Fort Weyr - Shenanigan's Lounge

The natural walls of this cavern haven been completely covered and replaced by straight and sometimes curving walls of brickwork. There's method to the madness of covering stone with stone. It's as simple as the electric buzz in the room. New grade electric lights dot the fancy brick worked walls, with wires cleverly hidden behind, allowing more focus to be centered on the rest of the room rather than the numerous strings of wire needed to operate the lighting. Each bulb roosts in a bronzed metal flowering fixture, giving the room a rich atmosphere. Still, the walls are not the only place which has stone on stone appeal. The floor has been run smooth, the surface now slate rock, creating an imperial cast.
Beyond the actual foundations of the lounge, the luxury continues. High backed wooden chairs with padded white seats have been stationed all around the room. Between the individual chairs are benches fashioned out of the same rich wood with pillows made to flatter the cushions. There are low lying coffee tables or end tables near the individual chairs, while there's larger dinning room sized tables with chairs to match scattered as well, giving much variety to those who find themselves in the room. Decorative hangings and framed artwork has been neatly hung around the room, but to offset the meticulous method of the room, there's some pieces that give a sporty feeling to the room - such as a fishing rod or a snow shoe.
Of course, the final appeal of the room comes in the form of it's purpose; athletic competition. There are several games of darts lining the walls, various decks of dragon poker cards available, a large velvet lined pool table centered to one side of the lounge, a mat area surrounded by ropes, and an area that keeps track of all the runner races around the world via radio signal, giving constant updates on the status of the runners. Lastly, there's a bar here, small and built with brick as well. There's usually a bartender on duty willing to mix drinks during the evening hours.

So for most of the day it drizzled, pretty well soaking everything and everyone. Even the dragons didn't venture out if they didn't have to. Now night has fallen and brought freezing temperatures, and as a result the entire region is covered with a thin coating of ice. Even in the bowl, one can hear the sound of tree limbs bursting from the frigid temperature, and more than one unlucky resident has slipped on patches of ice that lie hidden in the darkness. It's been a long day. M'lo (and half the rest of the Weyr, seems like) is in Shenanigans, nursing a plate of hot food and curling his hands around a steaming mug of something that smells fantastic.

Ice won't deter one Fortian resident for too long, even if some may mutter that he is reckless with his determination to follow his routines despite the weather. Th'ero has just finished his rounds and as his path brings him by Shenanigan's, he slips inside rather than continue onward to his weyr. For all the Weyrleader knows, the stairs haven't been salted yet or it could be he simply could not handle the frigid temperatures any longer. Pausing by the doorway, he brushes off the worst of the rainwater and thin coating of ice that clings to his thick riding gear, stepping aside politely enough to do so. Even his hair is damp and that's bound to have someone chiding him about getting sick. Lingering, he doesn't seem to step in any further, though his head does turn a bit as though deep in thought. Waiting for someone? Or checking in. Eventually his gaze will sweep out over the well populated lounge (hopefully his favorite spot isn't occupied!) and that is when he spies M'lo and he straightens a bit, giving the Weyrsecond a nod in greeting and a faint smile.

No, the steps have not been salted. But don't worry, they'll learn that bit of information soon enough. Shortly after Th'ero's arrival, Kimmila walks in, a hand pressed against her elbow, arms crossed over her body. Scowling, she gazes around the room and once she spots the Weyrleader she's quick to walk over towards him. "Hey," she says, her voice soft, but the irritation is unmistakable. "The steps are a nightmare. We /have/ to get folks to salt those as soon as the ice starts to form. And when are we going to get that rope railing put up that we talked about?" Hi, honey, how was your day? Green eyes stare at Th'ero a moment longer, hand still massaging her elbow, and then she looks at M'lo. "Right?" she asks, clearly seeking to draw the Weyrsecond in on this 'discussion', and obviously she wants him on her side.

M'lo catches Th'ero's entrance and gives his boss a quick grin and a friendly nod. Turns out he's sitting at Th'ero's table, but the bronzerider's usual chair is free, as are the rest there. Rank hath its privelages, after all. He blinks up at Kimmila, and frowns in some concern. "Shells, I told them to do that an hour ago," he says, sounding grumpy. He sips from that amazingly fragrant drink of his, and then fumbles a pen and a piece of note paper from his pocket. He scribbles something down. "D'gran!" he calls. A bluerider looks up. "Deliver this, will you?" he asks, handing over the note. D'gran nods and scoots. "Sorry," M'lo tells Th'ero and Kimmila.

