Who Aignes, F'inn, K'zre
What F'inn arrives to distract Aignes' redecorating attempts and later they both have all the advice for Kez on his new sister!
When Day 20 of Month 11 of Turn 2719
Where Shenanigan's Lounge, Fort Weyr

icon1.jpg finn_default.png kez_default.png

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.

Early evening is normally a time when most bar stools are usually full. Shenanigan's would normally be no different and while all of the stools are claimed, none of them currently have butts in the seat. There are a few patrons looking on, drinks in hand, that probably wish they had been here early enough to claim one for themselves, but none of quite brave enough to venture closer. Currently, there's a greenrider with a measuring tape that's very focused on measuring every single inch of every single seat. Aignes came prepared for whatever her mission is. Swatches of all sorts of fabric are draped over her shoulder and a few of the chairs. She even brought a binder! She's also completely impervious to any side eye she might be getting from the would-be sitters, going so far as to even swat at the arms of one smith that tried to sneak a chair away when he thought she wasn't looking.

F'inn has been flying sweeps ALL DAY. And F'inn? F'inn wants a drink. Stepping into the bar, he pauses with the rest of the crowd, one brow arching mildly as blue eyes flick from the onlookers to the greenrider and her measuring tape. Smirking, F'inn rolls his eyes, a lopesided smile tracing over his lips as he strides forward, plucks one of the swatches off a stool and tosses it on the bar. "Come have a drink, Aignes," he calls. "Beer," is added to the still startled barkeep. "A pitcher, two mugs. What," is added as that oh so charmingly lopsided smile turns back to Aignes. "Are you doing?"

"Nooooooo!" comes the sound of horror as Aignes watches as F'inn tosses one of those beloved swatches onto the bar and almost in slow motion goes to try and catch it. Unfortunately, she misses, but she does manage to snag it up and clutch it to her chest. "I'm working!" There's a glare given to the crowd of unappreciative drinkers who for some reason would rather have a stool than whatever she's doing to said stools. "Some people think you can just put any old material on a cushion and call it a day, but it's just not that easy, you know?" The little square she is clutching is inspected and with a sigh, she returns it back it's proper place in her binder. Right between the magentas and the fuschias and stiffens back up. "I can't have a drink. If I have a drink, I'll never get finished!"

"If you don't have a drink, you are likely to get hauled out of here with or without your swatches," F'inn points out. Course, as usually the case, the moment that the perimeter has been breached, the rest of the horde follows. And, in short order, there are swatches being handed, tossed or flicked toward Aignes as the onlookers lay claim to stools. "Uh uh," F'inn notes to the smith who goes for the stool next to him. "Taken." When the man steps away grumbling, F'inn smirks, a mellow laugh humming in his throat as he reaches for the pitcher and fills the pair of mugs. "You can't get anything done when the place is open," he points out. "Wait til after last call and then do your measurements. Right now? Drink. It'll help with your creativity."

Aignes can't catch them all, although she really does try. Instead, when failure is imminent, she just crumbles down to the floor and tries to gather up all her beloved swatches that way, sniffling as she does so. "But I was working before it opened. I just… I just…" Aignes gives another sniffle and then freezes as her hand touches one of the squares that fell under a bar stool. "It's sticky. Why is it sticky???" Because it was on a bar floor? The shock of that at least has her jumping up and reaching over the bar to grab a spare napkin. The drink F'inn's offering is eyed suspiciously. "But why does it have to be beer? Beer is like… the least creative drink!"

"You probably don't want to know why it's sticky," F'inn points with another mellow laugh. "And beer is more creative then tea," he adds as he sets the mug in front of the stool next to him. "Have a drink, you can pick the next round, eh?" Winking, he twists back around to his beer, raising the mug for a long swallow before setting it back down with a relieved sigh. "Who set you on recovering the barstools? Seems like a waste of good fabric.. That," he adds with a nod toward the fabric. "Is going to be stain proof, right? Might want to make sure you use something waterproof, as well?"

Aignes definitely doesn't want to know why the floor is sticky. And while she's still dubiously eyeing the pitcher, her hand is ever so slowly moving towards the mug, but she hasn't taken it yet. As for who sent her on the mission she gives a sigh. "Czarduinath, actually. Well, she thought it should have curtains but…" She gives a wave around to the rather windowless room. "And a rug is really outside of my skill set. So I settled on barstools!" As for the material suggestions, she positively beams. "Oh, yes! I have that completely covered. Or well, we'll get it covered! Just feel this!" She flips to the back of her binder and pulls out a few squares of rather shiny purple material. "It's NEW! And I forget exactly how they treated it, but anything liquid is supposed to roll right off."

F'inn does feel the material, his lips immediately twitching in an expression that is close to grimace. "New isn't always better, Aignes," he points out. "Wouldn't treated leather be just as good? And be less likely to tear? I mean, people are generally not particularly gentle about how they treat barstools." It's the mention of curtains that has his gaze sweeping the room, his brows rising and falling before settles on taking another swallow of the beer. "Mm. Well.. Czarduinath does have ideas," he admits. Whether or not those ideas are viable? He isn't saying. He's way to smart for that. "You know, maybe you should turn her attention to the Candidate and Weyrling barracks? They were both pretty drab and the linens could definately stand to be replaced."

The material isn't exactly bad although the squeaking it makes as it's moved probably isn't the best. Or the little gold stars dotting along the purple to jazz it all up. Aignes frowns and slides it back into her binder. "But treated leather only comes in so many colors." Normally they're colors that she's pretty fond of too! But not today apparently. "And besides, this isn't likely to tear that much. The seacraft has been using it on their boats for a while. Or well, something like it." Definitely not the purple starred fabric. Czarduinath certainly does have ideas of her own. Right now the dainty green has somehow managed to finagle a few blues into moving some rocks around the lake shore. Their previous layout just wasn't quite right. As for the barracks, Aignes scrunches up her face and shakes her head. "Noooo. For the barracks, I'd need to talk to the headwoman. And we'd need to have a headwoman. Probably just end up with someone saying all white or blue or something plain again. No frills."

"Well," F'inn suggests. "Maybe you could do something snappy with white and blue? I mean, something to make whomever comes in as headwoman, feel both welcome and as if she has a shoulder to lean on as she gets sorted?" It makes sense to him and it will keep that purple and gold starred squeaky stuff out of the bar. Win/Win. "No word on anyone coming in for that, yet?" Polishing off his beer, he refills the mug, content to let it sit while he casts Aignes a curiously assessing look. "Been a bit since Czarduinath has gone up, hasn't it?" He's pretty certain that Aignes would not look twice at that fabric, otherwise.

"The word is we have plenty of people coming in for that. Or will have plenty?" Aignes shrugs. She hasn't really been keeping up with the gossip although the rest of the weavers workshop is probably a hotbed of news on the whole Fort's Next Top Headwoman Search. As for the last question, Aignes narrows her eyes and glares. "I don't like what you're implying with that." She knows exactly what he is implying. And probably also has more than an inkling of suspicion herself.

F'inn grins, the lopsided smile broad enough that it actually crinkles his eyes. "I had a feeling you wouldn't care for it," he admits. "Doesn't make it any less valid, though. And before you get more scowly then you already are? I'm just suggesting that you might want to hold off on gold stars and purple fabric until after she's risen." Cause really? He can just imagine the mortification to follow. "I just.. Given your more… sedate.. tastes.. I'd hate to see you have to rationalize that particular color choice?" Really, he's trying to be helpful even if he is impossibly amused by the whole thing.

