Fort Weyr - Weyrsecond's and Jr. Weyrwomen's Office

Aged by time, just like the other offices carved into the stone, these ones have lived through the ages of Fort with the only change given to time being subtle ones to the decor as new staff come to fill the space. Situated next to the Weyrleader's Office, the small cavern leads into a spacious alcove of sorts before branching into two separate directions. On the right it leads to the Weyrsecond's personal office, a modest sized room complete with all the necessary furnishings required, along with a few shelves, a book shelf and storage for records and reports. On the left, it leads to the Junior Weyrwomen's offices and this larger room is set with three desks rather than one, along with all the other necessities needed. Both offices have small hearths built in to offer some warmth in the colder months and as there are no windows, several glow baskets have been installed to offer enough light and a few tapestries hung to offer a touch of color. Doors have also been painstakingly worked in, allowing some privacy if needed, though often they are left.


Spring is coming, and so far, that hasn't been good news. An avalanche has struck Fort Hold, and the Weyr has responded. Is still responding, with riders away at the Hold to aid those affected. The news spreads fast, as it always does among dragonriders. It's slower to reach the non-riders, but that's what gossip is for, and certain bits of news… Borodin stomps into the room with a scowl the size of his face. Lingering around him - as there usually is, given his vocation - is the scent of half-brewed beer. Niceties like 'checking for others in the room' or 'saying hello' are entirely ignored. He fixes his gaze on the Weyrsecond, then crosses the cavern and flings himself down onto one of the chairs provided for D'ani's guests. Not that he… is one, exactly. Not an invited one, anyway. He doesn't appear to care, glaring across the Weyrsecond's desk. "Why," he asks without prelude, "-are dragons so damn important?"

The Weyr is indeed still responding with the Weyrleader and Thunderbird heading up the rescue efforts at the scene and the offices of the Weyrwoman and Weyrsecond coordinating the organization at Fort Weyr. As such there are wingseconds, healers and headwoman's assistants scuttling between the two offices as orders are relayed and tasks delegated. The doors of both are likely open to facilitate traffic flow but neither office are quiet between visits for there's overlap, you see. The Weyrsecond has two wingseconds standing before his desk - he's seated. There's a checklist on the surface before him and he's just saying (probably for the second or third time by the look of forced patience on his face), "That's what Dremkoth said, 'take the group to the north side of the hold with the shovels and picks'. If Th'ero wants people in the courtyard, he'll redirect you on-scene. Drop them-" Enter Borodin, mild of manner, short of word and evasive of eye. Only not today. D'ani's brown eyes follow his progress to that vacant chair, blink at the glare and stare some more for the question. He did not study for this quiz. Therefore he has no frame of reference. How this has to do with the current situation, he's unsure. Borodin is studying vitner things, that's all he knows. One hand flutters the wingseconds off while he guesses, "Did… something happen to your newest batch? And do I have a drunk dragon in the bowl to deal with?" Blame it on the chaos!

The wingseconds turn as one to eye the interloper. One splutters to have his argument cut short the other simply frowns. Both stand there, reluctant to depart.

Not today, no. Today, Borodin glares across the desk without the slightest sign of dropping his gaze. He hasn't looked at his shoes even once, and his shoulders are jutted out sideways to make him elbow-jabbing prickly instead of drawn in to make him look small. He's got a pair of wingseconds flanking him, and he doesn't even seem to notice them. He's got more important things on his mind. Like… "What?" The suggestion of what's wrong throws him for a moment, and he blinks, stares at D'ani with incomprehension. Him. Vintner. Right. "That doesn't matter." He sweeps it away with a jerk of one hand. "The dragons are fine. But people… people are so sharding stupid." The confusion is fading, anger returning to replace it. He hasn't noticed he's interrupting the coordination response, either. Or that he's got an audience beyond his intended one. "They think it makes them different. You-" he points a finger accusingly at D'ani. "You don't just do what Dremkoth says. It's not him. It's you."