Ahh, there she is. Th'ero at first simply gives his weyrmate a faint smile as well, but as she approaches and he notices how she's holding her elbow and her greeting (if it can be called that) have him frowning heavily. Once he puts two and two together though, the Weyrleader is startled enough that his control on his emotions slip. Hey Th'ero, your concern is showing. Because concerned he is, very much so though his expression soon slips back to a scowl. Concerned and guilty. "I'll see to it then," he says firmly and at M'lo's grumpy attention, anger flashes in the bronzerider's eyes. Not directed at the Weyrsecond, but likely for whichever poor sap shirked his duties. If those responsible are smart, they'd start running right about… now. Th'ero's gaze drops again to her elbow and then he's stepping close to Kimmila, almost blocking her entirely from view with is body. Of course he doesn't embrace her (what, in public?) but he does lean down to mutter something low by her ear, likely a string of questions while M'lo takes care of business. By the time D'gran has taken the note, Th'ero has turned and is now gesturing for the bluerider to take a seat in their usual spot. He'll follow behind, as usual. "Not your fault, so why apologize? If there's anyone who needs to be sorry, it's those louts who overlooked a simple task." he mutters in a low and slightly tense tone.
Th'ero mutters to Kimmila, "Are… far did you fall and how?… are… have… brought…"

You whisper "Are you alright? How far did you fall and how? And where are you hurt? Your elbow… should I have a Healer brought in? Discreetly?" to Kimmila.

Kimmila's eyes flick to M'lo, and then Th'ero is there in her personal space, and she's looking up at him. She mutters something softly back and then takes the offered seat - her usual - and she flops into it with a scowl. "I want a beer," she says flatly. Oooh, boy. And she's still cradling her elbow, too, glaring around the room.
Kimmila mutters to Th'ero, "… the… underneath… fell… my… banged… above. Just… didn't… baby…"

Kimmila whispers "Fell on the damn steps, foot went out from underneath me and fell back on my ass, and banged my elbow on the step above. Just my elbow, thank Faranth, didn't lose the baby or nothing."

M'lo is a little slower to notice the way Kimmila is holding her arm, but once he puts the pieces together his frown deepens until he's scowling ferociously. "Are you alright?" he asks her, looking quite concerned. He quirks his eyebrows up at her mention of beer. "Try the wassail," he suggests. "Non-alcoholic, and /amazing/." That's apparently what he's got, and it smells SO GOOD. He tries not to evesdrop on the whole muttering going on over there, but he catches a few words and can't help but look curious.

Th'ero's mood doesn't seem to improve much with Kimmila's murmured reply, his scowl only deepening. Thankfully, the bluerider seems unharmed, save for the elbow she was clearly nursing. No Healer's rushing in or the Weyrleader taking her, willing or not, straight to the infirmary. Instead he only follows her to the usual table, taking his seat and clearly on edge. At her request, he only glances sidelong at her and his mouth draws down into a thin line. The glance says all though: no beer. M'lo's suggestion though has Th'ero nodding his head briskly and promptly signalling a nearby server for two glasses. Regardless if Kimmila wants one or not. Then the poor Weyrsecond is given a long look from the Weyrleader and thus begin the second round of questions, "When was it that you ordered the stairs salted?"
Kimmila turns to stare at M'lo for a moment, and the bluerider reigns in her temper enough that she doesn't snap at the Weyrsecond, who truly does not deserve any part of her anger or irritation. "Fine," is her answer, short but genuine enough. Turning to stare at Th'ero, her frown deepens at his look, and she slouches in her chair. Every picture the petulant teen being denied something she really really really wants, even though she knows beer is bad for her right now. She's grumpy, so any denial is cause for anger.

