Fort Weyr - Administration Complex
A long and narrow staircase leads the way up the mountainside, pausing at the large weyrs of several golds, passing by the one that used to be Moreta's so many Turns ago, before leading up to the Senior Queen's weyr, and finally ending at the Weyrleader's weyr. This is one of the more frequently travelled areas of the weyr, with messengers running back and forth as well as the occasional visiting dignitary.


It was midday, the rain that had fallen for most of the morning having cleared up and left the early Autumn afternoon decidedly humid. While there wasn't a patch of blue above to speak of, at least for now there was no particular rush for cover as there had been earlier. Though, the dreariness of the varied gray of the sky seemed to suggest that this was but a reprieve. With negotiations letting, the council chambers open, releasing the room's captives for a well earned break. Hungry bellies made for rash decisions, and so most of the occupants make for the exit out to the northeast bowl, where their travels will take them to the living caverns and the comfort they provide. Among them is P'rel of all people, ever present his frown in place with a slight furrow of brow as he juggles some hide scrolls and other veritable paperwork. The Istan bronzerider was well tanned which stuck out among the majority of the people in Fort, his long blond hair which had grown out past his shoulders a few inches, was pulled back with an elastic at the back of his head, leaving a thick but short runnertail back there. Missing, are his piercings, not a single one in place, though the holes they have left behind are visible upon closer inspection. He pauses just within the door way to grumble at some higher ranking woman who's tan matched his own, she sported the knot of a Wingleader, with a brown thread. Whatever is said, is done so briefly, the bronzerider nodding before she departs and leaves him there, glaring at the floor. Alone.

Hunger is not the only motivator for some to rush from the chambers once negotiations and discussions end. Some hurry off for their own personal reasons and others to avoid being caught in the season's temperamental weather. While the rains have let up for now, with the sky still brooding and overcast, it's hard to tell when or if they'll return. Th'ero lingers as one of the very last to leave, a deep frown settled on his features and his brown eyes have a heavily distracted and thoughtful look and lips drawn downwards. The Weyrleader is dressed in his usual somber colors with one exception - a long sleeved tunic dyed a deep rich wine red with subtle gold detailing along the collar and hemline replaces his usual neutral hued one. It offers some contrast to his paler skin, brown eyes and the black mess of curls that is his hair; though at least look tended too and not quite as wild or chaotic as it can be. His path would have led him out of the council chamber doors and the few steps it takes to traverse the complex to his own weyr, but at a critical moment Th'ero happens to look up and his thoughts clear enough for recognition to hit as to who exactly lingers there. His eyes linger on the brownrider Wingleader first, as well as her knot but it's P'rel who earns the longest of his looks, a flicker of some emotion akin to surprise and a touch of apprehension in his eyes for the breadth of a second and then gone. The Weyrleader's posture seems to tense slightly, his movements a little stiffer then they were moments before. There's no way for him to evade the Istan bronzerider and not be rude, so despite his reservations (which he keeps hidden), as he approaches there's the barest of smiles. "P'rel." He says, a touch curt but polite enough. "I am surprised to see you among those in the morning's meeting. When did you become involved in diplomacy?"

P'rel was dressed in his own somber colors. Black for the most part, save the twin pairing of two inch thick red bands worked into the upper portion of each of his jacket sleeves, giving the otherwise rather simple tailored attire a stylish look. It certainly worked for the Istan, and anyone who took a peek at his mount waiting outside in the bowl, would notice easily that they had probably been done thusly to compliment the bronze's straps. Also black, with accents of red. They made a striking pair, indeed. Golden eyes flash over towards the source of the voice using his name, and it takes a second for the now eighteen turn old to recognize just who it was he was looking at. Perhaps it was the out of place red tunic with it's gold accents that had thrown him off, or the fact they hadn't seen each other in over two turns. There's a blink, gaze darting to that Weyrleader knot, and then back at the dark eyed man. "Well, fuck." Ah yes, diplomacy at it's finest. Really, shouldn't he have known whom it was that ruled over Fort Weyr? "I guess congratulations are in order, or condolences. Whichever tickles yer pickle." he replies, straightening some, though Th'ero had a good two inches on him height wise. So this was probably a futile attempt to appear bigger, or maybe even to impress upon one of the area's leaders. "Eh? Since I graduated from weyrlinghood. Ain't nothing new to me. Not like they let me talk or nothin'." This was a wise decision, obviously.

Attire details are noted, but not commented on (for now) from Th'ero, the Weyrleader's mind focused on far more pressing matters. The fact that it takes the younger bronzerider awhile to recognize him doesn't faze him in the slightest. It has been two Turns, after all and it seems by luck that Th'ero recalled P'rel at all - or the Istan just leaves a very unforgettable impression on the Weyrleader. As P'rel curses, Th'ero smirks and comes to stand across from the other bronzerider, arms folding loosely over his chest as he stands to his full height, shoulders drawn back and head held up. "Thanks. I think?" There's a snort given then, not entirely out of amusement. P'rel's straightening in an attempt to appear larger does catch Th'ero's attention but only for a fleeting moment. It's his sarcastic-like remark that the Weyrleader reacts the most too, smirk vanishing to some vague form of itself. But the Istan does have a point and that just seems to irk him a little that he forgot. "Ever? Hmm, I wonder why." He says, feigning puzzlement though really it's a slight jab at P'rel. Off to a good start! "I assume then that the only reason you're here?"