The windseconds continue to stare. The frowny one takes a step to loom over Borodin, the other, after a few beats, guffaws. The movement and laughter recalls the weyrsecond from stunned perplexity with which he's regarding the vitner. "Out," he says firmly to the two of them, pointing at the door. "You have your orders. Go carry them out." They depart, muttering and D'ani returns his attention to the younger man. No drunk dragons, check! Stupid people? Yeah, that's par for the course! He's unruffled but confused. There's a long silence while he regards Borodin and his accusing finger. "Ye-e-e-e-e-s," he agrees slowly, "it's me, not him." He grimaces slightly as he amends, "In most cases." He scans the anger on the features of Borodin further, a small wrinkle of concern etches the spot between his brows. "Borodin, what's this all about?"

There's a shadow across Borodin. That, he notices. He looks up - still with the glare - at that wingsecond. He opens his mouth, and whatever it is he's about to say would probably be a really, really bad idea, especially with the laughter of the other in his ears. So it's fortunate that D'ani gets in there first, and Borodin instead shuts his mouth and looks back to the Weyrsecond. He has his question, and he stares until he gets his answer. Yes. Borodin nods sharply, satisfied. His finger lowers, then flicks sideways at the amendment. "Flights." His tone is low, short even given that it's a single word, and then he slumps back into the chair, reaching up both hands to comb back from his forehead and then tighten in his hair, pulling handfuls of it taut. "Abbey. She's…" He swallows, and then the anger's back. "Everything's about being a rider. About dragons. She's busy because of dragons. She has a baby because of dragons. What I say doesn't matter, because I don't understand, because dragons." His voice rises with each phrase, growing louder. Never mind that their immediate audience is gone, Borodin may find a new one. His hands clench to fists in his hair. "And now she's -" The anger breaks with his voice, but his hands stay pulling at his hair as he finishes the sentence. "- she's in the avalanche. Because dragons. Because she doesn't think."

The pair of wingseconds are not in the Weyrsecond's good graces right now, so had Borodin had the opportunity to speak, D'ani would have allowed it to pass while still booting them from his office. He nods a silent yeah, to the singular flights. "Those… can be…awkward," he admits, subtly encouraging the other to continue while at the same time wondering what the shells it has to do with today's crisis. Abbey he says and D'ani tries to follow, he really does. For the moment, he passes over all the rest, brown eyes leveled on Borodin patiently. The crafter will get to it in a minute- ah! "Search and rescue is her job," he says soothingly. "Abey's well-trained. She'll be fine. You needn't worry, Borodin." Yeah, see worry is oft manifested as anger, so this is his assumption that this is what's bothering Borodin. Problem solved?

And Borodin's likely not in the good graces of either of those wingseconds, now. Not that he reports to them, of course, but subordinate relationships aren't required to make things interesting. He's not thinking about it now, though. Flights? Yeah, they aren't really his concern either, and so while he nods to that, it's a passing agreement. Awkward, annoying, all the rest of it. Whatever. It's the rest that's really the problem - the part that's incomprehensible to D'ani. Good job choosing someone to talk to, Borodin! Not only does this distract the Weyrsecond during disaster response, but he doesn't even get it! Search and Rescue is his sister's job, yes, and Borodin's hands go still… then, as D'ani continues to reassure, push in, no longer pulling the hair but instead grinding knuckles in against his skull for a moment. "…she damn well better be. Not that she'd hear it from me." His hands drop to his face, and he mutters, bitter, "…I'm not a rider."

D'ani observes the continued tension in the younger man across from his desk. So… this isn't about Abigail putting herself in danger? He does have a disaster response to help coordinate. His mind is geared for it, has been all afternoon since every person presenting a need crossing the threshold of his office has been related to it. It takes a few moments for the weyrsecond's mind to switch gears and even then… it doesn't quite fully. He leans forward, brown eyes earnest, "Hey, you're still her brother. Human nature doesn't change simply because a person impresses." It's obvious that Borodin is distraught, so he adds sincerely, "You're welcome to remain and talk to me, if you don't mind interruptions. I may not be a huge help but I know Abbey. We were weyrlings together."