Aignes climbs up onto the extra bar stool and snaps her binder closed with a huff. "I never said I was going to be using that particular fabric. It was just an example!" You really don't want to see what horrors might be lurking even further in the back of the binder. Maybe even a lime and hot pink plaid! But then after a moment, she does stop with her scowling and look over at him, eyes probably at their widest as humanly possible. "Are you saying it's actually that bad?"

F'inn slants a glance at Aignes, one brow twitching mildly. "It could be worse," he admits. It could be lime and hot pink plaid. "I'm hoping it is not worse," he adds with a wink. "I mean, Czarduinath can get pretty… uhm… flashy?" Polite way to put it. "Personally, I like a nice dark leather for those sorts of things. You could always have the leather embossed if you wanted to add a bit of flair?" Really, he likes the seats the way they are. Not, mind you, that's he's paid that much attention to the way they are, but still.

"Worse…" Aignes dwells on the word before slumping down so her head is resting on the binder. "Czarduinath is flashy. Except.. she hasn't been lately. She's been complaining about too many eyes for the past few days." Things are definitely starting to add up, but she doesn't have much time to dwell on that before she's rotating her head so she can keep it on the binder and still stare at the bronzerider next to her. "Embossed leather… like with Fort's badge in it?" It's definitely not the worst idea she's had today!

"Now that," F'inn admits. "Is a great idea." Raising the mug, he takes another long swallow of the beer, his expression curious as he sets the mug back down. "What do you mean to many eyes on her?" For a moment, his gaze goes distant, his lips twitching in a faint smirk. "She has a small army of blues rearranging the bowl for her… I'd expect they'd make a point to keep an eye on her? And hey, it could be worse? She could be trying to get /you/ to wear that purple and gold fabric."

Aignes makes a note on the sheet of paper she had been taking all the measurements down on about that great idea. Hopefully it doesn't get lost in a sea of whatever other Projects Czarduinath might come up with in the next few days. As for what she means, she just shrugs. "It's just what she was saying when she was trying to sun this morning. Complaining that she couldn't even get a moment's peace." Never mind that she was freshly oiled and on a prime attention seeking spot right off the lake. "But then the next she was deciding on getting those rocks moved." As for the fabric, her nose scrunches up. "No, that fabric wouldn't breathe. She did however insist I wear this." And with a quick pull at her jacket cuff, she reveals underneath the very normal leather jacket is an extremely flouncy blouse sleeve at least. In a little floral pattern.

F'inn exhales a quiet laugh at the sight of the floral fabric, the sound fading as he does his level best to swallow it back. "I'm sorry," he murmurs as he waves one hand in the air. "Really.. it's.. um.. Very flowery? Maybe she'll have a phase where she's all about leather? I mean, I'm sure a lot of people would more then interested in seeing you prancing about in a tight leather sheath dress? Just," he adds with a pointedly teasing wink. "Not purple with gold stars, eh?"

Aignes hears the laugh, but just calmly and carefully tucks the ruffle back in her jacket sleeve. The leather suggestion however earns one of those all too familiar glares. "Just for that, I'm going to send Kez on the most infuriating scavenger hunt for cookies next time Yasminath is due to go up. Good luck helping him with those clues." She's not sure what they'll be, but they'll be horribly difficult (but there will be some very good treats with each one). "Besides, winter is not the time for short dresses. That's why we compromised on the leathers."

"Pfft," F'inn snorts. "You wouldn't do that to K'zre," he points out. "Not when his emotions get all out of whack. Believe me, you have not yet seen the tears that come with the cookie frustration." From the look on F'inn's face? It is a sight to behold." It's the mention of winter and short dresses that brings a smile back to his lips and inspires a faint rise and fall of pale blond brows. "Oh, you know.. There are reasons for short dresses in winter. Great excuse to cuddle up to whomever you might fancy."

"Watch me," Aignes face looks like she very well might follow through on that dare. She'd probably feel bad afterwards and pay her fellow greenrider off with a metric ton of sweets later. There's a snort when F'inn mentions cuddling. "That would require fancying someone. And said someone also being up for cuddling. But knowing my luck well… how good was that wall to your hand?" Because she remembers and a somewhat grudge may be held very deep.

F'inn arches a brow at the last, his lips twitching in a scowl. "That is not /fair/, Aignes," he points out. "You know, you never bothered to find out /why/ I stayed away. K'zre's mother was here," F'inn notes with more of a growl in his tones then he had intended. He takes a long swallow of the beer before speaking again, blue eyes trained on the wall in a glare. "She is emphatically opposed to two men being mated. More so because I ride bronze. By the time Czarduinath rose, she was already pointing out that it was a fine example of how little value I put on our relationship. You have," he adds with a tired sigh. "No idea how bad it's been. She's still writing him letters, still trying to convince him that he's just an amusement for me. Can you believe that? Like K'zre could /ever/ be considered an amusement."

"Life's not fair," But even as Aignes says the words, her head does drop and she looks just a little guilty about it. "She can say whatever she wants, he doesn't have to listen to her. And I know how hidebound some holders can be. I still struggle with some of it a little myself sometimes…" More than sometimes. "But really, anybody with a dragon will understand. And many of those without a dragon can't." Her arms cross in front of her like that can protect her from such serious topics of flights and mothers.

"It's stupid," F'inn announces in firm tones. "I mean, it's not like I planned this, you know? It just.. happened. And we're happy," he adds as he draws his mug closer. "And I know that he doesn't have to listen to her, but that's not always easy when it's your mother. We found his dad," he adds without warning. "He's the weyrlingmaster at Half Moon Weyr. Course, he rides green and his weyrmate is probably the flashiest male I've ever met in my life… He gets it. Course, I'm threatened, on pain of death, from going anywhere near Half Moon when either of them are proddy, so." Falling silent a beat, he leans in enough to lightly bump his shoulder against Aignes'. "Don't be mad at me? It wasn't a reflection on you." Just very bad timing for him.

Aignes gives a slight nod. "I remember you as a candidate. Pretty sure Bronzerider was the absolute last thing on your list of future plans." Really, she probably expected him to end up with a nice, spunky little blue. But of course Fate (or Nymionth) had other things in store. The shoulder bump almost works, but there's a frown again at the last. "Don't tell me how to feel… and, if you're not willing to you know…" She waves a hand at the subject-that-shall-not-be-named, "Then don't let Nymionth chase? Because it's not fair. And ending up with two strangers is not something I really want to repeat again."

F'inn exhales a sigh, his head tilting down in an attempt to catch Aignes' gaze. "Aignes, it's /me/. It's not that I am not willing. I just.. I am sorry, for what that is worth? I was pissed off, then Nymionth was chasing, and.. I didn't think it through," he admits. "I was being selfish and left you in a really bad spot. For what it is worth? You have my word that that will not happen, again." Falling silent for a beat, he folds his arms atop the table, his expression turning serious. "It's my own fault for letting nonsense get to me. I know that. And there is no way I would stop Nymionth from chasing." He couldn't do that to his bronze. "I'm sorry I was not there for you. It was a thoughtless thing for me to do."

It's just a normal evening in Shenanigan's if normal evenings include a proddy greenriding weaver trying to take over all the barstools for a makeover. Luckily, by this point, F'inn has managed to at least wrangle Aignes and all her swatch books to one of the stools (allowing others to claim their own seats). Whatever conversation has been happening, neither seems exactly thrilled by it. A lot of glaring and a lot of sighing. Aignes at least finally claims the second mug and pours her own drink from the pitcher of beer. "I'm going to hold Nymionth to it." Because while she might be holding a grudge against F'inn, she's pretty sure that the bronze will at least keep him to his word as long as he can remember that there was a promise made. "Although who knows if he'll even succeed again. Czarduinath tastes do seem to change with the seasons."