"Like I said, an hour ago," M'lo replies promptly. "It should have already been done, but when I passed them I noticed, so I ordered a drudge to do it immediately. He ran off for the salt, and something else came up. I should have gone back and checked." The server comes back in record time with the glasses of wassail. Annnnnnd a tray of sweets, compliments of the house. No one dawdles when both the Weyrleader /and/ the Weyrsecond are scowling. "What was his name?" he mutters half to himself. "Starts with a P. Prill? Phil? Payil?" He shakes his head. "D'gran will personally oversee that they're salted, and bring him straight here when that's done. I'll take care of it," he promises. The he pushes the pastries a bit closer to Kimmila.

Th'ero can sense enough of Kimmila's mood without having to even glance down at her. Her short reply and just her posture is enough for the Weyrleader to know. He could really go for some alcohol now too, even just a simple small glass of wine… but the wassail will do. The two glasses do arrive promptly — at least the service is going smoothly within the lounge. He takes his share and then sets Kimmila's glass within her reach. The sweets are not touched by the bronzerider though and that isn't entirely surprising. Shifting a little in his chair, Th'ero then turns to face M'lo again as he leans back in his seat, one hand on his glass and the other at his side — or perhaps resting lightly against the bluerider's thigh, though hidden. "I see," he drawls to the Weyrsecond, heavy scowl still in place. This bit of news is only cementing his anger towards this drudge. "I'm not entirely familiar with all their names. D'gran knows him though? Or where to find him?" Because Th'ero is certainly itching to have a few words with whoever the drudge may be.

Kimmila eyes the wassail for a moment and then takes the mug in her hands, taking a small sip. If it's good, she shows no indication of it, choosing instead to still be moody. The sweets are glanced at, and then M'lo is frowned at for pushing them towards her, and she does not take one. "Hey," she says, flagging down a serving girl, "bag of ice?" And with a nod, the girl hastens off. And if Th'ero's hand is on her thigh, he'll find it to be tense and unmoving.

And here comes the man in question, the man Pnali. He's dressed in heavy winter clothes - the kind that let you work outside in the cold without freezing /or/ overheating - something that Fortian Weavers have perfected over the turns. "Sirs," he says as he walks towards the table, fingers touching his brow in a salute that's almost hesitant. Then he spots Kimmila and hastily tacks on, "Ma'am." Not a stupid man, he looks from M'lo to Th'ero and back, and clears his throat. "This 'bout them stairs? I was gonna get to 'em, but stuff just kept comin' up."

"Yes," M'lo assures Th'ero. "I'll take care of it." It's his job, after all. That's all he says for a while, and the silence lengthens until finally Pnali shows up. D'gran stays behind the man, and gives the leaders a nod of greeting. "Has it been done?" M'lo asks D'gran, and the bluerider nods a couple of times. Then M'lo turns his dark eyes to the drudge. "Yes," he confirms. "This is about the stairs. What stuff 'just kept comin' up'?" he asks softly. He looks decidedly unhappy.

Th'ero is not surprised at all by how tense Kimmila is, though he does turn his head slightly to not her ignoring the sweets as well and then asking a serving girl for ice (ironic, that). Again, he looks a touch guilty, perhaps for having overlooked that one detail for his weyrmate while his mind seems wholly focused on finding out who's negligence led to this mishap. One that could have been far worse but blessedly was not. Turning his head again, the bronzerider murmurs a few low questions to the bluerider, some of the words overheard but likely nothing of major importance. Just some slight concern showing again from the usually neutral and reserved Th'ero as he tries to awkwardly reassure her. And then Pnali arrives and the Weyrleader is sitting up straight in his chair and both his hands will seem to tighten and curl as he fights back his anger to a reasonable level. Barely. Eyes narrow considerably and there is no return greeting to the drudge, simply a cold once over look and a rather heavy silence from the bronzerider. Never a good sign and Pnali best speak quickly to answer M'lo's questions.

Kimmila accepts the ice from the girl, appreciating the towel that she brought with it, and gently nestles it around her elbow. Ironic, yes, though she doesn't show any sign of amusement at her need. And then she just sits, eying Pnali with almost bland curiosity.