It's unlikely that the same goes for P'rel, as far as noting the other man's attire, for those odd golden eyes of his remain pointedly above the collarbone area, even when he nearly fumbles one of the rolled up hides he was still laden with. As for remembering Py? It wasn't like the teenager exactly blended in with a crowd, even sans piercings. A brow quirks some as Th'ero draws himself up, a soft snort of sorts made before the Istan simply turns and wanders back into conference room. As it turns out, not blowing the Weyrleader of Fort off, so much as needing to put the stuff down he was carrying. Which he does, managing to do so without scattering them across the floor. Why? He does so very carefully, minding each and ever scrap as if it were made out of the most delicate of glass. "Dunno. Depends I guess if yer happy about it or not." he explains, stacking the paperwork and lining up the hides until they made a surprisingly neat and organized cluster. This done, P'rel turns just in time for Th'ero to make his slightly sardonic remark. "It ain't what ya think." he replies dryly, eyes narrowing slightly as his frown grows fractionally deeper. "I dun have to talk like this if I dun want to. I can talk like ya and be all polite and shit if I have a reason to. They keep sendin' me out on these stupid land disputes cause S'gam digs my handwritin'." There, in his knot, sure enough. The tell-tale twists and turns of a Harper. His chin comes up some. "Yeah, why? Ya need somethin'?"

Th'ero's gaze seems fixated as well, mostly so he can observe and gauge any change in mood or expression in P'rel. Forewarned is forearmed, or so the saying goes. As the Istan bronzerider moves back into the conference rooms, the Weyrleader follows though from the look he pulls, it's the last place he wishes to return to. Meetings are not his forte and normally he'd escape while he could. And as much as the younger bronzerider irks him at times, Th'ero is also partly curious to at least hear out P'rel's reply. Brown eyes drift briefly to the roll of hides, noting how they're moved and handled, only to glance back to the Istan when he turns to face him. "It isn't?" Th'ero quips with another smirk, interrupting P'rel briefly until he lapses to silence, allowing the bronzerider to finish. Again his gaze shifts, this time to said knot and the subtlest of nods are given. "Well, at least you've the sense then to know. And really, the only reason is for your handwriting?" The Weyrleader pauses then to chuckle dryly. "Hardly believe that." He murmurs, before shrugging his shoulders, arms still crossed over his chest. "No," Th'ero simply says, looking down somewhat at P'rel from where he's chosen to stand just a little off to the side of the bronzerider. "Just curious." Whether truth or cryptic, it's hard to tell as the Weyrleader says nothing more on the matter and keeps his thoughts well to himself.

P'rel grumbles, "What? Ya want proof or somethin'?" He Eyes the older man dubiously, a long hard stare despite the question, but noticeably he winces and a flicker of an even deeper frown as he gives a momentary glance towards the direction of the bowl, and then back to Th'ero. The teen shrugs his shoulders in a jerky movement, not appearing to be particularly uncomfortable with the room now that he was back in it. Perhaps, not carrying the same stigma for him, as it did for the reluctant Weyrleader. He turns again, back towards the neat stack of paperwork and very gently riffles through it. What he comes up with, is a topographical map of likely the area in dispute, unrolling it with a flick of his wrist onto the table. He rotates it carefully so that it's right side up from the other bronzerider's point of view. "As you can see, sir," P'rel says, his voice taking on a distinctly educated and serious tone, but one that carried with it the most minuscule of purrs. It definitely drew one's attention, weaving a spell of sorts around the listener, bring not only a note of calm but also making it difficult for someone to just ignore what he was saying. For those receptive to the other aspects of the Istan's outward appearance, it might even have, other…effects as well. Dangerous, to say the least. "The holders in question, had been fighting over this swath of land between this mountain range to the north and this one to the south, for the last couple of months. The valley situated here, has some of the most fertile farmland available within a hundred miles any given direction." As he goes on, a finger moves over the map, guiding that rapt attention he might create to the matter at hand rather than letting it remain on himself. "There had been an agreement in place for the last four decades that the first hold would use it for crops for one turn sharing the yield between the two, and then the following turn, that the other hold would bring their livestock in to feed on the grass that'd been sown, allowing the soil to rest while also adding a natural fertilizer. Come fall, the hay baled from the field would keep the animals fed throughout winter, and the offspring that came spring would naturally be split equally." He pauses, lifting only his eyes up off the map, leveling them with Th'ero's. "Recently, the men who made this pack passed on, leaving their children to bicker amongst themselves over not only what they think is more fair, but also drudging up who really is in control of the area. Last sevenday, the fight escalated, and someone got seriously hurt. There was some minor property damage, and looting. Everyone is pointing fingers at everyone else. That's why, we're here." He remains with the eye contact, even after there is nothing but the silence of the room between them. Then, just like that, P'rel thrusts himself upright abruptly and begins to roll up the map again. "I take my job serious, so no it ain't because of the way I talk when I'm off duty. It ain't right makin' assumption, Th'ero, ya of all people should know that considering that fancy knot ya got there on yer shoulder." he frowns, jerking his head some towards said intricate knot. All the magic was gone now, and the spell broken. That is, if it had succeeded to work on the Fortian Weyrleader in the first place. "And it's called, sarcasm. Of course I ain't here just cause my Weyrleader can read my handwrittin'. I'm here with this brownrider chick to brush up on dispute resolution, Cenlia's got it in her head I need more responsibility." He's again eying Th'ero, this time suspiciously. Map rolled, he sets it back where he got it almost exactly and then parks his backside against the edge of the table, half sitting, half leaning. He too, crosses his arms over his chest, the leather of his riding gear creaking. There was something searching and thorough about the way he was examining the man's face, but then just as suddenly as before he lets out a sound of dismissal and gives up on whatever it might of been he was looking for. "Anyway. Ya wanna grab a beer or somethin'? I ain't ate all day, and I got two hours to kill before this shit starts up all over again."

