aycheth is pulled from a dozing nap but alert within heartbeats of the sensation of the flowing stream of water and darkened mind of the gold reaching for him. « He knows and is waiting in his office. No apologies needed. She is always welcomed. The weyrlings are away with training, so there will be no disturbances for now. » A safe zone, in other words, if that is what is needed. The blue is curious but he dares not press for further information. He will learn what he needs to learn from his rider soon enough.

She will find the Weyrlingmaster behind his desk and the surface littered with reports and old hides, scrolls and paperwork galore. M'icha has been busy the last few days and doubly so now that the Weyrlings are airborne. He pauses in his reading however when Aycheth sends word of the Weyrwoman's arrival and possible 'state'. That's new! Frowning, he will set the papers aside and stand, limping forwards to rekindle the fire in the modest hearth and also rummage around for a few glasses. It's no secret that he keeps a flask on him. What is inside is the question! Whatever it is, it's not meant for sharing but he does have a few bottles of alcohol stashed and well hidden. Shh, don't tell the Weyrlings!

The office door is opened after Zuvaleyuth recieves word back. It is likely that she's waited at the door until the Weyrlingmaster's been informed. Or, she is simply slow moving. And from the look of the Weyrwoman, it is likely the latter that is the more accurate of statements. She does not look like a bright, confident Weyrwoman. Eyes are tearful while she is struggling to remain composed. "I'm sorry I didn't…" The door shuts quietly behind her. "I don't have… I can't…" A struggle for words, and for breath. The small thread holding everything together snaps and she begins to cry without restraint, sinking down against the door and drawing into herself, hugging her knees to her chest.

M'icha had to crouch down to dig into the hidden alcove that he hides the bottles in and manages to snag a few and set them on the side table just as the Weyrwoman comes in. "Ah, good timing! Just got the refreshments…" Out. He never finishes though, as his train of thought derails the moment his eyes see exactly what 'state' the Weyrwoman is in. Next thing he knows, Dtirae is sinking down to the floor and crying. Well… this is unexpected? "Aw, shit. What happened now?" he drawls, not exactly rushing to her side but he does pull the stopper from the bottle of amber coloured liquid and pours a generous shot of it. Liquor in hand, he limps his way over and with some (a lot) of difficulty he crouches down and offers it to her. Even if he has to wrap her hands around the glass and help her through taking the shot. It'll be strong, whatever it is and taste like spice and cinnamon. "Deep breaths, now. That's it." he murmurs, frowning heavily and so many unanswered questions bitten back.

Dtirae doesn't hear that start of a greeting, not with how she's come in. She'll likely recall later on, when she's not in a state. Her face is hidden on her knees, and she just cries as the Weyrlingmaster goes about puring a glass of the amber liquid. This continues, until he's crouching down near her. There's a mumbled apology as he does so. She remembers his injury, at least. She looks up to the offered glass, and takes it with feeble hands. The shot is taken, her face contorts into a wince at the strength of it, clearly not expecting whatever this was. But, it stops the crying, at least. Otherwise she'd've choked on it and it would have been a mess. Deep breaths are taken at his instruction, and though tears continue, she is at least managing to breathe, now. "I'm sorry…"

M'icha waves off that first apology and likely any more that follow. "Don't fret about that." he mutters and grimaces. He wasn't deaf while he poured that shot, he heard her crying and so many scenarios play out in his head as to the cause. All duty related of course and already he's assuming it has something to do with the Weyrleader or something Weyr-related. Satisfied that the shot has done the trick for now, he reaches out to grip her shoulder firmly. Both in comfort and both as leverage so he can stand again. He doesn't let her go though and whether she likes it or not the Weyrlingmaster is attempting to pull her to her feet. Unless she struggles or fights, that is. Then he will leave her be. But his next goal is to guide her to a chair, pour another drink and hand her the glass. This stuff is milder, much like a sweetened whiskey. "I'm used to having distraught weyrlings come through that door. Gotta be a first for a Weyrwoman though." he says in dry humour. "Not that I mind in the least, but I have to say it's a bit concerning. What's got you so upset?" Do tell? He fixes himself a drink too before taking his usual chair, settling into it heavily.