"Nymionth is the very soul of reliability, Aignes." And F'inn is sure that everyone KNOWS that. F'inn? F'inn might occassionally flake, (NEVER without good reason) but his dragon is as steadfast as they come. "He'll be there." At the suggestion that Nymionth might not win? F'inn chuckles, his shoulders rising and falling in an easy shrug. Really, what can he say to /that/? Course, Nym is a big ball of bronze charm, so he has faith in him, but still. Gathering up his own beer, he takes a long swallow, one hand scrubbing over his face as he finally lets himself start coming down from sweeps. "I hate morning sweeps," he mutters.

Lucky K'zre, he missed all the action. But maybe he saw some action of his own? At least, he's looking a little disheveled and windblown, still sporting the tell-tale pink cheeks and red nose of someone who's been out doing things in the cold. His jacket is still on, scarf hanging loose around his neck from where he's tugged it free, fingers working at the buttons of his coat so that he can rid himself of it now that he's inside and relatively warm. His path through the bar is slow, gaze roaming the crowd of people until he spots F'inn and Aignes and orients his steps to take him that direction.

Aignes fully acknowledges how responsible the bronze is, that's why she'll be holding him accountable, and so she just nods and takes her first sip of beer which also gets a very scrunched up face. It won't stop her from taking sip two, but the nose wrinkling continues. "I was supposed to have sweeps tomorrow, but my wingleader readjusted the schedule this morning." And that wouldn't have anything to do with the purple and gold starred fabric. Even though her back is to the door, something causes Aignes to turn around and her eyes land immediately on her fellow greenrider and she waves. "Kez! Come make F'inn pick a better drink!"

F'inn exhales a snort at Aignes' reaction to the beer, a broad smile tracing over his lips as he turns on his stool and extends one arm to K'zre. "You just got back?" As he speaks, he slips over to the next stool, providing space for the greenrider to join them. "Two redfruit and rum, extra fruit," he calls to the bartender. "And another pitcher." Because he will absolutely drink the beer. "You want stew?" Pausing a beat, he glances to Aignes. "Stew? Ah, and bread," is added. No way is K'zre drinking without some bread in his stomach.

"Aignes," comes in a typical Kez-like manner, gaze zeroing in on his fellow greenrider before he's stepping into the space F'inn has provided for him. "Make him… what?" But F'inn is already on it, so the healer just lets it go. "Yes," he acknowledges, a bit of a weary sigh to his admission as he hops up onto the vacant stool. "One of the cotholds had a few… issues," he explains, for why he's rather later than he thought he'd be. "Stew? Sure," comes just as his stomach seconds the notion with a rather audible grumble of its own. "What are you working on?" he wonders, eyeing the weaver's swatch books.

"Pick a better drink!" Aignes cheerfully repeats herself. Because if she had to pick her own drink, she'd probably be here for days judging by how many different swatches of fabric she hauled out just for the stools. The order of redfruit and rum gets a tilt of her head as she considers and then nods as it's apparently acceptable. The offer of stew gets a shake of the head. "I already had lunch." Hours ago, before she tried to renovate everything. "And I was working on the barstools until somebody told me the fabric I was looking at was awful. What do you think of this one?" Back to the swatch book, she picks out an orange and gold brocade and passes over for judgement.

"She was trying to close down Shenanigan's by recovering the stools with purple fabric and gold stars." Clearly, F'inn can say that now that he is out of reach of Aignes. He does, however, couple it with a wink and a mellow laugh as he finishes off his beer and refills the mug. At the sight of the orange and gold brocade he nearly chokes, coughing a few times before getting himself back in order. "What happened to embossed leather?"

A hint of a frown, and Kez wonders, "Why are the stools being recovered? They're perfectly fine as they are… aren't they?" Of course, he's not exactly looking at them, given that he's currently occupying one and not about to scout around to examine the others. It's the sudden passing of the swatches that has him looking momentarily wide-eyed and apprehensive, a very uncertain "Uh…" coming before he dutifully leans in for a closer look. "I like the orange," comes just as F'inn is choking on his drink, the healer shooting him a look before he disclaims his own opinion with, "But I'm not a weaver. Leather is nice," he agrees. "Embossed with what, though?"

Aignes rolls her eyes at F'inn but carries on with pushing some more fabric at Kez. "Have you seen the stools? They're so… so… soo… old." After struggling she does manage to finally get that one word out for why they must change. And yes, it's probably been a while since they've been reupholstered, but the existing stools are functional. "Embossed with the weyr crest. But there are a lot of stools. We could have some with leather and some with fabric. So people could chooooose!" Or be paralyzed by their own choices. Aignes at least gets the second drink that she didn't have to chose and the first sip of the redfruit drink has her beaming again. "Ooooh, I like that! Or, we could make the stools red instead of orange."

"Czarduinath decided it was necessary," F'inn provides almost to joyfully. "Proddy." Course she is. "She wanted curtains, to. I came in and Aignes had all the patrons clustered against the wall, in fear of their lives while she measured seats. You want drunk people to choose?" Leaning forward against the bar, F'inn grins at Aignes, his head giving a wry shake. "Fabric stools will get ruined, Aignes. But red… LEATHER… would be great." Pausing a beat, he glances at K'zre, momentarily returning to serious. "Anything we need to keep an eye on? Or…Sweeps," he adds, just in case.

K'zre just stares at Aignes for a moment. It's not a particularly judgmental stare. But he IS trying to figure her out. "… old," he repeats, though after a moment he just shrugs it off, gaze sliding to the counter as his drink is produced. It's the mention of 'proddy' that has him straightening, once again casting the look at Aignes before he lifts his glass and takes a sip in lieu of words. "Curtains? There are no windows!" Frown. "Why red? I like red, but… Fort's colors are brown and black. Shouldn't it be… those?" He is so out of his element it's not even funny. And he knows it. Which is why he's just gonna geeeeently slide that swatch book back her direction. "If we're voting, I vote brown leather." Because he's boring like that. "No," he assures, casting a quick look and a faint smile toward F'inn. "Just some weather related… things. Colds. Some minor injuries."

"Czarduinath decided curtains were neccessary," Aignes will correct, complete with pointy waving finger. "But since there aren't windows, I settled on the stools." As for why red, she shrugs. "But brown and black are so boring. And everything is brown and black." At some point, definitely after the flight, Aignes will remember that brown and black are two of her favorite colors as well, along with all the different shades of white. At the mention of colds and injuries, she frowns as well. "Not the catching sort of cold, right? Cause I do not need to get one right now…" OR ever, but she definitely doesn't want one now.

F'inn reaches over and slides K'zre's drink closer to the greenrider, his chin raising in a nod of thanks as the stew and bread is delivered. "Thanks." Reaching for his bowl, he tears off a chunk of bread and immediately sets to eating. "Not as good as mine," he notes with an inordinately pleased smile. "Eat," he adds with a tilt of his chin toward the bowl in front of K'zre. "And he wouldn't be here if it was contagious," he assures Aignes in firm tones. "Brown and black would be great, though. Brown leather, making the embossed bits black."