Th'ero wasn't exactly looking for proof but whatever his means were, it seems to backfire and catch the Weyrleader a little off guard. P'rel isn't the only one who looks uncomfortable, but by the time the Fortian bronzerider has gathered his words of response, P'rel is unrolling the map and Th'ero lapses back into an awkward silence. With a frown and a stiff, reluctant step forwards, he shuffles closer to the table to crane his head over to glance down at the map the Istan had selected. A brief look of confusion, given in a narrowed side-ways glance, is directed to P'rel before he focuses on the map again, lips drawing into a thin line when recognition of it hits. The Weyrleader's attention would have remained on the map too, if P'rel's tone of voice doesn't snare it away. Th'ero is careful not to stare endlessly at the Istan bronzerider as he speaks, but his brown eyes return the eye contact, flicking only to the map when needed and by the end, he's smirking. "I wasn't making an assumption." He notes with a soft snort, smirk changing to a twisted smile. Not intentionally, anyhow. "Never said you didn't take your work seriously either. If I came off as such, I apologize." There had been some sort of spell cast, since Th'ero's attention never wavered from P'rel nor did the Weyrleader interrupt him even as he went over details they had just hashed out all morning. Only a nod is given when P'rel mentions more about his reasons for being the meeting, Th'ero seemingly satisfied by the slightly relaxed tension in his shoulders, though his arms remain crossed. There is no comment given though on it or the mention of knowing sarcasm. Instead, the Weyrleader is returning P'rel's searching look that ends the moment the Istan makes a dismissive sound. At the offer, he merely shrugs his shoulders in an almost casual and non-chalant manner. "Never one to turn down a drink. Given we'll be coming back to this mess, might be wise. Who knows how long we'll be penned up for the next round." Th'ero admits with a grimace. Slowly, he frees one hand to gesture to the entrance, a faint smile on his lips. "Shall we then?"

With all the smirking and denial going on, one would think that P'rel would of been more annoyed, but in reality the Istan bronzerider just looks tired, and hungry. Perhaps his requirement for food overwhelmed his need to be irritated. He pushes himself up and off the table when Th'ero agrees to his invitation, and hesitates as he looks at all the paperwork that was his responsibility. "Shit." he curses, that frown back but having nothing to do with any displeasure he might be experiencing in the Fortian Weyrleader's presence. He seems to contemplate something, and then turn those golden eyes onto the other bronzerider. "I dun suppose ya have a little bell or somethin' cool like that you could ring and have people bring us food and stuff, do ya?" he asks, perhaps reluctant to carry all that all the way across the bowl to the living caverns. "I ain't supposed to let this outta my sight." Maybe what the ranking brownrider had said to him before she skipped off to enjoy her meal without the worry of cumbersome scrolls and parchment.

A frown is given at the curse, Th'ero already having begun to turn towards the entrance. He pauses then to glance curiously at P'rel, head cocked slightly to the side as he meets the other bronzerider's eyes with his. "A bell? Sadly no." he says regretfully, almost wistfully. Not a bad idea! Instead the Weyrleader simply smirks again and uncrosses his arms to hold one out just in time for the ugliest brown firelizard to land upon it. If a tunnel snake had wings (and a few less limbs), that would be it in a nutshell. What is it with Th'ero and his luck? The whole event lasts a mere few seconds before the brown takes off and disappears and the now freed arm is used to gesture back towards the table. "Take a seat then. We'll have food and drink soon enough." He'll wait until P'rel has settled himself before taking his own seat across from the Istan bronzerider. The stacks of rolled papers and hides are given another curious look and a half-smile; half smirk tugs at his lips. "Can't be too careful, I suppose. Though I find it doubtful anyone would have disturbed them." So it would seem the two bronzeriders are the unfortunate pair left to have their meal within the chambers. No escaping for them!

This was P'rel, it was almost guaranteed that cursing came with the territory, and was not going to cease just because the Fortian Weyrleader seemed to disapprove. It might even be expected, that frown, for all the attention that the eighteen turn old gave it. Or, he might not of been paying all that much attention, considering the way that he was studying the pile he'd made there on the table. Py looks practically crestfallen when there is no magical bell, though he perks up when that rather disturbingly hideous firelizard shows up. He stares at the thing, and then his eyes slide back to Th'ero's face. "Dude, ya have the worst luck. What is UP with that?" he asks, perplexed. Luckily for the other bronzerider, P'rel had left his flock at home, though really Malphath, his weyrmate and his weyrmate's dragon were all testaments to the Istan's disgustingly good fortune already. There was no need to rub it in. Yet. The boy doesn't even need to be asked twice, more than content to slip into a chair a seat over from the paperwork where he can keep an eye on it and it won't get messed up once he gets fed. "I guess all that extra paperwork and shit, is worth it. Huh?" he asks, curious, as he slumps back in his chair and makes himself comfortable. "Yeah well…" he starts, sliding golden hues towards the stack. "I ain't got a choice. I think Rene likes bossing me around." A shrug and brows lift, "So, it's been a while…" It has indeed. "…what's been going on. Other then the whole, Weyrleader thing." As he says this, he makes a fluttering hand gesture around the air between himself and Th'ero, in an up and down motion to signify all of him.