He may be really disappointed that it isn't Weyr-related, as very few things that are Weyr-related would make her cry. Unless Th'ero died, but, everyone would be aware in that scenario. As he grips her shoulder, she'll allow him to use her as leverage, but clearly not expecting him to haul her up with him. She doesn't fight it, however, allowing him to guide her to a chair where she sinks down into it. The glass is taken with a soft thanks, and she sips at it quietly. Grey eyes don't really lift to meet his gaze, but there is a faint smile for his joke until she sobers again and slouches slightly into the chair. "I'm sorry…" A soft sigh, and she lowers the glass to rest on her legs, staring at the liquid in it. "D'ani broke up with me… Said he felt like he was leading me on. Said all sorts of flowery things to make it sound like it was all about him with the problem…" Fingers tighten around the glass and tears begin again, but the sobs don't follow. "I actually cared about him… I actually… Wanted something more with him. And I don't know what to do. I… I don't ever want to do this again. I don't want to care like this again and all I can think about is how awful I feel right now. It's so stupid."

Everyone would be very much aware of that and M'icha wouldn't be calmly sitting in his office doing paperwork. He'd have eight extremely upset weyrlings to console! Luckily (or not), it seems to just be a crisis with Dtirae and the Weyrlingmaster is in a patient mood to wait her out though his frown is heavy and his eyes watch her carefully even after she is settled into the chair. Sipping at his drink, he listens quietly and his expression betrays nothing at first. "Stop apologizing." he says without pause but without much authority behind his voice. Then it becomes all clear. All this for a broken heart. M'icha sighs, "Of course it feels stupid. That's love or… heartbreak or whatever you wanna call it. It sucks. A kick in the teeth would be more preferred, huh?" he drawls and takes a deeper swig of his drink this time before setting it on the edge of his desk and leaning heavily back into his chair, fixing Dtirae with his eyes. One's that seem distant and aloof but somewhere in there he cares. She was his weyrling once. Or is there more to it? It takes him a moment to find the words to speak, scrapping many before he mutters. "Not much you can do. But beatin' yourself up ain't usually the way to go."

No further apologies come when he tells her to stop. But, she doesn't look up at him, just sipping at her drink quietly as she trys to pull herself together and put all the pieces bad. "I'd rather… Yes. I'd rather be kicked in the teeth. Or punched in the face. Anything that isn't this." Because this is different than anything she's dealt with. Eyes close and she takes a deep breath, hiding her tears with the tilt of her head. "I know I can't do anything. It hurts and… I don't want it to be over but there's no point in dragging it out. I wish I could just… Get over this. Every other time it was just… Go find another guy until I felt better. Don't let myself feel anything for them. But he was different and… Now it is done." The rest of the drink is downed suddenly, grey eyes looking to the Weyrlingmaster as she settles the empty glass on the desk. "What do I do…?"

M'icha smirks and says little else while Dtirae speaks, letting her work through it and vent with a neutral but understanding look on his face. Some may say he looks uncaring or acts that way when it's quite the opposite. He's just not one to gush and exclaim with sugary words and canned reassurances. Neither will he be overly physical with the hugging. The clasp to the shoulder earlier was enough for now. When her glass is empty, he simply nudges the bottle over to her. It's not the answer to her question, that follows afterwards. "What do you do?" he drawls and exhales heavily, shrugging his shoulders helplessly. "Not much you can do. Ain't going to sweeten it for you and say it'll get better and all. Somehow I think you've already kind of figured that out yourself. It stings, it hurts and it sucks. Only thing I know of to get over it is to… DO things. Keep your mind occupied. Which wouldn't be hard for ya, since yer the Werywoman and all. Take some time for yourself. Go hunt!" Or something! "You'll get over it. Don't seem like it now but it's fresh. Just gotta grit yer teeth and work through it. Or…" He wriggles his glass suggestively. "You get rip roarin' drunk. However! That never solves anything and we both know it. Then you just wake up still feeling like shit with the worlds worst hangover on top of it all!"

Perhaps it was a neutral party that she sought. Rather than going to someone who would sympathize with her, tell her what a jerk D'ani was, or anything like that… She's sought someone who will simply give it as it is, and without all the hugging mushy stuff that comes from girl-talks. "I guess." There's a soft sigh, and she slowly sits up and attempts to right herself. Any hair that got out of place is pushed back before seh's leaning in to take the bottle, refilling her glass and then sitting back to sip at her drink. "Probably better to grit my teeth and work through it. Got drunk over my feelings for him once, and I don't need to go doing it again." It's a sort of defeated tone she takes, and shoulders slouch a bit before she takes another sip of her drink. "I'll just… Pretend my feelings for him are gone. And just move on…"

M'icha begins to nod his head, only to abruptly stop and fix her with a look for her last comment. Leaning forwards, he points at her with his finger, the rest curled still around his glass as he picks it up as well. "Dtirae," he says firmly and now his voice does take on that peculiar tone. A Weyrlingmaster scolding an errant weyrling or… a father putting a daughter back in line. "That ain't no way to go about it either! That's worse than getting your brain all muddled on alcohol. Stupid to just ignore it. Shutting down solves nothing either and you're damn better than that!" So there. Sitting back again, he finishes the last of his drink. "So what are you going to do?" Let's try this again.