Abigail has been putting herself in danger since long before she became a guard - or a search and rescue rider - officially. Borodin worries about her, but it's a familiar sort of concern. Almost comfortable, in a way. An unpleasant, stomach twisting sort of way, but still. Borodin's hands drop at the fact that he's Abigail's brother. So do his eyes, and he frowns down at the edge of D'ani's desk as the Weyrsecond continues. "…no. It doesn't." Now he sounds more like the Borodin everyone knows. There's a flick of his eyes up at the offer to remain, a quick rise and then a slow descent again. Oh look, D'ani has a pencil. Imagine that. The knowledge of Abbey makes his jaw set. "I don't. Not anymore."

Amazingly, the traffic through the weyrsecond's door has seemed to have, for now, stopped. D'ani continues to regard Borodin steadily as he vacillates - the half-rise, the settling back. He has a pencil, some pens, a blotter, file trays, books - on bovine healing, no less, a plant - probably Inri's attempt to decorate the office space he shares with her - any number of things Borodin can glare at. He brings to mind the things Borodin said before and the bitterness with which he'd said them, asks quietly, Has she changed that much or is it her focus and topic of conversation has shifted?" Because… he never knew Abbey before she impressed. "Doe she try to help you understand her?"

It's good of D'ani and his desk to provide Borodin with options; the vintner might get nervous about glaring at any one thing for too long. It could start glaring back. He hmphs at somewhere around the word 'changed' - an angry protest that he's not just delusional, rising up and battered back down, at least long enough to let D'ani speak. A change of focus? "…she…" he begins, and then his eyes lift up. "Hah." It's not really a laugh. Too loud. Too bitter. Too short. "She doesn't want me to understand. She just tells me I'm supposed to accept it." He shrugs, a hunch of his shoulders. "To get it. And she won't talk to me until I do."

At the hmph, D'ani half-shakes his head, appeal in his brown eyes, as he says gently, "Help me out here, Borodin; I have no family to tell me I'm different than I was." He's not insinuating anything is imagined. "I still feel like me but my family might say otherwise." He really doesn't know though! He listens, a frown forming on his mouth. "She… won't? But… how are you supposed to get it without her telling you how it is with her? It's… so different with everyone." He's troubled. This… doesn't sound like the Abigail he knows, but he has no reason to doubt Borodin.

Borodin does accept that appeal - at least from D'ani. There's a flick of a nod, a lowering of his gaze. Bovine healing. Hah. He glares at that quite well. Accepting things don't make them easy to deal with, but at least he's trying to shut his mouth and only open it when he has something useful to say. Like. "There's only ever one way with her." And he has to admit, with that - "Always has been." So that hasn't changed. "But she's forgotten everything about… about not being a rider." How is he supposed to understand? "She just tells me it's because of the dragons." Borodin looks up to D'ani again, frowns. "It's not Niumdreoth's fault."

D'ani has had many quiet turns amongst the cattle, placid creatures for the most part unless something threatened them. He's had time to do lots of thinking, but mostly he listened. Pain and stress can be picked up in vocalizations, after all. He listens now to Borodin, more the way he speaks but also to the words. "You're right; it isn't. But… what exactly isn't Niumdreoth's fault, Borodin?" He knows nothing about what's gone on between between the siblings, so to him the logical thing is simply to ask, "What happened?"

Borodin lets out his breath, and leans forward, putting his elbows against the edge of D'ani's desk and putting his head in against his hands. What isn't Niumdreoth's fault? "…who she sleeps with." Because let's just get to the point. Borodin stares at the desk, and it's only a moment later when he adds, "And I don't mean flights." Because that's different. He doesn't like it, but … that, he can accept. "I was born a holder. And so was she." His head tilts, staring at a part of the desk closer to him. Because the rest of it is too much D'ani's. "Not anymore. And so now she doesn't have time for me."

Ah. Holdbred. "So was I." A pause, while D'ani frowns, forcing himself to go there, "If it were my sisters… I'd be upset too-" A glance flicked at Borodin while he makes guesses in the dark, "-if they got casual about it and-" his frown intensifies, "-they weren't attached." He's guessing, of course, but it's a Weyr. There's a lot of casual abounding here. He tries reading between the lines, leans back to consider. While a hand lifts to rub the back of his neck, he assures Borodin, "Aside from flights, no, it's not Nuimdreoth's fault. But I can tell you that sometimes, in the aftermath of the flight…urges are tough to… ignore." This… isn't awkward at all, is it? His hand remains on his neck, squeezes. "I can… make myself… uhh, walk away. Others, eh." He coughs. "Give in." His eyes lift from his own desktop back to Borodin. "She's avoiding you?"