It's not that the Weyrleader disapproves, considering he's as guilty for swearing occasionally. Perhaps unexpected, considering it has been awhile since Th'ero last crossed paths with P'rel. The reaction to the firelizard's brief appreance doesn't seem to faze the Weyrleader in the slightest, having developed a tough skin towards such situations since the moment he Impressed Velokraeth. The same applies to this. "What is up with what?" Th'ero echoes with a neutral look to the Istan bronzerider. Leaning back into his seat, his lips twitch upwards in a vague smile - the only hint that the Weyrleader is teasing of sorts. "It has its perks. Paperwork is not one of them." He informs the younger bronzerider in what is obviously his own opinion and with a clear smirk now and a dry chuckle. "Rene?" Th'ero asks then, curious and making the connection quick enough. "Ah, the brownrider. And does she?" he pries gently, before the tables are turned back to him. P'rel's inquiry is met with a slight bemused snort and Th'ero shrugs his shoulders. "That's just it. It's been mostly this." And he frees one of his hands to make a sweeping gesture meant to signify the Weyr and himself. "Aside from the Hatching, it's been rather dull." His public life has been, anyways. With his turn done, the Weyrleader gives a brisk nod of his head. "Yourself?"

P'rel smirks at the echoed question, seeming for all intents and purposes rather relaxed. Despite not having seen Th'ero in two turns, the Istan doesn't appear to be all that bothered by it. They had been getting along before Ryeokie had come in and surprised him. Clearly, Py did not like those sorts of surprises. Probably taking the query posed to him as rhetorical, it's given no answer, instead he listens as the other bronzerider goes on to talk about the draw backs from having the highest rank the rider of a male dragon could have in a Weyr. "Dun envy ya there, though after as many turns of paperwork I've been doin' it's pretty much takin' all the fight outta me. Not that bitchin' about it made much of a difference anyway." He doesn't jump right in with who Rene might be, and sure enough it pays off as Th'ero makes the connection himself. He nods, "Yeah. Turned her down after a flight for, comfort, once." he says, looking partially annoyed. "I dun have no interest in nobody but my weyrmate, and she dun get that. So she tortures me whenever she can." It might slightly irritate Py, but he must find otherwise preserving the sanity of his relationship a worthy cost. He follows the sweeping gesture, expression tinted with disappointment as his gaze returns to Th'ero. "That ain't no fun." He might just be pouting there, but a second later his brows lift upwards towards the peak of his hairline. "Oh yeah, ya had a hatchin' last turn didn'tcha." A pause, "Went all right I take it?" Idle chit chat was probably not one of the younger bronzerider's strong suits, but at least he was trying. "Me?" he asks, crossing his arms over his chest and shrugging his shoulders as he averts his eyes. "Ain't much to report either. Malphath dun like leavin' the weyr when Nziekilth could go up anytime. He's been watchin' her like a gryphhawk, even though last time he chased her, she busted his wing and we got stuck in Ista." He makes a helpless gesture, "He's bound and determined to catch her the second time, got a plan and everything he makes me repeat every morning. He dun seem to much care I dun want nothin' to do with bein' Weyrleader." About then, somebody comes in with their food, leaving it and their drinks on the table before vanishing again. Py wastes no time cracking open his beer and digging into his meal.

"I'm not sure what is worse." Th'ero almost mutters. "I'd much rather be doing something constructive. Even if it means idle conversations, at least I'm out and moving. Not cramped somewhere, slowly going blind reading." Sarcasm is heavy in his tone, but he doesn't seem to hold back much in front of P'rel. When the Istan brings up Rene again, the Weyrleader simply snorts. "She has that much of a grudge over something as simple as being turned down?" he asks in an almost idle way, as if only voicing his thoughts. The Weyrleader gives an understanding nod when P'rel mentions his weyrmate and then the conversation turns again. "Unfortunately it's not, but I was never much on the "fun" side to begin with." Th'ero admits with an amused smile as he takes a jab at himself for once. Another nod confirms P'rel's question on the hatching and it's time. "It went fine. Eight eggs and all hatched. Gold, one bronze and a good spread of brown, blue and green for the rest, considering the number." And not all cursed with the sire's unfortunate lack of physical good looks! Idle chitchat isn't Th'ero's strong point either as it tends to lead to awkwardness eventually. But the Weyrleader hasn't a choice but to do it, now and again and has slowly learning to just… accept it. Now it's his turn for his brows to rise up in surprise, but interest as well. "Nziekilth is about to rise? With a junior's clutch on the sands?" he asks thoughtfully, before grinning faintly. "Ista is either fortunate and prosperous or… well, I can't think of anything bad to come of it." Aside from being drowned in candidates and weyrlings. There's a wince of sympathy from Th'ero when P'rel brings up the injured wing and the Weyrleader grimaces next, "I guess it's good that he has motivation at least." He says after a pause, fumbling for some sort of response and grasping whatever comes to mind. The bronzerider shakes his head then, almost sadly. "Even if you don't want it, at least you're forewarned. I only knew what I was about to get into when it was already too late." Know your golds, lads! Or else you'll fly the wrong one. As the food arrives, Th'ero murmurs a quick thanks before helping himself to his share. The drink he pours seems to be some sort of evil looking stout brew, black it's almost tinted red, with a wicked scent to it and not for the faint of heart. Yet he seems to drink it without the slightest twitch.