Pnali clears his throat and glances between the men, shifting his weight a bit. "Well, sirs, you know how it is…First a pipe done burst in, uh…can't remember her name but it's on the report. In her weyr, so had to get up there to stop the leak, an' then use the salt to keep her ledge from icin' up, so her dragon didn't get hurt, and then o'course had to send someone to get more salt, and then got called away to help cut up a tree that'd fallen over the main path an' was blockin' some folks from gettin' to the Gemstone where it's warm an' all, an' they couldn't go around cuz' of their beasts, the drifts're too deep out there. And then was goin' back to the stairs and heard someone'd used that second load of salt for a path out by the pens, so had to go get /more/, an' that's when yer rider found me and with his help we got it done." He clears his throat. "Didn't mean to let it go so long, sirs, just…couldn't say no to those other orders neither." Life is busy for a handyman this time of turn. "An' too dangerous to let the younger drudges go at it," he adds. Things are never simple, are they?

Varmiroth senses that Velokraeth reaches for the blue with no hesitation and brushes up with a gentle sort of familiarity with the blue. His mental touch is warm, soothing almost and just as smooth as silk — or a well aged wine that lies easily on the tongue and yet is not overly sweet. « Is she unharmed? » the bronze inquires, sounding rather concerned now that he's been roused from his slumber and alert enough. No doubt his rider's mental turmoil is having an effect too.

Velokraeth senses that Varmiroth takes a short while to reply, either checking with his lifemate and demanding answers, or trying to find the right words for his answer. « Her pride, mostly, and she is angry at…everything right now. But…for actual pain, it's just her elbow. That hurts. But she tells me it's not broken. But she is upset. »

Varmiroth senses that Velokraeth is patient with Varmiroth's reply, his concern not too great as to harry and press the blue to answer immediately. When the blue does speak though, the bronze strengthens the bond and the crystal white and honey golden hues of his mind are warm and tinged with a slight scent of spice and smoke. « And for good reason. Her pride, nor her elbow or any part of her should have suffered such indignity. Mine has it that it's his fault, though I told him it's not as though he /put/ the ice there. » He snorts in a scoffing way or at least mentally hints at it. « I am glad to hear though that she is safe and not too hurt by this… unfortunate oversight. »

Velokraeth senses that Varmiroth is a bit confused when he does reply, not understanding. « How is it yours' fault? Why does he think that? »

Varmiroth senses that Velokraeth replies with the equivalent of a mental shrug and when she speaks again, his tone is drawling as it is mellow, amused despite the seriousness of the situation. « You know how he is. » Is it that much of a surprise? « He takes the blame for neglecting having the rope railing installed, » the bronze elaborates after a pause, likely prying and yanking the answers from his rider and not at all gentle about it. « His logic is is if the rail was there, she would not have fallen or if she did, she'd have something to catch herself and not be hurt. Hmm. His logic does not make whole sense, but he's being unreasonable. »

M'lo drums his fingers on the table as he listens to Pnali's explanation. "Ah, I see," he says quietly. "And… do those other riders out-rank me?" he asks.

Th'ero grimaces as Pnali speaks his side of the story, his narrowed glance still focused on the drudge and his features and emotions unreadable beyond the simmering anger that is obvious enough just by his posture and behavior. No, things are never simple and neither will this be an easy case. That much crosses the Weyrleader's mind and for a moment he lifts a hand up to press it against his temple. Thoughtful? Or does his head hurt. Could be both and for various reasons. The glass of wassail, untouched until now is suddenly lifted and a good portion of the drink consumed in one long sip. Lowering the glass back slowly to the table, Th'ero shifts to rest his arm on the table's edge, taking his hand from Kimmila's thigh as he does and he leans forwards to level a long, serious look at Pnali. "Weyrsecond M'lo has a /very/ good point. Certain orders take priority, just as one task should be completed before the next." he says in a low and quiet, tense voice.

Velokraeth senses that Varmiroth considers for a moment, and then replies slowly, « It does make some sense, » he says. « The fall could have been avoided if the rope were there… » Seems Varmiroth is taking Th'ero's side, but cautiously.

Kimmila is just sitting there, icing her elbow and sipping her drink, still ignoring the sweets. You do not exist!

Pnali blinks, and clears his throat once more, slowly pulling off his gloves since it looks like he might be here longer than he'd anticipated. "I…well no. The one rider was just a greenrider and the others were…well they were traders needin' help. But…" and he glances at Th'ero, and then at M'lo. "Couldn't just let the pipe leak all over the place. Or leave people out in the cold… So I just thought…those were more important." But he grimaces slightly when he says it, staring for a moment at Kimmila's elbow. Obviously she's the problem here. And it seems like he's going to stubbornly believe that he was right in his decision to postpone the icing of the steps, too. "Fort's never left folks waiting in the cold," he adds, jaw setting a bit. As the situation sinks in, he can't believe he's being called to task over some stupid bluerider bruising her elbow, when there were - and still are - far more important matters to tend to.