Borodin's eyes flick up to D'ani. Another holder. So maybe he sort of understands (not that Abigail does). The eyes don't stay lifted for long, because this conversation is one to be had while staring at a desk. Casual about it, and his fingers bury in his hair. Not attached? They tighten into knots. "She has a baby with a man from another weyr I haven't even met. She says it's my problem that I'm… upset. By that." His hands give another tug at his hair, then release it as he lifts his head enough to look at D'ani. "She doesn't just give in." His hands lower, curve on themselves. "She doesn't want to see me, because I'm not okay with it." He hunches his shoulders into a shrug, keeps them together as he sinks back in the chair. "…and now she's probably got hypothermia or something from being caught in the avalanche." He was paying attention to the healers after that ice-floe adventure. "But she won't even want to see me. Because I'm still upset."

D'ani regards the hair-pulling. "Easy on your poor hair, Borodin. There'll come a day you treasure each one." Not that he's speaking from experience, mind! He soaks in the information about Abigail and stifles his desire to wince. She's had the baby? He's guilty of having been too busy to check on a friend. Oops! He simply nods impartially about the father being from another Weyr, though truth be told, if it were his kid sis, he'd… But it isn't and so he gets to be neutral for this situation - yay! "It sounds like you're both having… (he decides to forego the qualifier 'unrealistic') expectations for each other," he observes. "And you're both frustrated because they are unmet." He lets out a long breath, meets Borodin's eyes. "I can understand why you're upset." Then he adds gently, "But I can also understand why Abbey is hurt and doesn't want to see you."

If hair-pulling leads to baldness, Borodin's already doomed. He snorts slightly, but leaves it be. For now. Abigail is his sister - though she's hardly a kid, either by age or relative to him. Twins, yay! …which makes it all the more difficult now that there's something pushing their lives in different directions. Expectations? Sure, he'll admit to those, with a fractional nod. The frustration he gets (vividly and personally), and D'ani's understanding gets a firm and satisfied nod. See? It's not just him, Abbey! He's not the crazy one for not jumping merrily along! …but then D'ani continues, and Borodin's jaw sets. "What am I supposed to do? Lie to her? Tell her I'm happy about it?" He slumps back against the chair, lifts his gaze away from D'ani and to the ceiling. "I'm not. I still want to punch that rider in the face. And so she doesn't want to see me." He has his own conclusions.

Both of D'ani's sisters are younger than he is. He's always sort of 'big brothered' them protectively, but being a twin certainly has different dynamics. His own mouth is tugged - more a twitch than a partial smile - at that satisfied nod. There's really no humor as he shakes his head. "Not at all. You don't have to like it - ever." A glance at those curled hands prompts him to add, "And if you ever want help - say a lift to that other Weyr and a look the other way - so you can punch the guy who knocked her up, just say the word." Oddly enough, coming from someone wearing a weyrsecond's knot, he seems totally sincere. "If it were one of my sisters, I'd be upset too," he repeats, adding, "But she'd still be my sis." To not wanting to see him, he nods, again neutrally, "Perhaps because she feels that you've judged and dismissed her." He shrugs; he doesn't really know for sure. The ceiling Borodin is eying is of stone, washed with a pale color to offset the dark volcanic walls, but there are features of interest. Over near that hearth there's a bit of smoke greying it where people have started fires without checking the flue. There's a spider webbing of cracks that paint cannot hide and if you close one eye and pretend really hard… eh, the mood isn't right for seeing that picture. It's oddly quiet for a Weyr in disaster response; so far no one has come to interrupt them. Into the silence D'ani asks, "Borodin, would you like an ale?"