"Has the headwoman approved all this?" wonders K'zre, mildly accusatory. "I'm almost positive she has to approve this." Or not. Who knows! Not Kez. A sound in the back of his throat accompanies his reach for the bowl of stew, pulling it toward him and picking up the spoon so that he can do as told and eat it. His stomach appreciates this. Even if he's still casting side-eyes at Aignes and then his drink. "I'm not sick at all," he assures. "One of the cotholds was hit with a bad cold; I dropped off supplies for them." And maaaaybe stuck around to see those supplies properly put to use. And maaaaaaybe stuck around to lecture the locals about proper self-care and how to avoid spreading germs. A few bites of stew, and then he's reaching for that bread to tear off a chunk and dunk it into the broth. "Yours is better," he agrees.

Aignes blinks at K'zre. "We don't have a headwoman at the moment…" Sure, there are more than enough assistants that could probably sign off on decoration projects, but they also have not been notified. "Which cothold???" So she knows to avoid it, not that she'll be leaving the Weyr in the next seven. "Maaaaaybe black and brown leather could work." She doesn't sound completely convinced, but not ruling it out yet either.

"Right? It is better," F'inn notes in smug tones. "I think it's roasting the meat on the hearth." Course, he couldn't be more pleased that his stew beats the recipe he had 'acquired' for it. "I'll have to make you some, Aignes," he adds as he takes a swallow of beer and sets the mug back on the table. "I can't do bread yet," he admits. "Still need to pick up the dough from the kitchen, but the rest?" He's totally got stew down. "It would be pretty," he adds. "Black and brown leather. Brown and Gold would be pretty, too. Maybe a little flashy, but…."

K'zre handwaves, a murmured, "You know what I meant," dismissing his faux pas. "Whoever approves such things. The point is," he reiterates, "is it approved?" He doesn't *really* care, and isn't about to put himself between Aignes and her design-dreams. But the question is posed nonetheless. A quiet "mm," for the difference in stews, though Kez is quickly too busy eating it to debate what might have improved F'inn's own. "High Hill," he offers for the cothold, the name given as offhandedly as Kez can manage. "It's tiny." She might not even have heard of it (But it's totally a real place on the map!). "Gold and brown?" he questions, sliding his gaze toward F'inn as he lifts his drink for another sip. "Why gold?"

Aignes can also handwave like the best of them. "It'll get approved." By someone. At some point. Or she'll get distracted with another project tomorrow. For now, she's going to focus on her drink, giving an mmmmhmm as the tiny cothold is mentioned. "I think I got a commission from them once." A wall hanging or something. "Gold and brown… what do you have against gold?" She focuses on Kez. "It's fancy!" Fancy doesn't always mean good, but right now it's just up her alley. And as for the stew offer, she tilts her head again. "How often do you make stew?"

"Cause Czarduinath likes flashy and gold is flashy." Course, F'inn's tone is very matter fact, the kind of tone that makes it clear he thinks K'zre should have known that. At the mention of High Hill, however, he lowers his spoon, a flash of disapproval flicking over his face. "Did they give you a hard time?" Mind you, from his tone, alone, he's pretty sure that they did and just as sure he's not happy about it. "You should have told me you were going out there." Distracted by Aignes, his lips twitch in a smile, blue eyes crinkling at the corners. "I just started doing yesterday," he admits. "I kinda like it. I think I'll do it pretty regularly. I want to experiment with different meats, maybe putting the bread dough /in/ the stew so it makes dumplings."

"I don't have anything against gold," argues K'zre, scowling briefly. "It's just not one of Fort's colors." He's apparently pretty set on this whole idea of the bar matching the crest. "But Czarduinath is never going to see the bar," he adds, his voice just a touch huffy in return. There's a longer look aimed at his weyrmate, something just shy of the look, before F'inn's own disapproval has him looking a smidge chastised. "It was part of the route," he argues. "And no, they were perfectly polite." It's not quite a lie. More like Kez didn't recognize the rudeness, or know what to take offense at. "It was fine," he adds in a quiet murmur, reaching out to lay his hand on the bronzeridre's knee. As for the stew? With his current bowl empty, he's pushing it aside and reaching for his drink once again. "It was good," he agrees. "And there's left overs…"

"Gold can accent Fort's colors. It goes very well with brown." Aignes gives a very firm nod on that. "And Czarduinath will never see many things, but it doesn't keep her from having very strong opinions." Nobody would believe the conversations they've had over undergarments. But Aignes blinks at the two men. "Soooo… do you often find folks are rude on sweeps?" She normally sticks to weaving duties and very limited sweeps. "You should add fingerroots. And a tiny bit of pepper."

K'zre will concede defeat to the discussion on color choices. He's a Healer for a reason (even if that reason has nothing to do with wardrobe choices) and while he might not agree that gold needs to be incorporated in the grand makeover of the Shenanigan's Lounge barstools, he'll at least admit that, "gold is nice…" and leave it at that. It's the drink that takes his attention, willfully sipping away at it and glowering at nothing at all before he's turning to address Aignes' question. "Not especially. Some of the smaller Holds aren't the most welcoming of dragonriders, but there's little call to land there. And when there is, they usually don't care who we are." Probably because there's a problem, and any help is welcome. "Why do you assume that F'inn's stew didn't already have fingerroots in it?" Now he's just being ornery.

From the look on F'inn's face it is clear he is not at all happy about K'zre being at High Hill. He does, however, offer a mild nod that makes it clear that while he doesn't /like/ it, he understands it. "Alright." Catching K'zre's hand, he decides he's going to keep it for the time being, opting to finish off his own stew with the other hand. He does, however, glance at Aignes at her question, his nose wrinkling mildly. "High Hill has issues with male greenriders. Issues that could get them punched in the mouth one day." Probably not, but he would love that. "I didn't use pepper, though," he admits. "I'll definately have to do that. K'zre loves fingerroots." So there were lots.

Aignes lets out an ahhh of realization as F'inn enlightens on the reason why High Hill is such a touchy place. "I guess that had never come up during the commission process…" And she shuffles awkwardly on her bar stool. As for why she assumed F'inn's stew didn't have fingerroots, she eyes the empty bowl. "Well, he said he got the recipe here and that one doesn't look like it had fingerroots, unless they were grated?" She shrugs. "I'm pretty sure my mother only knows how to make stews or roasts. You can pretty much stew anything though."

An audible exhale comes before K'zre insists, "There was one woman who did not approve— that doesn't mean the entire Hold is bad." But that is as far as he will argue it, settling for taking a longer swallow of his drinking to finish the first glass off entirely. A pointed look at the bartender and a dart of his gaze to the glass comes as clear indication that a reorder is requested, before he's twisting to regard Aignes. "I just mean that you shouldn't assume." Are they sure Yasminath isn't glowing? Apparently Kez is in a mood; and it's not a terribly cheerful one. "I can roast things," he declares, only a touch defensive. "But I can't cook."

"It's ridiculous," F'inn growls. The more he thinks about High Hill, the more annoyed he gets. "There was a time when almost /all/ greenriders were men. They were perfectly content to have those riders die to protect them from thread." Reaching for his beer, he polishes it off in one long swallow, taking a deep breath to calm himself before nodding to Aignes. "I like making stew, it's very… satisfying." Course, K'zre's in a mood, Aignes is in a mood, F'inn has just found a mood. It's a moody night to be sure. "We decided K'zre gets to be the hunter," F'inn notes in tones that are far more cheery. "I'm just no good at it and he's… entirely to good at it. So it works out."