"It's true that those other tasks needed tending to," M'lo says evenly. "But tell me, Pnali," he finally remembers the man's name. "Are you the only one in the Weyr capable of doing these things? The only drudge, hm?" He watches the man set his jaw and narrows his eyes. "Kimmila here slipped and hurt herself. It's lucky she didn't crack open her skull." He leans forward. "What if Jessia had been bringing something up and fallen down, hm?" He names a pretty cook who's about six months pregnant with a greenrider's baby. She's well-liked by most in the Weyr. "Would you be so confident in overriding my orders, then?"

Th'ero says little it seems as Pnali is grilled more or less by the Weyrsecond instead. The Weyrleader pays close attention though to the drudge, observing his reaction and the change in his expressions. The setting of his jaw is noted and for that the bronzerider grows wary and his shoulders are tensely held, as if braced for something. What that something is may never be known, but it's obvious that Th'ero is in no mood for these run about games and his hold on his temper is wearing thin. Thankfully, Pnali does NOT voice his true thoughts or they'd be having a very different sort of conversation. "Jessia is not the only one pregnant." Th'ero says in a flat, cold voice, dark eyes leveling the drudge with another look. "Most folk would be understanding that in conditions like this, they may be stuck out in the cold. It's not your place to oversee all these task, as M'lo so put it. There are other drudges, others who could help. You had your orders." And that is that, it seems.

Varmiroth senses that Velokraeth is silent for some time, though he does not sever the bond with Varmiroth. Sign enough that the bronze isn't annoyed, per say by the blue. He's simply surprised by the side on which he takes. « Regardless, it's not as though he is wholly to blame. The drudge that they're all about to flay apart is just as responsible. » he adds in a firm tone.

Kimmila shoots M'lo a very narrowed look when he talks about her - and then compares her to a knocked up cook. Gripping her drink, she looks around for a possible escape route, but it'd be hard to move from her chair without asking the others to also move.

Pnali's jaw tightens at the use of the word 'drudge'. "M'a handyman, sir," he says. "Not a drudge. And well no, m'not the only one, but you want a job done good, you see to it yourself." Which…isn't the best logic, since he didn't see to the steps being de-iced. "But she ain't-" he begins, shooting Kimmila's stomach-region a look, and then something he heard in the kitchens surfaces, and he blanches a bit, "well, uh, I mean, ain't cha? Or are ya?" Not that it matters, as the man stammers to a halt. And then Th'ero is pretty much answering that question, and the handyman clears his throat again. "M'sorry about the stairs, sirs, but you're fine," he says, looking at Kimmila, "an' I'll make sure they stay salted and all. I jus' thought th' other things were more important."

At that - as they all talk about her like she's not even there, especially concerning her pregnancy, Kimmila pushes to her feet with a string of muttered curse words and stalks off to the bar to sit. And don't worry about her getting anything alcoholic, either. The bartender knows and has been told by Elara not to serve the bluerider any alcohol. Woe is Kimm.

Oops, looks like M'lo's attempt to keep Kimmila's pregnancy status on the down-low failed. "Is that what you thought?" M'lo asks, and stands up to let Kimmila pass him to stalk to the bar. He keeps his feet and leans forward, planting his hands on the table. "Did you hear that, Th'ero? Pnali, here, has decided that his decision-making skills outrank mine." He fixes a hard stare at the man. "But I think that I'm going to have to take exception to that train of thought. You disobeyed a direct order which put a rider's life in danger today, and the life of her unborn child. And we all know what happens to the dragon when his rider dies. That's three lives that you risked, because you decided not to heed my instructions. That's three too many. You're dismissed. Tomorrow I'll take you some place a bit warmer, where you won't have to worry about icy steps. Perhaps Ista Weyr, or Landing, can use a… handyman."