"That's why ya delegate. Ya got a Weyrsecond and other people like that duncha?" P'rel asks, blinking a few times. "That's why ya got them in there. To help ya with that shit, so yer brain dun go to mush." Or your eyeballs fall out. Whichever came first. He shrugs at what's said about Rene, "It ain't nothin' over the top, or nothin' I can't handle. It ain't worth gettin' all bent outta shape about neither. If it makes her happy then more power to her." The Istan shakes his head at Th'ero come talk of him being no fun, "Hope ya got somethin' or someone ya can relax with then, cause if ya dun find an outlet it ain't gunna be pretty. Ya can't be work, work, work all the time. It ain't in human nature." And so goes the advice of the Py, a boy several turns younger than the Fortian Weyrleader, but one who'd been a dragonrider longer. "Huh, that's a nice mix." he admires, sipping at his beer. Already that double portion was half gone. The kid had an appetite, that was for sure. Perhaps in this, the other bronzerider could be grateful he didn't have to feed him everyday. "Ya know any of 'em or anythin'? I dun remember havin' any contact with the Weyrleader over at Xanadu except before I was even a candiate. That's where I met I'srie, and we hooked up. Been together over three turns now." Since they were what? Fifteen? That's insane, right? "I dun make friends all that easily, but when I do they stick. That and there are freaks of nature like Ryeokie, who like the abuse." He grumbles at this, before he shakes his head. "Naw, she's due to go proddy at any time though. Shit like that, Malphath remembers. The rest of it is kinda fuzzy though after a day or two." He snorts though at mention of motivation. "Yeah, he's motivated to piss me off. Bastard." Forking some more food into his mouth, he chews and sips idly at his beer, appearing to be entirely at ease. P'rel was just one of those people that were a force of nature, one that someone either liked or hated with very little in between. And this, apparently, didn't seem to bother him at all. He pays no mind to whatever might be on the other bronzerider's plate, or whatever that was that he'd chosen to drink.

"Of course I have a Weyrsecond. I've also his assistant and… a good setup." Th'ero admits, though catches himself before he starts divulging too much of Fort's inner workings, even if some of it would be public. "I'm aware they're there for help, but it doesn't seem fair if I just toss it all on their heads so I can go relax." There's a shake of his head then and he takes another sip of his dark drink before setting it aside and tucking into his food while P'rel elaborates on his issue with the Istan brownrider. "I'd be wary, less she decide to really make your life awful. Women can be vindictive." He says between bites of food. The advice from the younger bronzerider on too much work versus too little play is met with a small smile. Even considering the source, the Weyrleader nods his head in agreement. "I go hunting," Th'ero muses, "if I need to work off some excess stress. Usually go with other riders or weyrfolk or the local hunters." A pause, as he takes a few more bites of food before leaning back into his seat again, a thoughtful look on his face. "You've got a point though. I do try to keep a balance, even though it is hard more often then not." The Weyrleader lets the silence grow then, while P'rel and himself work on their meals. If he's noticing how much the younger Istan bronzerider is tucking away, he doesn't comment on it. As the weyrlings are brought up, Th'ero only shrugs slightly, "I know a few of them, as I was familiar with them prior to their Candidacy and Impression." He says slowly, brows knitting together as he dredges up a few Turns of memories. "Two were hunters. There's one though that I met by chance. Good kid, Impressed one of the few blues. Skilled artist too and I happened upon his work once. Catches the likeness of a person very well, myself included." The Weyrleader shares all this with a mild casualness. P'rel's mention of his relationship with I'srie and the timeline earns a curious look from Th'ero but nothing more, though his smile becomes a smirk when Ryeokie is mentioned. Another snort is given, "So Malphath seems to know when they're to go proddy as well? Velokraeth has a knack for the same." Though Th'ero doesn't seem quite as annoyed over it. Forewarned is forearmed, after all. A dry chuckle is given when P'rel curses his own lifemate, no doubt bonding on that issue with the younger bronzerider at least. "Regardless of the outcome, best of luck to you both." It's said dryly, not too cheery and perhaps a touch sarcastic. "Even if you're not wanting the outcome. He sounds bound and determined. Easier just to accept it."