"People are dumb," Aignes just writes off High Hill and the rest of everyone so casually and follows up with a swig of her drink. "And if K'zre can't hunt, the dragons can." They could probably help with some fire too if they have some firestone. "And roasting is totally cooking. Normally big turnover dinners will have a nice fancy roast." She tips her glass back to get the very last drop. But when it comes time for a reorder, she has her own request. "One Proddy Greenrider, please." There may be some snickers from folks a few seats down, but at least the bartender keeps a straight face.

There is an argument that K'zre wants to make. It's clear in his expression, and in the quick inhale taken that usually precedes speech. But something has him rethinking (and that something might be named Yasminath), because he lets out the breath in a sigh, and settles for simply offering F'inn's hand a reassuring squeeze instead. Aignes gets a look, for her dismissal of not her drink order, but the only thing Kez will comment on is, "I can hunt. Very well, as a matter of fact," though there's very little in the way of actual boasting. "It's a necessary skill," he decides, a quiet counter to being too good at hunting, which is quickly followed by a swig of his new beverage once it is at hand. "But so is being able to cook what you kill." Which he maybe doesn't do as well.

"That's why you have me," F'inn notes with a wink. "I'll cook your meals and darn your socks while you bring home the meat." With his mood improving in leaps and bounds, he leans over brush a kiss to K'zre's cheek, the gesture clearly heartfelt. It is Aignes, order, however, that has him chuckling. "Two," he calls to the bartender. "I might not have the dragon for it, but I can mood swing with the best of them. Do you," he asks Aignes. "Think your mother would be willing to share her roast recipes? I've been hesitant to actually try one without a guide to follow."

Aignes rolls her eyes as F'inn is being sweeter than her drink (which is pretty sharding sweet and definitely green). "It's a good drink, despite the name." And her eyes say she'll fight anybody that tries to say otherwise. As for the secret family recipe, she shrugs. "She certainly won't write it down for you. You might be able to convince her to show you some of the recipes, but she'll swear it's more art than science." And her mother doesn't use a single standard unit of measurement! It's all handful this, to taste that…

Aignes might be rolling her eyes, but Kez is just studying F'inn with a slightly dubious expression. "You know how to darn socks?" he questions, very obviously doubtful about this. K'zre will just sip on his redfruit and rum, and leave the proddiness for the other two. But the bright, bright drink does at least get an slanty-eyed look from the healer, and it's probably a fair bet to assume he'll be trying one eventually. (Probably when he's proddy, and super-sweet things appeal to him). There isn't much he can add to the conversation about mothers and roasts or secret family recipes. So instead he just listens, gaze on his drink but his head tipped in the direction of whoever might be talking.

"I'm game," F'inn assures Aignes. "I'm going to be doing the same thing with my mother only for meatpies. She makes the best meatpies you've ever put in your mouth." It's K'zre's question that has him exhaling a mellow laugh, his head giving a quick nod. "I do. I call N'sir and beg for help." Cause he's not at all stupid. Course, when his own Proddy Greenrider arrives, he slides it over to K'zre and promptly refills his mug with beer. "You're never far behind Aignes," he points out with a wink. Might as well get a headstart on the sweets.

"Darning socks isn't hard. Considering you can sew straps, you both can probably darn a sock," Aignes has been darning socks since she can remember so being intimidated by the act is something completely foreign to her. She notices Kez's eying of her drink and she slides it a little closer to him. "You should try it!" And the F'inn is sliding one over. "You wouldn't want to waste perfectly good booze after all!" She snorts at F'inn. "I don't think one time really counts as a pattern…"

A snort and an eyeroll. That is what F'inn gets for his socks. Aignes? Aignes gets an eyeroll too, and a very pointed, "Why, when someone else will do it for me? I'd rather not darn my socks." He's got people to sew! Or something. When not one, but BOTH drinks are shoved at him (one to taste and one to keep) Kez can't help but grump just a smidge. Though that might be for his weyrmate's commentary. "But she's not glowing now," he huffs, moving as though to shove the drink right back to him. But his fingers linger on the base of the glass, and with a sigh he picks it up and takes a sip. A nose wrinkle, if just because, "It's really sweet," but otherwise not bad. And down it goes, to be remembered and ordered and no doubt consumed at leisure when Yasminath IS glowing. "No," he agrees, for that pattern of behavior, "But they are the same age, and there is a certain logic to suggesting they would rise near each other."

"Definately a pattern in my family of greenriders," F'inn insists. "First R'sner, then Aignes, then K'zre, then N'sir. Then? Smooth sailing for Nym and I until Toith starts glowing, again." Really, he's thankful for them being one after another, otherwise, he'd be constantly dodging proddy. "Maybe one of us /should/ learn to sew," he suggests to K'zre. "I mean, you did say it was important to be self sufficent, right?" So having people to sew? Not acceptable. "Did you hear from your father? You said he was sending a letter." And right on the heels of that, he nods to Aignes. "Talk to your mum and let me know?"

Just to be contrary, Czarduinath will probably try to glow at the same time as one of the other mentioned greens, trying to steal the limelight for herself, but Aignes won't point that out, instead she nods. "Surely Nymionth is going to be eyeing the golds like all the other bronzes are, right?" With one senior stepping down, another needs to claim the knot eventually. She'll smack her lips after drinking the very sweet drink. "It is, but it packs a punch." Just like its namesake. "And if either of you want to learn how to sew, I'm pretty sure I offered lessons during candidacy…" And even if she didn't, the offer still stands.

"I didn't say I couldn't sew." It's just… not very pretty. Unless it's people. He can sew people! Clothes are just… weird. It's F'inn's litany of glowing greens that has K'zre staring at him once again, a funny expression passing over his face before he just turns back to his drink and… drinks it. Heartily. A clearing of his throat, and he offers a shallow nod of his head. "I did." The letter MIGHT be in his pocket, as of yet unopened. And now they're talking about proddy gold dragons? Kez is definitely going to need that other drink, if the look on his face is anything to go by (and HIS dragon doesn't even chase them!). "I can sew," he repeats, though it's a lot less defensive this time. "It's not pretty, but I can sew. I managed just fine with the candidacy robe."

"He'll probably chase," F'inn allows. "But he has a definate preference for green. Yasminath is moon and stars, I think he'd be lost without her." Taking another swallow of his beer, F'inn raises one shoulder in a shrug and admits. "I'd like to see him catch a gold. I think Nym would be an exceptional clutch sire. Done," is added at the reminder of Aignes offer. "I'll accept that. I mean, I have no need to make clothes, but being able to repair things would be great. You can sew," he assures K'zre. "But you don't like sewing clothes. So. I'll learn. What did he say? Your father." In case that wasn't clear. And… More beer goes into mug, the pitcher tapped for a refill.

It's only fair. Aignes probably wouldn't be very good at sewing people, if she could even get passed the whole blood thing. Clothes are much easier. They don't move as much. And the proddy greenrider is drinking the Proddy Greenrider pretty quickly. "If he catches the next gold that goes up, that'd make you Weyrleader." Facts. She may be well on her way to tipsy, but she can still state some facts. "I'll teach you how to sew, F'inn. You'll do great. And I'm glad I don't have to worry about Czarduinath chasing anybody. There are flights just about every day, but I only have to worry about her's every so often. Easier." Hiccup.