Well isn't this just a whole kettle of awkward? Th'ero is snapped from his focused anger and annoyance to Pnali's lack of understanding and behavior when Kimmila pushes to her feet and storms off with a string of muttered curses. The Weyrleader follows her — with his eyes and a frown that is heavy but hard to read but he himself remains seated. Bristling, not because she stormed off but more because the situation made his weyrmate storm off to start, his temper begins to fray. "Apologies that would hold no strength, if things had ended worse than they have," he tells Pnali in that same cold voice but now the words are terse and clipped. "And the stairs have been tended to by others, so no need to /concern/ yourself over it now." He points out with barely held back sarcasm and now he too is rising to his feet and straightening to his full height. Staring down at the handyman, if that is what he is, the Weyrleader's mouth sets into a grim line as M'lo sets down his verdict. There's a pause, a silence only a few seconds in length and then Th'ero nods his head briskly and sharply. Punishment passed. "I trust you can see to the rest of this, M'lo?" he asks, not even bothering to be respectful and give Pnali some sort of speech or even acknowledge the man. His mood is likely souring so swiftly that nothing he would say would be… pleasant.

Pnali looks rather shocked at M'lo's response, only sparing the briefest of glances for Kimmila. "What?" he says, anger flaring in his eyes. "I've been a part of this weyr for ten turns, an' you're…firing me? Over some icy steps? Forget it," he says heatedly, reaching up to yank off his knot and throw it on the table. "I quit." And he turns to storm out. "Sharding crazy ass riders, so full of themselves, damn fools…" and he's banging out the doors and into the Cavern.

As he storms out, Kimmila turns on her stool to look at M'lo and Th'ero. "What the hell did you two do?" she says, voice curt. "You fired him? Over…over /this/?" and she lifts her elbow, clearly just as surprised at Pnali was over the verdict.

M'lo nods curtly to Th'ero. "I can," he assures the Weyrleader. Then Pnali has his little tantrum. D'gran gives the brownrider a wide-eyed look. "Go after him," he says. "Make sure he doesn't stir up any trouble or spread lies - he disobeyed an order that put three lives in danger, and this is the consequence. I'll take him somewhere in the morning, first thing. Make sure he's packed and ready to go." D'gran nods, looking serious, and follows Pnali out the door. M'lo sighs and drains the rest of his wassail. Then he looks up at Kimmila. "Yes," he says. "He's lucky all you hurt was your elbow. If you'd lost that baby, or been killed, he'd be facing criminal charges instead of just getting fired."

Th'ero hardly looks fazed by Pnali's response, simply holding his ground while the handyman throws down his knot and storms out. The man's words seem to haunt the Weyrleader a little and despite his growing anger and frustration (and likely a huge headache by now), his calmer logical side is finally slipping through enough to wedge in some doubt. A wedge that only broadens when Kimmila turns and curtly tears into both Weyrleader and Weysecond. Something that probably doesn't go unnoticed by a few of the other patrons of the lounge. That only has Th'ero all the more irritable and those who had turned to look are suddenly finding somewhere else to glance at or perhaps even shuffle away to calmer corners when he shoots a few darting glares their way. To his weyrmate though, he doesn't glare but simply fixes her with an incredulous look that promptly falls under a neutral mask as he glances down and away. He says nothing though, brooding while M'lo defends them both, it seems in his reply to Kimmila. "Perhaps," The Weyrleader finally murmurs, but his voice is still flat and words clipped. "He need not be relocated. Restricted duty. A sort of second chance, but a final one. Screw up again and /then/ he is out. If this is his first blunder in ten Turns…"

Kimmila openly glowers at M'lo, shaking her head firmly. "You're a fool," she snaps. "I don't need protecting and I sure as hell don't need /vengeance/. Go kick the damn steps if you need to take out your anger on something. I would've made the same decisions he did, if I were in his place. He did what he thought was best. To fire someone because they don't blindly follow orders is the worst kind of power trip." She cuts herself off before she gets /herself/ relocated, fixing Th'ero with a long stare. And all she does is nod slightly. Ever so slightly. And then she's stalking back to their shared table to grab a sweet. Snatch. And stalk back to the bar to eat it. Sugar. Yum.