It's good that Borodin doesn't have to like it, because… he doesn't. D'ani's offer receives a nod, a grunt that's neither yes nor no. The fact that he'd have to find the man is probably enough to make Borodin continue to remember that incidents are bad things and he'd probably be the one beat up at the end of it. That doesn't mean he isn't tempted. Maybe someday, the temptation will outweigh the sense. The ceiling… eh, Borodin's not really interested in the details. It's there. The cracks fit, because hey, life is full of broken things, and… he looks down again, stares at D'ani like he's grown a second head. "Of course she's still my sister." What. "I haven't… I haven't said a word about him for months." Because repression is the answer, right? "And that's not enough. I just…" Ale? "…yes." Yes he would. Even if ale isn't enough either.

And they'd both be in trouble because D'ani wouldn't stand there an allow Borodin to get beat up. The Weyrsecond returns Borodin's stare with a mild look and clarifies easily, "And as they're our sisters we love them." Of course he does, says the slight nod after that, before his lips quirk with a touch of irony. "Girls don't need words to feel slighted or hurt, you know that; they have a sixth sense for disagreement and take it personally as disapproval, even dislike of them." His shrug says it: 'Women! What can you do?' He opens a drawer and take a bottle of ale out, offers it over to the other. "Th'ero left it behind." The label reads, 'Black Damnation'. That… sort of says it all, right? Of course not mentioning the rider isn't enough. He'll wait until Borodin is sipping before he asks casually, "Have you seen your nephew…or is it niece… yet?"

"Well, yeah." Duh. So why won't Abigail accept 'I want to punch the man who knocked you up' as a declaration of brotherly love? Girls! So unreasonable. D'ani has the truth of it, and Borodin agrees with an exhalation and slouch. He takes the bottle with a bob of his head in thanks. The label gets a critical glance - Black Damnation, huh? Not his usual drink, but it fits the mood - and he opens it to take that sip. It's strong stuff, but he's had stronger; vintner and all that. The question makes the bottle pause, then lift for another sip before lowering to answer. "No." He looks down to the bottle. Still ale. "She wouldn't want me around."

Because girls need words even though they often assume things from body language and things not said, go figure! "Have you told her that, Borodin?" A gentle prod. That ale… it's a large bottle, the label says 24% for alcohol…content… proof…who knows? D'ani in't a vitner. It beats beer at the moment and the taste is…dark, which also might fit the mood. The Weyrsecond does not take a bottle for himself; he's on duty. But there's another rolling around in there, which is removed and slid across the surface of his desk where Borodin can reach it. Apparently he has no compunction to plying the distraught vitner with liquor. He leans back in his chair and levels a look at Borodin. "So?" Yep, that's a challenge.

So why don't they ever assume good things? Mushy stuff… ugh. Besides, Borodin tried saying things in words with his first girlfriend, and look where that got him! Admittedly, the girl where he didn't actually say anything… didn't go much better. But that's girls for you - damned if you do, damned if you don't, so Borodin has another swig of Black Damnation. Has he told Abigail? "She wouldn't listen." Or so he assumes, but thinking about saying it should definitely count as saying it. Half credit, at least, though it's an entire 'nother swig he takes. Borodin… heh. He can hold his liquor. If he couldn't before he took that apprenticeship, he certainly learned real fast; on the job training. So, while there's a certain relaxation as the alcohol works through him, he remains upright. "So," he repeats (with diction, even), then hmphs. "…so the kid sure's Faranth needs a guy around that isn't that bastard from Xanadu." Let's leave aside the fact that, according to technical definitions, the kid's the one who's a bastard. Also the questionable nature of Borodin as a role model.

Because girls are just as insecure as guys are that's why. You have to pretend the negative stuff doesn't exist and reinforce the positive and even then girls don't believe you unless you tell them repeatedly. Evidently… girls aren't Borodin's thing. Two girlfriends down and a sister to boot. That's three strikes, man! See, Borodin needs D'ani. Yes because, D'ani made SUCH a neat thing of his relationship with the Weyrwoman. Where's she now? Why, she's abandoned the weyr and disappeared. D'ani has the touch, yeah? "You should tell her anyway," D'ani says firmly. "And keep telling her." And then Borodin answers in a classic manner that has D'ani literally facepalming. It's a slow from forehead to chin scrub, lips dragged down to flap back in place. Too patiently, "Not what I meant," he says through his fingers. He squints over the fingertips still trailing down his face. "You're both… pretty much alike I imagine. Stubborn." He's not tearing at his hair? But he's tempted.