K'zre might be halfway through his second drink (plus one sip of that Proddy Greenrider) but he's not looking any more relaxed for it. For a moment or two, he gives some serious contemplation to the glass in his hand before it's lifted for another sip. A grimace, though not for the drink, and he slides a look toward Aignes for those lovely 'facts' — or maybe just the ONE fact — though he doesn't comment on it. "I don't," he agrees, for sewing. "But I can." Why this is a point of contention, who knows. And soon enough he's moving right on past it with the mention of his letter. Or, rather, the question about what it might contain. "I don't know," he admits. "I haven't read it yet." A squint at Aignes for her hiccup, a look that is definitely studying her in a manner most would deem impolite, and he decides, "But the males don't chase every dragon that flies… Though perhaps being the one chased is preferable…"

"It's not so bad," F'inn admits. "Nymionth is more interested in playing with Yasminath to bother chasing most days." He's devoted, that bronze. It's the mention of weyrleader that has him snorting, then choking on his beer. There is a good deal of coughing before he is finally able to get a breath, a 'whoooo' exhaled as he wipes his eyes. "I'm pretty sure that's not going to be a problem for a good long time." At least, he hopes it won't be a problem for a good long time. Course, he's watching his companions, nudging K'zre's drink closer to the greenrider as he takes a long swallow of the beer. "I doubt that you'll ever have to worry about my being weyrleader." Not cause Nymionth's not capable of winning. But just because it is a ridiculous thought for F'inn.

"Not every dragon, but they certainly chase more than once or twice a turn. At least most do," Aignes shrugs. Not like it's going to change anything. Draconic anatomy being pretty set. There's a bit of a smirk for F'inn as he mentions not being a problem. "You may have just jinxed yourself. Just because Th'ero has been weyrleader forever… there was probably a time in his early twenties when he thought it wouldn't happen either." Although she does follow that with a wink so she's probably mostly kidding. And then a blink for Kez. "You don't have to take up the sewing lessons if you don't want them. I'll just teach him then. And why haven't you read the note yet? Are you afraid of it?" She'll just ignore possibly impolite looks and dive into impolite questions.

"You don't know that," argues K'zre. Clearly, he and Aignes are in agreement on F'inn's potential chances for Weyrleadership, though the healer of the bunch is looking rather stern-faced rather than smirky. "I doubt your friend in Monaco though his bronze would win, too…" And now look at him. Poor Sev. Saddled with the knot, and with Reya as a Weyrwoman. "It is the queen that decides in those flights," he continues, though he does deign to lift his glass when it's nudged at him. "Nymionth is strong, fast, and courteous. Why wouldn't one of them pick him?" A quick swallow, a bit of a grimace, and he shoots Aignes another look for her letter. "Not afraid of it. Just… not ready to read it," he decides, shoulders rolling as he sort of hunches over his drink. He *might* be a little afraid of it. "I'll read it later. At home." Maybe.

If F'inn was sober, he'd be more then a little amused at the exchange between greenriders. As it stands, he's just a little drunk and more then a little distracted by the thought of Nymionth winning a leadership flight. "Th'ero," he finally provides. "Is just fine right where he is." K'zre's piping up along with Aignes earns a scowl from F'inn and a quick shake of his head. "S'van is different. I wouldn't know the first thing about…" Trailing off, he lightly clears his throat and just lets it go. "You need to read it," he murmurs in quieter tones. "It's R'sner, I doubt there is anything bad in it." It's R'sner. But, he does get K'zre's hesitancy and lets the matter drop. Kinda. "Just promise me you'll read it when we get home."

Aignes sends a rather impressive side eye at her fellow greenrider. "Uh-huh. You gotta read it sometime or else you might end up meeting your father and having not read it and he asks you about something in it and that would just be AWK-WARD!!!" She shudders at the idea. "But home is a perfectly acceptable place to read a letter. She raises her hand up as if she doesn't mean trouble about the whole weyrleader comments. "Just saying… if you don't want to be weyrleader, you might want to find a way to make yourself scarce when a goldflight is looming. At least Kez and I can stick around." No danger in Yasminath or Czarduinath catching there.

K'zre bristles. Definitely not the sort of thing someone who's mostly done with their second drink (and now all done with it, after a rather impressive swallow) should be doing. But while he's definitely edging toward buzzed, there's still a bit of a scowl and a tension that keeps him rather sober-looking despite it. "Whatever," he decides, which might be the most un-Kez-like thing Kez has ever said. Blame the booze. "I'll read it," he promises, more than a little defensive in response to both Aignes and F'inn. "I'll do it now, if it will make you both happy," he threatens, pulling his hand free from his weyrmate's own so that he can shove it into the pocket of his jacket and rip out the letter. But while he might mean to read it, he doesn't mean to read it with them watching, which is made abundantly clear when he hops down from the stool. "I'm going to check on the infirmary," (and read a letter) "I'll be…" back? Maybe. Maybe he'll be back. Either way, he's going toward the door.

F'inn takes a moment, twisting on his stool to watch K'zre for a moment. "You better come back," he calls in serious tones. "I mean it, K'zre." Drawing in a shallow breath, he shakes his head as he turns back to the bar and grabs his mug for another long swallow. "He'll be back. And I know," is sighed as he glances at Aignes. "I don't know what I'm going to do to be honest. I mean, I don't want to willfully deny Nymionth his chance.. But I'm not sure.. I mean, I /doubt/ he'd win. But, if he did.. I don't know what… Eh." He has no clue what he'd do in that instance. "It'll be fine," he decides after a lengthy pause. "Although, I suppose I should make an effort to find out the things I'll need to know in that event. It would be reckless to be unprepared."

Aignes wasn't expecting Kez to get up and go right then but welll… he is. And she's out of a drink so she'll order yet another one and still no food. "He'll be back. Or you know where he lives. Plus, Nymionth can always find Yasminath if something in the letter really upsets him. But it won't, right?" Look, most of her family letters are mostly So-and-so is getting married or Sister 2 is having another baby! Bad family news is just brushed under an ever increasingly large rug. "You'll be fine if he does win. It's not like Th'ero and Kimmilia would completely abandon you. They'd teach you what you need to learn. And you'd make sure you'd have a great weyrsecond." She hits her hand on the table as if being weyrleader is really just that simple.

It's K'zre. F'inn is not at all surprised at the greenrider getting up and going to read the letter right on the spot. It's K'zre. "Nah, it won't. I mean, it shouldn't. His father is the most protective man I've ever met. I think he'd rather cut off his arm then hurt Kez." Which is, in actuality, pretty much true. Course, he's still worried about his weyrmate, that much is certain from the glance he casts toward the entrance. "Hrm? Oh, I'm not to worried about it," he assures. "But I mean, you are right. There is always the chance that Nymionth will win oneday. It would be irresponsible of me not to do everything I can to prepare for that. And it can't hurt, knowing how things are run, right?"

Aignes eyes the exit that K'zre had gone out of. "Yeah…. and if it were something really serious, then it wouldn't have just been a letter?" If someone is dying, a dragon passes that message. Probably, since they're all riders. She does give a nod of agreement towards F'inn's preparation plan, which is a bit more enthusiastic than her usual nods. Almost bobblehead-esque. "Besides, who knows? You might like being a leader? The weyr can always use more wingseconds, right?" Baby steps for leadership?

"If it was anything bad, at all, they'd come here," F'inn states quietly. "N'sir certainly wouldn't let bad news be delivered in a letter. He's more…." Trailing off, he waves a hand in an airy gesture. "Like my mom, then anyone I've ever met. R'sner would be sleeping on the couch for turns if he did that." Glancing back at Aignes, his lips quirk in a faint smile, his chin dipping in a nod. "Not to sound arrogant, but I think I'd be good at it. I mean, I get it if you find that hard to believe… But, I've really changed a lot since Nymionth came into my life. More so since K'zre chose me, as well."