"It's not his first blunder," M'lo says. "Just his most serious. He regularly talks back to riders, and he's beligerant. He's been here ten turns, but he's only a drudge, no matter that he calls himself a handyman." He picks up the knot and pockets it. He listens to Kimmila and his expression darkens. He steps closer to Th'ero and murmurs something.
M'lo mutters to Th'ero, "… you… that's… prerogative…. I'm not taking… I hope… that…"

M'lo whispers "If you find fault with my decision, that's your prerogative. I hope you know that I'm not taking vengeance, here. I hope you know me better than that by now."

Kimmila is in no danger of being relocated, even after her outburst. Th'ero only fixes her with a warning stare, but now is not the place or the time for him to call her out on in. He knows the bluerider well enough by now not to disrespect her that way by dredging everything out publicly. His gaze lingers until he's certain she understands or perhaps he tries to convey more through it, but to most it would seem as little in his features seem to shift. As she snacks on one of the sweets, the Weyrleader turns slightly to face the Weyrsecond, posture still stiff and tense as he gives M'lo a rather incredulous look that swiftly moves to confusion. "Why were those reports never brought to my attention?" he asks in a low tone, "Or are these infractions before my time? This is the same man?" Then he is silent, head lowering to catch the words the brownrider mutters to him. His features darken for a moment, but he shakes his head. "I need to think on this. I want all the reports on his supposed blunders, if possible. Until then… waylay taking him from the Weyr. It's not that I do not trust your decision. I know it not to be vengeance either. But I am not going to let my temper rule my hand and I'm afraid I feel as though I did not weigh all options. As a Weyrleader. No fault of yours."

Kimmila is still listening from her spot at the bar, head tilting a bit. Her frown deepens at M'lo's comments about more infractions, gaze flicking towards the door as she adjusts the ice on her elbow. And then she meets Th'ero's gaze and holds it - and her tongue as well - as he speaks. Her expression shifts very slightly, but it's brief as she turns to sip her drink once more. And yeah, this is a good drink, and she'll order it again. But she won't tell M'lo that.

M'lo's eyes widen a bit at Th'ero's question. "In the chain of command, sir, headaches tend to roll downhill. None of his previous infractions were too serious. He's never damaged anything, stolen anything, been in any physical fights. He's efficient usually. But his attitude needs a bit of a readjustment. I didn't think that was serious enough to bring to you. If I troubled you with those reports you'd spend half your time doing nothing but." He inhales slowly, and then nods at the order. "I can get them right now," he says. He gives Kimmila a look. "Calling me a fool hurt my feelings," he tells her very quietly, so that only the three of them can hear. "And letting it pass without remark is going to damage my authority, after everyone in this room heard it." And with that little comment, he spins on his heel and strides away to get those reports. He'll be back.

Varmiroth senses that Velokraeth reaches out again and the bronze seems distracted, though he remains pleasant in his tone to the blue. Whatever has him unsettled or conflicted shows only in the way that the wine has gone from gold to red, sweet to tart. Sharp. « Do you mind passing to yours that mine is not upset with her? He can understand why she said what she said. That he will make amends as best he can. He is trying. He just does not want to bruise yet another's pride tonight. » Meaning M'lo, of course.

"Headaches can only roll downhill if they start from the top of that hill," Th'ero replies back, a touch more sharply than he intends and he's instantly apologetic for it. "An attitude adjustment isn't grounds for removal." he says flatly, jaw setting a little as his mind reels. Oh shells and shards, did they — or he, rather, as the final call came to his shoulders and not M'lo's — just jump without thinking? Fool, twice or three times the fool. Any cursing, he keeps to himself as the Weyrleader is good at that. Instead he only takes a slow, steading breath and exhales heavily, "I'm not faulting your decision, M'lo. Only that perhaps I was ruled too much by emotion rather than common sense. I'd /appreciate/ it, greatly, if you could get me those reports. Headache or no, I need to know." Th'ero lapses silent though as M'lo turns to Kimmila then and again, the Weyrleader bristles but this time it's defensively. Wanting nothing more than to step to her side, he doesn't — not quite anyhow though he does shift a little closer and the look he gives the brownrider is mixed. Not quite disapproving, but neither is he thrilled. "Not here," he warns him too. "Enough has been said. And most folk here are smart enough not to assume /anything/." As M'lo then heads off, Th'ero does move to the bar and just… stands there. Because that's not awkward at all.