The Istan bronzerider could probably enter any eating contest and win, for sure. He was chomping down like a champion over there, but every once in a while he does glance up as Th'ero speaks, polite enough it seems to chew and swallow before replying. A brow arches when the man choose his words so carefully, giving him a blink. He wasn't a Weyrleader, so perhaps 'company' secrets were something not covered in his training to be in the diplomatic wing. "Yer gunna burn out, dude." he says, with a note of warning in his tone. "Dumpin' shit on them so ya can go and relax is why they're there in the first place." A shrugs then, "Not sayin' ya should make a habit of it or nothin' like that, but every now and then ain't gunna kill 'em." As for that brownrider, again, Py just shrugs. "She can be vindictive all she wants, it ain't gunna change my mind." Apparently the teenager wasn't all that worried about it, easily moving on from that topic to the next. For the mention of hunting, P'rel almost lights up, but seems to catch himself halfway to completing the action and then brings it down a notch or six. He nods his head. "I like huntin' and campin', Iess ain't so much for roughin' it, and I dun get to see my brothers all that often. So…" He doesn't get to do it anymore? Sounds like it. He nods a few more times before he finishes off the contents of his plate, and pushes the plate away after setting his flatware back onto it, leaning back and sitting quiet with his beer. When the conversation turns to the newest batch of weyrlings at Fort, Py tilts his head vaguely off to one side. Listening. He actually chuckles when Th'ero says that this bluerider kid had been drawing him. "Yeah? We had a dude like that in Ista for a while, one day up and left. He always had this giant ass book thing with him, looked like it weighed a fuckin' ton. Weaver apprentice I think, dun remember his name." He sips at his beer and takes a moment to admire the bottle before golden hues glide back to Th'ero again. "Only reason I remember that much, is cause I thought it was weird he was a weaver and not a harper. He was pretty good, if ya could get past all the fuckin' flirtin'." Eye roll for that, but the Istan's expression shifts to a the grumpy side of neutral all the same. There's a snort from Py, more likely from the tone that the Fortian Weyrleader was using when giving him the best of luck. "Yer a cheeky bastard." the boy quips, and he flashes the man a wide grin. Apparently this was a good thing. "Maybe I won't mind so much next time they send me up to the frozen wasteland." Uh oh, seems P'rel liked Th'ero, despite any distaste that the other bronzerider might feel towards him.

P'rel's warning is met with a slightly cool look and it's apparent then that he's not the first to warn him. Stubbornness sets in though and Th'ero makes a dismissive gesture with his hand. Not to be entirely rude, as despite being younger, the Weyrleader is taking some of the Istan's words to mind, though not quite so much to heart. "I won't." he almost grunts his voice his so low and he reaches for his drink again and never takes a sip. Holding the stein in hand, he swirls the contents slightly, brown gaze looking down into the inky black depths of the liquid. "I suppose not. Maybe I'll take a half day then and visit Western. That is long overdue." Th'ero muses. It's a partial compromise but at least it is a start? There is a nod given to the last mention of the brownrider and he too let's the topic rest. The Weyrleader does catch the Istan's reaction to the mention of hunting and quietly offers, "You're welcome to join on any of the hunting here in Fort. Good time of the Turn for it, before the snows and ice come." As P'rel begins to describe this apprentice though, the Weyrleader cocks his head to the side, taking on a distracted look as his thoughts and focus turn inwards. "The book he carried too is as large as some of the record tomes. Strange…" he murmurs, a hand coming up to scrub at his chin, fingers rasping against the neatly groomed stubble there. "Shards. Don't know how it's possible, but we could be talking of the same lad. K'hys is his name now, but Kairhys was his full one. Sound right?" P'rel is given a long searching look then, though Th'ero's frown is still distracted as if the bronzerider were trying to put some pieces together that didn't quite fit yet of some inner puzzle of his mind. "It does seem odd that his talents aren't focused to the Harper's. But to each their own, I suppose." And if they're talking of the same apprentice, but mention of the flirting and Th'ero seems convinced that both are one and the same. No word is mentioned, but the change in his expression says all as a few things click. P'rel's quip snaps him from it though and the Weyrleader promptly snorts, glancing up from his drink as he sips at it to lock his brown eyes with the Istan's gold ones. "Thanks. I try my best!" Th'ero quips back with a smirk once his mouth is clear. The last remark brings a dry chuckle. "Even a frozen wasteland has its hidden perks." He notes with a tip of his stein to emphasize it, before the rest of the drink is polished off and the stein itself set down with an audible thump to the table.

Between the cool look and the dismissive gesture tosses his way, P'rel laughs and lets it go. "Dun matter what I say, yer gunna do as ya like anyway. But wouldn't be right to not make the suggestion to ya, if only to say I told ya so later." Smirk. Little by little, the Istan was relaxing, growing more and more at ease with not only the location but the company as well. Or it could be the beer there that was loosening him up. There's nodding for what Th'ero says about going to visit Western, but he probably didn't know what else to say about that information, and so he lets it go. Hunting is obviously a favorite topic, no matter how much Py was trying to hide it, the way he straightens giving him away even if he has managed to disguise any other signs of his interest. "Might take ya up on that." he murmurs, saluting with his beer bottle, and taking another sip soon after. Considering that they were then talking about some guy all of a sudden, that excitement at the prospect of hunting wanes and transforms almost comically to a deflated kind of begrudging compliance. A brow arching as Th'ero seems to be making some sort of connection, and then the Istan snaps his fingers and nods, "Yep, that's him." he agrees, but then half way into a sip of beer he pauses and the bottle is lowered again. He looks at the other bronzerider long and hard, even narrowing his eyes before he's giving the man a searching stare. "Wait, ya got a good look at that book thing right?" he asks, and of course the kid was having one of his episodes, the kind riddled with suspicion and paranoia. "Just how many TIMES did he have ya drawn in there?" It might seem like an odd question, but there was just something about the way that P'rel says this that might hint there was a reason. The rest of what is said, doesn't seem to have the least bit of his attention.