"Then why did he look like he was afraid of the letter?" Aignes gives the door one last look before turning back to her drink with a shrug. As for the whole change thing, she flat out laughs with no effort to hide it. "F'inn, if anybody can believe it, I can. If I hadn't been there pretty much the whole time, I probably wouldn't believe the bronzerider here," She gives a wave towards all of F'inn. "is the same man that was that potter not so long ago. I mean… it's even like you walk differently."

F'inn exhales a mellow laugh at the last, his lips twitching in a wry smile. "Right? It's all good changes, though? I feel better then I have in a long time. And I still do pottery," he adds with a wink. "As for K'zre… Like I said, we've been having problems with his mother. She's not here anymore, but she's been sending really hateful letters. When I say she hates me? That's a massive understatement." He's pretty sure she'd slit his throat given the opportunity to do so. "His being uncomfortable about a letter? Pretty understandable when you take that into account."

It must not have been a terribly long letter, because K'zre is soon returning (as… sort-of promised). The item in question is nowhere to be seen, but it's likely obvious enough that he's read it. His expression is a strange mix of shock and uncertainty, but whatever it said couldn't have been too bad, right? But he still makes a bee-line for F'inn, by passing the barstool to just tuck himself beneath an arm (forcefully, if necessary) before reaching over to reclaim his abandoned drink. "I have a sister." Clearly, this was not expected news.

"Mostly good changes," Aignes will give another wink as she sips on her drink, although any winking or smiling disappears as he mentions the whole mother problems. "I mean, I know she is his mother but… if she's going to keep sending hateful letters just because, maybe he should stop reading them?" She shrugs even as she offers the suggestion. And then F'inn is back and looking like he might have seen a ghost or something. The announcement has her eyes widen a bit. "Like, a baby sister? But I thought your father was with another man…"

F'inn is all to ready to wrap an arm around K'zre, the gesture unconciously protective and perhaps a tad to tight. It's the announcement, however, that has him blinking, then flashing an inordinantly pleased smile. "That's great news! Who? Where is she? What's her name? How old is she? Are we going to meet her?" F'inn? F'inn is /all/ about family and K'zre having more family? About the very best news he could possibly imagine. Catching Aignes' words, F'inn blinks once, his brows furrowing. "Well, things happen with flights. I'm pretty sure they take precautions… But.."

"Yeah…" is all that K'zre can say. At least until he's got another sip or two of his drink in him, and is firmly established at F'inn's side. "He is," he agrees with Aignes. "But… yeah…" for F'inn, and that 'flight' business. "She's… almost two. She's… um," and a moment later, he's digging that letter out of his pocket to review. "Her name is Reva. She's at Igen." It's like he's reading a grocery list, though there's no denying that he feels something about all this. He's just… not sure what that thing is, yet. The letter is quickly folded up and once more tucked away, safe. "I've never had a sister before."

Aignes ahhs about the whole flight business and might be making a mental note to double check on her own precautions. "Well, you have had a sister for two turns. You just haven't known about her." She points out rather bluntly, but at least it's with a smile? "That seems like a weird thing to put in a letter. He couldn't come and tell you face to face? Does the girl's mother not want you involved or something?"

"Almost two… that's a great age," F'inn notes with a broad smile. "Can we go visit her? We could all go as a group just as soon as Eli has gone up." And while it takes him a moment to curb his excitement, he eventually manages, his hand smoothing over the length of K'zre's arm. "This is /good/ news, K'zre. And we wanted to see Igen, remember?" Glancing over at Aignes, F'inn blinks, then blinks again. "No.. Absolutely not. R'sner wouldn't stand for that. Ohhhhh… Toith's proddy," he provides with a firm nod. "That's the only reason he wouldn't be here, himself." And with Czarduinath edging toward the same? It's all timing.

K'zre doesn't know what to do with this information. So he'll just drink his drink and avoid answering those questions for another moment or two. "He said he did want to tell me in person, but… timing… Half Moon had snow," he notes, his expression making it quite clear how he feels about that crazy improbability. "It was a mess. And now… yeah," he adds, seconding F'inn's observation. "Toith's glowing. It's… hard to explain." And maybe doesn't want to. He's a lot longer in answering F'inn's questions, a complex mixture of emotions passing over him before he simply says, "We did," in answer to visiting Igen.

"Weird that he was only just now finding out with the snow. If she's two… then nearly three turns would be an awful long time for someone to keep it from him. But I guess living in different weyrs…" Aignes will shrug. Stranger things have happened. SURPRISE FLIGHT BABY SIBLINGS is pretty run of the mill for weyr families after all. "And like F'inn said, two is a good age. She's not going to remember much from before now, so to her it will probably be like you were always her brother."

F'inn tilts his head, watching K'zre's face for a moment before leaning in to brush a tender kiss over the corner of his mouth. "You take all the time you need to process this, alright? I know it's a lot." And while /he/ is impossibly excited about the prospect of more family? He understands, all to well, K'zre's hesitation. "It's all going to be fine," he murmurs in soothing tones. He has no idea how long R'sner known about the baby, but he does understand why they are just finding out now. "It's been… We only just found him and his weyrmate," he admits to Aignes.

In lieu of words, K'zre drinks. And drinks. And drinks. Until the glass is empty and he's pushing it away and declining a refill. There's a shallow nod of his head for F'inn's reassurances, a little bit of a lean into him for the kiss, and a bit of a sigh for the whole mess of it. But a quick scowl comes for Aignes, even if he's quickly schooling it away and almost looking apologetic for it. "It's not like that," he argues, though it's not a very strong one. "I only just…" but F'inn's filling in the rest, Kez reaching out to finally snag the barstool and pull it over so he can sit down. "And he's a Weyrlingmaster. Him and his weyrmate both. They're busy. And we're busy. And then…" snow. And proddy. Another sigh, and he sort of slumps into the stool, leaning against F'inn to prevent a tumble down to the ground. "It's complicated," he declares at last.

Aignes raises her hands in an attempt at a pacifying gesture. "I didn't mean it like that! I mean, for all I knew, it was a surprise for him as well." She slumps down in her seat a bit, defeated. "You have a complicated family, you know that? And I thought mine was bad, but that's most because mine is large. At least they're all in one place."

"And N'sir was very sick for a while," F'inn provides. "R'sner was distraught." It was a very, very stressful time for all of them. "Then, before that, I had the incident with Nymionth's empathy… That was awful, to. It took a while for R'sner to get me through that one. They're good people," he assures as he gently, but firmly, rubs K'zre's back. "It's not your fault," he assures Aignes. "There's just be so much going on for us since graduation." In the wake of the words, he offers her a reassuring smile, leaning forward to gently squeeze her hand before resettling with K'zre tucked in against him. "You going to be okay?"

K'zre's has a complicated life, or at least he's beginning to feel like he does. His family has tripled in size in the span of half a turn — it's a lot to take in! And he's doing it rather well buzzed at this point, which is not helping him cope. "They're not bad," he asserts, misunderstanding Aignes' statement. "Just…" what F'inn said. "Busy." His hand reaches for the glass, lifting it for a sip before he seems to recall that it's empty. Down it goes, once again. "I don't know how to be a brother," he decides, somewhat anxious. "How… do you know what to say, what to do?" The question is for both of them. They're the ones with siblings, not him! "I… I think I need some water."