Kimmila blinks at M'lo, and frowns. "Uh…" But she doesn't say anything other than that. No apology, but no arguing either. But then her frown deepens and she looks around the crowded room and raises her voice once M'lo is gone. "Well y'all know I'm pregnant now, and thus crazy with hormones, so nothing I say should be taken seriously." There, damage control done? Surely no one would be stupid enough to try and talk to M'lo the way Kimmila did. If anything, that only hurt her /own/ reputation as people sometimes mutter about her being given special treatment just because of whose bed she warms. Clearly this proves it. When Th'ero walks to the bar she lifts a hand to get the 'tender's attention. "That vile stuff he likes," is her order, pointing to make it clear that the ale will be for the Weyrleader and not for her. And it's quickly poured, and set before the man. Kimmila sips her drink and glances at him. Drink up. You're welcome.

Velokraeth senses that Varmiroth relays the message willingly enough. « I have, » he answers. « Mine says she is…proud of yours. » It sounds awkward even when Varmiroth says it.

When M'lo returns he's quiet. He hands the papers over to Th'ero and takes his seat. He's still got some food to eat, after all, even if it's cold by now. All that he said of Pnali is true. Minor infractions. But they're steady. And of course, there was the whole thing today. M'lo's already written a report in the few minutes he's been gone. Disobeyed a direct order, and thus put three lives at risk - Kimmila, her blue Varmiroth, and her unborn child. His recommendation is that the man be relocated, and it's been noted that Pnali did actually quit, and threw down his knot, and left. M'lo doesn't look at either of them, just starts shovelling the cold food into his mouth.

Varmiroth senses that Velokraeth is silent again for some time and the bond even fades to a point that it may almost disappear until the bronze returns and strengthens it again. « Why? » he asks simply and then adds, « Mine wishes to know. My apologies. » Because clearly, the bronze is starting to get a little annoyed with his rider.

Velokraeth senses that Varmiroth has to fade for a moment to get his rider's reply, and when he returns he hesitates for a moment longer. Perhaps trying to put his rider's disjointed thoughts into something more eloquent? « Because he is not afraid to correct himself, or look at something twice, or more deeply. And for not just going with what Irelanth's wanted. »

Th'ero grimaces a little as Kimmila speaks up and has to turn his head down and away a little to mask his obvious discomfort with her having to announce out loud and apologise all in one. He perhaps bites his tongue too, when truthfully /he/ is the one who should have addressed everyone. But the chance isn't entirely lost and steeling himself, the Weyrleader lifts his head and adds his own address to those still lingering and his voice is rather calm and steady despite his mood. "The weather today seems to have a few tempers on edge. Things are often said that aren't meant, decisions hastily made. Rest assured, things will be set right. For now though, you can all return to enjoying your evening and my apologies for the disruption." That must have taken a lot for Th'ero to say, especially the last of that sentence. Leave it to the Weyrleader to try and deflect it all to his shoulders, have it that folk hear him last, see him last. Oh the joy of having the knot? Turning back to face the bar and pointedly not look in the direction of the other patrons, Th'ero is surprised as a drink is set in front of him, gaze darting up to the bartender, who signals that it was Kimmila. That earns her a silently questioning look, but the mug is accepted and then much of it drained in a few long, deep pulls by way of thanks. Grimacing as the aftertaste strikes him, he then sets it back down almost guiltily and just in time for M'lo to return with the paperwork. "Thank you." he murmurs to the Weyrsecond, gathering them and quickly scanning a few pages before he tucks them all safely away. Those facts he'll review in the privacy of his office.

So, awkward silence time? The bluerider is silent when Th'ero speaks up, but her frown should say enough. Kimmila finishes her drink and her sweet, and then slides off the stool. "Steps should be safe by now, so I'm going back up," she says. She glances at M'lo, and then Th'ero, and then just turns to leave.

** Log Incomplete : Connection Reset on this player's end scrambled the rest of the log. Will be edited with the remaining poses once they can be found and salvaged **

'The World of Pern(tm)' and 'The Dragonriders of Pern(r)' are copyright to Anne McCaffrey (c) l967, 2000. This is a recorded online session, by permission of the author but generated on PernWorld MUSH for the benefit of people unable to attend.