Dtirae tenses at the firm useage of her name, looking properly like a child scolded. Her drink is held firmly, and she gives him a guilty look. "I… I know. But, that's… What I'm good at." She sighs softly and lifts the drink to sip at it quietly. She doesn't answer his question right away, considering softly. "Move on. I can't pretend that… That nothing happened, but, I… Just don't let it get into anything else. Don't let it effect work…"

M'icha is a patient man under most situations. This would be one of them and he lets her speak her piece and work through it but her answer leaves him shaking his head and grimacing. "Move on, yes. Pretending it never happened? Bad idea, girl." Girl? Can he even call the Weyrwoman that? "No, you don't want it to affect your work. That makes sense. But blocking it out entirely? Don't do it. You can't just… run from things like this. As much as it hurts. It'll just fester in here," He taps the side of his head. "And here." He taps the centre of his chest. "And while you think you've got it nailed and buried, it'll always come back. You're just gonna have to cope, Dtirae. Know it's not your style but… gotta change sometimes, ya know? Not fair to D'ani either if he's just forgotten like that. Sure, it didn't work out but who's to say you can't just revert back to — whatever it was you guys were before. In time. Not saying you hafta do that now."

Apparently, he can! Dtirae won't protest him calling her by such. She is younger than him, after all. There's a frown and then she sighs, taking another drink. "That's true…" The rest of the drink follows the previous sip and the empty glass is placed back down. She doesn't go for a refill, though. "I… Yeah. Cope, I guess. I don't see why it wouldn't be fair to him." Now? Now she's being petulant. "He said he cares but that's it. There wasn't anything more than that." Arms fold and she heaves a sigh, louder than the previous. "I guess we could be friends again. But… No, not now. I don't think… I could handle it…"

M'icha will take the bottle back now, under the pre tense that he wants to pour himself a drink. Rather then set it on the desk again though, he's tucking it away again. After all that talk about getting drunk, he's not about to leave the temptation out and staring her in the face. His frown deepens, almost a scowl with the way his mouth twists back when the Weyrwoman becomes petulant. "S'alright to be mad, but you gotta look at it from all angles. Can't be easy for him to do this either! Trust me. I've been on both ends when it comes to relationships sourin'. And if he says he cares, then you just gotta take it as that." He shrugs, though with her sighing his expression does soften a bit. "Not right this second, no. But don't consider it impossible either. Sometimes our strongest and best relationships come from friendships and nothing more."

Dtirae watches the bottle disappear with a very slight frown. But, it is likely for the best that it is taken away. "… I guess it isn't easy, either." She admits after a moment. A hand lifts and fingers pinch the bridge of her nose and she gives a weak little shrug in a sort of acceptance. "I… I don't think I can think about that right now. Or even consider it. Maybe later." Maybe never. She sighs yet again and then slowly begins to lift herself from the chair. "Thank you, M'icha… I think… I should just go sleep off the rest of the day…" And have Zuvaleyuth inform Velokraeth that she will be unavailable until tomorrow.

M'icha watches her carefully again and if he's disappointed, he hides it well. What shows instead is his concern but he does not shower her with sympathy. She's going to have to dig herself out, though hopefully she realizes she's not alone in it. "Later. Sleep right now may be a good idea. Like I said, take some time for yourself! Go hunt, alone or with those you trust. They don't need to know anything about what just happened. Just go and unwind. Neutral things." he suggests again and pushing to his feet, he will nod his head. "Anytime. Door is always open, less I'm out with the Weyrlings." With that offer extended, he with dip his head in farewell and let her see herself out. Not out of rudeness, but his leg is likely protesting his earlier crouch and hauling the Weyrwoman to her feet. "Be well, Dtirae."

"Possibly one of my better ideas." Dtirae murmurs and then nods to his suggestion. "We'll see what tomorrow brings and… I'll make plans." There's a moment of hesitation in which she looks as if she may extend a hand, or maybe walk around the desk and give the man a hug. But, she doesn't and instead makes her way towards the office door. "Thank you." As for his final comment, she nods and then quietly departs, making her way to her weyr and then promptly falling asleep as soon as she hits the bed.