The Istan bronzerider has the right of it - Th'ero is stubborn to a fault and often will only learn when the consequence or issue hits him in the face (literally or figuratively). So P'rel most likely will have a chance, some day, to rub it in. Whether company or alcohol as well, even the Weyrleader seems to relax bit by bit as the seconds tick by. This is so unlike the past encounters between the two bronzeriders, but Th'ero doesn't seem to linger on the past for once. Hunting is something of a passion it seems for the Weyrleader, so P'rel's interest in it only has the bronzerider grinning and nodding towards the accepted offer. He doesn't hound the Istan on the matter any more though, since the topic does take on an unusual turn. When P'rel confirms that K'hys is indeed whom they're discussing, Th'ero makes a soft grunt-like noise in his throat. "Never figured he was from Ista." He mutters, glance turning down again to the tabletop this time and he distractedly pokes at his food, pushing the remainder of his food around with no interest in actually eating it. After a second or so, he glances up in time to meet P'rel's searching look and giving a puzzled one in turn. What? "I did. He was asleep in the stands and it was about to fall. I took a look when I went to move it." Th'ero admits, not the least bit guilty that he snooped through the weyrling's private work. P'rel's little episode, riddle with suspicion and paranoia as it is has the Weyrleader tensing a little as well as he senses it from the younger bronzerider. Th'ero's frown deepens a little at the question and then he turns thoughtful, mouth drawn down in a thin line. "Why does that matter?" he mutters, before adding, "Several times. He had others drawn as well, though a few pages of my likeness." In the end, his tone goes from calm and casual to uncertain and suspicious. Some little sliver has nestled itself and now the bronzerider is suspecting something as another piece clicks.

"I dunno where he's from, but pretty sure it wasn't Ista." P'rel says, "Ain't no one that pale, lived at Ista for long. When Iess and I moved there, we both were like a sheet. Too fuckin' cold in Xanadu to do much of anythin' but avoid the rain." No love lost for Xanadu. As Th'ero goes on, that suspicious look that the Istan had, grows all the more noticeable, not only when he notes the frequency, but also that the guy had to actually sneak a peak to find out he was in the book to begin with. Something seems to click for Py as well, given the smug look and the laugh that follows soon there after. "He been actin' funny too by any chance? Maybe, getting all flustered and shit when yer around? Sayin' stuff that's kinda weird?" He goes ahead and polishes off the last of his beer, setting the empty bottle down beside his cleaned plate, letting out a belch and not excusing himself. Though really, that shouldn't come as a surprise. "Man, sucks to be ya." Musing this, he doesn't go into the why just yet, instead appearing to be relishing this information like a rare fine wine. Enjoying the feel of it against his metaphorical palate. "Lemme put it this way," he says at last, "When I had a thing for Iessrien, I used to write tons of songs about him. Also did a lot of stumblin' over my own two feet when he was around. So, if this guy is drawin' ya a lot, and actin' all out of sorts when yer around, especially if he's all blushin' and not himself like he is with other people. I say ya got a real problem on yer hands, Th'ero." A full out shake of his head, and the Istan bronzerider drops his hands to the table leaning over some and smirking as wide as anything. "Dude, LIKES you, man. And I ain't talking the kind of like that leads ya to a tavern for a couple of beers to check out some chicks kinda like neither. We're talkin', the kinda like that leaves the sheets messy and hankerin' to raid the ice box."
and a hankerin' to raid

Observations are met with a slow nod from Th'ero, as he takes in that latest tidbit of information from P'rel to store for later. The lack of any love it seems for Xanadu earns the briefest of glances and a curious look, but the Weyrleader never voices his comment. Not when the Istan's suspicious look starts to drive that sliver ever deeper. A lingering pause to his queries and then the bronzerider speaks slowly, as if choosing his words as he pulls through his memories of his encounters with K'hys. "He's always been like that, since I first crossed paths with him. It did seem to grow more frequent over time…" And Th'ero drifts off there, a neutral mask covering his expression as he fixes his gaze on P'rel, suspicious and a little on edge. He senses something is there, but isn't quite certain what it is. And nothing irks the Weyrleader more then to know others are in on it and he is left in the dark. It holds even as the Istan belches and excuses himself and when P'rel withholds, Th'ero only takes a slow intake of breath, letting out just as slowly to keep his growing irritation at bay. When an explanation is finally forthcoming, the Weyrleader leans forwards in his seat ever so slightly, head tilted to the side as his gaze fixates on the bronzerider. Uncomprehending at first, it dawns eventually on Th'ero what exactly P'rel is getting at. Then it hits like a not so subtle strike to the face with a sledgehammer and obliviousness shatters under the truth, which he can no longer deny. Suspicions confirmed (enough, anyways), the Weyrleader settles back heavily into his chair that even the wood protests ever so slightly under the abruptness. "Shards." He curses and then begins to laugh, though there seems little mirth in it. "That can't be…" Th'ero says, doubtful and stubborn to the very end. But his words carry no certainty behind them. Lips drawn down and his expression grim, the Weyrleader glances away towards the wall, suddenly tense and uncomfortable.