Aignes sighs and raises a hand to her temple. "Not bad, bad. This is all coming out wrong." She eyes her remaining drink. It's probably not helping, but she'll continue drinking it anyways. "Most folks become brothers as toddlers. If a toddler can figure it out, I'm sure you'll do fine. Besides, Yasminath is a sister, so that's another leg up on the brothers that become brothers much earlier." How much similarities a dragon sister and a human sister have remains to be seen. Either way, Kez should probably know better than to get the baby sister a nice plump wherry for her turnday.

Fortunately, the bartender agrees with K'zre. It is complicated and he does need water. That being the case, a glass is set close to hand, the bartender giving a reassuring wink in response to F'inn's grateful smile. "Thank you." Handing the glass to K'zre, he considers a moment before noting quietly. "No one knows how to be a brother until they become a brother. You'll be great." He has no doubt of that, at all. "Right now? She's a baby, you just coo and smile and tickle and all is well. By the time she's talking, you'll know her well enough to know what to say. And you can teach her tons. Hunting and fishing and tracking and how to ride a runner, first aide?" And F'inn? F'inn'll make the dolls that little girls adore.

"I… how…?" But Kez will just leave it at that. Yasminath is a great dragon-sister! Surely some of that will translate to Kez, right? She's not worried, even if he is. "I should be smarter than a toddler," he agrees, reaching for the glass of water and taking a long, grateful swallow of it. F'inn's words are acknowledged, the greenrider wiggling in just that much closer. "Coo?" Even half-drunk, Kez finds the idea of him cooing somewhat unbelievable. "You can coo," he decides, grumpily. "I'll… observe." He's not even joking about that one, really. "When she's older…" He just found out he has a sister, and she's already growing up too fast!

"Should be," Aignes holds out a finger with a smile, "But I'm sure you'll still have your moments…" Toddlers can be brilliant in their own little ways. Mostly when it comes to getting into trouble. She smiles at the disagreement at cooing. "Just wait. You'll coo and tickle her belly and she'll giggle and you'll want to do it all again. Also… babies have the cutiest little booties. And ribbons for her hair. Ooooh! And you know, I have a few dresses I had started making for my nieces but they were bigger than I expected…" She does come from a mining family. Her brothers are some stout fellows who also have some rather sturdy little girls.

F'inn exhales a quiet laugh, his brows twitching as he pinches one of K'zre's cheeks and coos adoringly. "I'll take cooing duty," he assures in warm tones. At the mention of dresses, F'inn perks up considerably, his smile broadening as he nods at Aignes. "Dresses would be perfect. I mean, her daddy N'sir is a tailor, to, so she's sure to be drowning in clothes. But still, what little girl doesn't love that? I'm going to have to make a doll," he murmurs as he reaches for his beer and takes a long swallow. "And she'll love your runner," he assures K'zre. "Ohh.. Maybe a pony?" Yup, he's going overboard.

"She's two!" This comes in argument for the pony, K'zre fixing his weyrmate with a thoroughly disapproving, disbelieving look. It helps that he's intoxicated — really gives that look some weight behind it. "She doesn't need a pony." But dolls? Dresses? Those he won't argue with. If just because he hasn't the faintest idea what a toddler likes, wants, or needs (other than knowing a pony is not one of them). "And she's in Igen," he reminds. "The desert." In case anyone might have forgotten. "It's hot." More water. More leaning. "They… They want to have a party, for her turnday," he informs, looking apprehensive once again. "We're invited." Toddler birthday party!

"It could be a stuffed pony? Or what about one of those cute little rocking runners?" Aignes bounces in her seat and reaches out to tap-tap-tap on Kez's arm in excitement. "You could paint it pink!!!" At least it's better than a living, breathing runner painted pink? As for the matter of her being in Igen, Aignes gives a nice hearty pshaw. "So she won't need the wool dresses. But there's plenty of nice cottons I have that she could use." And her fingers itch to open the swatch binder, but she doesn't. Since upholstery material would be totally unsuitable for little girl dresses.

"We definately need presents," F'inn announces. "Pfft," however, comes at the vetoing of the pony. "All little girls love ponies, K'zre. Oh, you know.. We could get her a canine. I heard there was a litter of those tiny little fluffy ones that are always running around." Chewing his lip, he considers for a long moment before deciding. "I'll talk to my mom tonight about a soft faced doll. She's still to young for porcelain. Oh my.. Yes!" He declares in response to Aignes' suggestion of a rocking runner. "That's perfect. And bows, it's going to need bows."

"I don't think that's a good idea…" for the canine, K'zre's expression going full-blown anxious now. "I know nothing about this child. I know nothing about her… situation. R'sner says she's fostered… her foster mother… What if she's allergic? What if they're both allergic? What if they don't LIKE canines, or, or…" And then that look gets turned on Aignes, wide-eyes at her pink rocking-runner (WITH BOWS!) "She… I… don't…" But it's a losing battle. He can tell by the excitement in his weyrmate and the 'tap-tap-tap' of his arm by Aignes that he's definitely the odd one out on this. "She's my sister," he argues in a low, grumpy mutter as he sips at his water and sulks (still leaning wholeheartedly against his weyrmate, mind).

Aignes wishy-washy waves her hands. "A canine might be a bit much, until after you know her. Same with a feline." As cute as they might be. She does give a nod towards F'inn's additions of bows. "Of course. And you need to make sure it's one with yarn hair so she can learn to braid it, instead of one of those that's all wooden." She tilts her head as Kez sulks about her being his sister. "What, so you want to get her a 'baby's first first aid kit' and an anatomically correct doll?"

F'inn kisses K'zre's temple at his protests, his smile just growing by the moment. "She is your sister, and my sister, by extension. And you did ask us for help. You'll be the best brother ever," F'inn assures. With toddlers? It's all about bribery. "Fine, fine," he agrees about living gifts. "But a rocking runner for certain. Oooh Yarn hair is a great idea," he agrees. At the rest, he just laughs, his hand running up K'zre's arm in a soothing gesture. "You're giving her the best gift any little could ever have," he points out. "A big brother."

K'zre remains grumpy, scowling at his water and hunching his shoulders despite soothing caresses and verbal reassurances. "Of course not," he scoffs at Aignes. "Not when she's two." But when she's five? All bets are off. Pony's with yarn hair, dolls with soft faces, bows and dresses… it's all too much for the greenrider, and so he sulks, looking almost pouty as he nurses his water glass and listens to the pair of much more experienced siblings giving 'advice'. It's that last bit, about the best gift he can give her, that has him looking much less petulant and a lot more freaked out. "I don't… I don't think…" A bite of his lip, a hard look at his glass before he sets it aside, and then he's wiggling out from beneath F'inn's arm and standing. "I'm… I'm going to go…" he decides. A look at Aignes and a few seconds of consideration and he seems to recall some manners because he tacks on, "But the dresses… the would be nice. Thank you."

Aignes pats at Kez's hand once more, as scowly as he might be. "Think about it. The rocking runner is sure to be a hit! And you know where to find me when you need the dresses." As for her? That latest glass is finally finished and she stares at all her swatch books and measuring tapes. "Ughhhh. Now I have to get all this back…" But back she will do. And eventually there might be some fancy updated bar stools in Shenanigans. Hopefully they're not purple.

F'inn slides off his stool, his arm winding around K'zre's shoulder. "I'll come with you." He knows when K'zre is tense and lost in his own head and he knows how to pull him out of that. "Thank you, Aignes," he adds with an easy smile. "I'll let you know when we're heading to Igen for sure." At the moment, though, he's all about guiding K'zre to the door, a nod of thanks offered to the bartender as they make thier way out.

Add a New Comment