That Weyrwoman, off to arrange an outpost for tending cows. Borodin's first girlfriend? Rode off on a cow. Maybe there's something to be gleaned there? The second one wasn't technically his girlfriend (or… even interested? after how she left, he's not sure just how bad it was), which could explain why her departure involved dolphins instead of cows. Abigail, well. Niumdreoth eats cows. Close enough. This either means Borodin needs to avoid beef, or eat it whenever possible as a form of revenge. "Hmph," he says to saying things. It's not like Abigail does. And she's a girl! She's supposed to do that sort of thing. Not that… she ever has. But in theory! D'ani's facepalm has Borodin staring in incomprehension at the other man. "What?" It seems perfectly reasonable to him! He has another drink, and eyes D'ani like he's the one being unreasonable. Him and Abigail alike? He mulls it over for a moment, then shrugs. "I guess." Time for another drink.

A cow. That… D'ani gave her (before he decided she was crazy). The lesson? Maybe they should be courting the cows. They've great eyes and placid natures and they don't leave until somebody eats them. The weyrsecond drops his hand, brown eyes remaining on Borodin, even with that stare he's getting from the vitner. It's a staring contest! "What I meant was, just. Be there anyway. Whether you think Abbey wants you or not. Don't agree with her, but… be, uh, nice to her. Hug her now and then. Tell her the kid is uh, adorable." He thinks for a minute and adds, "Don't fake it." another tick and he adds, "Don't glare at her." Hey - it's free advice?

Not only that, it's easy to pick out presents for a cow. Hay and… well, flowers. Borodin's romantic life may be looking up! Though the jealous bulls may be a bit of a problem. Oh well, he'll deal with that when he gets to it. First, he's got a sister who is, despite it all, most definitely still his sister. Whether she likes it or not. Borodin actually contends in the staring contest, keeping his eyes on D'ani, but he also listens. Be there? Uh… Borodin's brows arch. That's what he said, isn't it? "I am nice." So he says. The kid? "…what if it's not?" Because he doesn't know, maybe it's a squally brat with three eyes and boils. Some babies are like that, right? "She's never around, anyway." But he has a thoughtful expression, because maybe… maybe there are ways around that.

He can practice his running and dodging skills? Feed the bull a nice, fermented bucket of ale mash before dates? Be there, yes, even after all that protesting that Abbey doesn't want him around; D'ani nods confirmation to that. Borodin's a nice guy! D'ani knew it. "Always thought so," D'ani says amicably. And meek. But he doesn't say it. His smile at the question is a touch sly, "Why then you tell Abbey her babe looks just like its mother." Things have remained quiet. No one's barging through his office door with must-solve-now emergencies. Borodin is no longer yelling. "Would you like me to take you to Fort Hold to find her?"

Girls like rodeo stars, right? So it's win-win. Either he gets dinner and drinks with the cattle, or else he puts on a show and the ladies without hooves will be all over him. Or at least not running and dodging. That would be nice. Borodin? He's nice to Abigail. D'ani's full agreement, he's maybe a little skeptical about, but he has another drink of the ale instead of arguing. It's an answer for many problems! As for the ugly baby scenario? Borodin eyes D'ani for a moment, trying to decide if he's going to be offended. That's his sister! But. He's got two thirds of a Black Damnation in him. "Better'n looking like her dogs." Or the father. Not that Borodin knows what Ers'lan looks like, except 'in need of knuckle prints'. Another drink, and that's when D'ani makes his offer. Borodin doesn't really hesitate, or if he does, it's only enough to lower the bottle. "Yes." And then he lifts it again, so as it not waste the ale. "Uhm, if you can." Because D'ani's an important person, not that he stopped to think about that when he charged in here to interrupt the Weyrsecond's day… but for all Borodin's anger and frustration, there's genuine concern for his sister that's sparked today's outburst.

Nono, really. Who would think Borodin other than a nice guy? Right now, no, but Abbigail's brother has reason to be.. upset…. belligerent and blunt. D'ani was sort of hoping Borodin and Zapallie would remain together for a long, long time because Borodin might influence Zapallie. He's sad that didn't work out. Zapallie could have used a hint of mellow. D'ani mutters, "Just kidding," about the baby. Faranth, some people have no sense of humor! But rodeo stars! A MUCH safer thought (really, D'ani?!) If Borodin is willing, D'ani will be happy to teach him how to rope and sit a bucking bull and then organize a rodeo just for him. "I can," responds the Weyrsecond. "Should check in there anyway. So when you've finished those…" Those he says. He'd prefer to take Borodin there half-tipsy and mellow rather than volcano-waiting to explode.

Ask Lana if Borodin's a nice guy. Go on, ask her. Zapallie? Hah. She influenced him, that's for sure. The other way around? Who knows. She certainly didn't stick around, after their return to Fort Weyr, though Borodin has. He also has a sense of humor, just… it's a bit sketchy right now when it comes to his sister. That rodeo? Heh. It's probably safer than leaving Borodin to his own devices. The vintner nods confirmation that D'ani can do it - yeah, checking in, that's all responsible and such. Exactly the sort of thing someone coordinating a disaster response should do. So once D'ani done plying disruptions with alcohol… Borodin tips the first bottle up and finishes it off, then sets it down again on the edge of D'ani's desk. New decor item? He reaches for the other one and asks, "What do you drink?" Change of topic much?

Oh shells. Polana? Now Lana, of course. D'ani tries not to ask her anything. That girl has reasoning that would make a grown harper of philosophy cry. The weyrsecond will just have to go on assuming that Borodin is a mild-mannered, Clark Kent-type Mr Nice guy, timid, meek and far too self-deprecating. At least until something changes that perception. Zapallie, yeaaah, D'ani's disappointed she rode off into the sunset on Clara…? Lulu…? Mira…? Hell. SomethingBelle! Partly for Borodin's sake, partly for his own; she was a good friend. He watches Borodin polish off that ale. Vitners are made of strong stuff. Th'ero's always saying how the stuff has a kick. What does he drink? "That…occasionally. Mostly when Th'ero offers. Whiskey with a twist of orange. Wine, depending on what I'm eating. Ale most of the time."

Borodin still hasn't accepted Polana's "apology". Mind you, she's probably entirely forgotten about that, and it certainly hasn't held her back, but he holds onto a tiny smug satisfaction for the fact that he hasn't. He's no Clark Kent, but… he might be a Bruce Banner. Except the other guy doesn't come with bulging muscles. So disappointing. Borodin nods to that list of beverages, with a small grunt. He's apparently not planning to actually talk about them, but… D'ani will probably find some bottles of ale left anonymously on his desk in the coming days. Something summer-light, with notes of citrus. Not more Black Damnation; D'ani can get that from Th'ero. It certainly does have a kick, but, well. Borodin apprenticed under Ianco. Evening lessons usually began with a pair of shotglasses and the selection of a bottle to fill them, because education and appreciation go hand in hand. The making of a vintner includes an element of pickling. So yeah, he can polish off the second ale without much obvious ill effect. It'll fortify him against the cold! …and… for his conversation with Abigail, assuming they can find her.

If D'ani knew that, Borodin would be his hero. Polana deserves a little payback and when she gets her comeuppance, D'ani would dearly love to be there to see it. There's something to be said for stubbornness and now that he's observed this trait in Borodin, he'll begin to see the other is no pushover. Clearly he's expecting the question about drinks to go somewhere; Borodin is a vitner, after all. When it doesn't he simply chalks it up to the quirkiness of the guy. When those bottles appear, he'll draw conclusions and there'll be more points in favor that Abigail's brother is a decent sort. While that second ale is drained, D'ani. mutters an apology, communicates with Dremkoth, getting himself updated on the situation at Fort Hold. He'll look up to find the bottle empty, so he rises, snagging his jacket from the back of his chair. "If you're ready," he'll say with a motion to the door. He'll taxi Borodin there, of course they'll find snow piled where it shouldn't be, people digging, snow being carted away, pulled by burden beasts. There'll be a report, a check in the infirmary… things discovered, pleasant and…not.