P'rel hmmhmms, knowingly. As if it was all too clear now, either oblivious or ignoring the tension that was making the other bronzerider look suddenly so uncomfortable. "I wouldn't make this kinda shit up, man." he says, leaning back in his chair and interlacing his fingers behind his head. At least for the most part the amusement of it all had lost its novelty and there was some seriousness at the magnitude of it setting in. "Dude was a candidate when ya met him or something right? And then he Impressed. And all that time, I betcha he was fallin' into a serious boy crush with ya. Had one myself on Weyrwoman Thea back when. Course, can hardly blame me there. Woman is smokin' hot." A bit of a smirk there, and perhaps even a wistful sigh as he thinks back on those days back in Xanadu. "Wish I coulda packed her up and taken her to Ista." A bit of laugh there, now that Py was apparently completely and utterly at easy as if they now had something in common they could build on. Unwanted, and unsolicited affections from parties undesirable. "Anyway, deny it as ya like. I sense a love confession on the horizon, dude. I'd be keepin' a close eye on that kid, and start thinkin' about what yer gunna say to him when it comes. If ya ain't into dudes, cause seriously I can't even TELL anymore who likes a little sausage at bedtime, and who don't….ya gutta make it real clear ya ain't interested. How ya do it is up to ya, I prefer the direct physical fist to face then gut method myself, but that ain't everyone's cup of klah." It should be fairly obvious at this point, why it was exactly that most people gave the Istan bronzeider a wide berth when he was out and about. Guy had a hair trigger, and the skills to put offenders into the Infirmary quicker than shit. "And anyway, dun know why yer all that surprised. For one, yer the fuckin' Weyrleader. People are gunna dig that and want a piece of that action. Shit, I ain't even and still got poeple houndin' my ass. Ain't like yer hideous er nothing, ain't got no extra limbs or nothin' right? And for two, he's a fuckin' bluerider. If there's one thing that's become unavoidably obvious, most of them blueriders are bisexual. Fair to say that yer pal there is too." A nod for this, and shrug of a shoulder. A pause of silence, as if helping the Fortian Weyrleader mourn the passing of his clueless naivety, and then he lifts his chin up just slightly. "Whatcha gunna do?" Was that concern and empathy for Th'ero's situation in Py's voice? It might very well be.

Th'ero doesn't seem to quite believe P'rel's assurance that he wouldn't make this up just to tease him. But even he can't keep denying what his mind has already pieced together. As much as he tries to work it out in his head, draw different conclusions or just evade it, the Istan's words just follow him and confirm what he's been too stubborn to really accept. The Weyrleader can't hide now though and so his expression hardens a little as he struggles to keep his expression relatively neutral and calm. "Met him before he was a Candidate." Th'ero corrects, lips setting in a grim line as P'rel goes on to mention crushes. That only seems to make the bronzerider's tense even more while the Istan seems to be more or less at ease. "Is she now?" he asks, though his tone is flat and without amusement. Surely he's been to Xanadu for duty. Perhaps he's not actually seen Thea? Or he and P'rel have differing opinions there. The Weyrleader doesn't elaborate, distracted as he is. Th'ero starts when P'rel mentions that one word that just drives everything home. Confession. With a string of curses, the bronzerider's shoulders slump and he slouches heavily into his chair, no longer tense but obviously still quite uncomfortable. So much for good humor and easygoing conversations! "It all makes sense now." He mutters cryptically as a hand comes up to pinch the bridge of his nose, eyes closing briefly. P'rel's little mention of bedtime preferences has the Weyrleader's eyes opening enough to shoot a narrowed look his way and a grim smirk twists on his lips. "My preferences are to women and women only. And that is not my method either." He points out, knowing full well what P'rel's preferences are when it comes to some matters and offense. When his title and rank are brought up, Th'ero leans up enough to spread his hands outwards in a gesture both of frustration and disbelief. "How is it that my sharding rank has anything to /do/ with this?" he practically growls. "And I'm surprised because I was such an idiot and oblivious though the signs were right there," Hands point down to the table then, to emphasize his point. "And now I've led the poor kid on, thinking he stood a chance." P'rel's continued remarks earn a snort and a stubborn look crosses Th'ero's features as the bronzerider crosses his arms tightly over his chest. "Surely you don't enjoy being hounded? And I'm well aware of the nature of /some/ blueriders." When it comes time for his decision, the Weyrleader can only stare across the table in sullen silence to the Istan bronzerider before he sighs, "Tell him the truth and likely rip his heart out in the process." Second one in a Turn he'll do it to too and that just settles oh so bitterly on his mind, though P'rel likely has no knowledge of what he had done to Jeyinshi.

P'rel was a lot of things, but making things up just for the pleasure of a reaction wasn't one of them. A fact that Th'ero would discover should the two ever spend more time together. He calmly waits for the man to go through the motions, a sort of grieving process as it were, golden eyes darting to his empty beer and perhaps wishing that the server had brought another. When he's corrected, Py shrugs, as if that particular detail was unnecessary and changed little if anything at all. He also lets the coolness of the Fortian Weyrleader's reaction to his tale of Thea go as well, letting all of what he's said really sink in, merely waiting for that crucial moment when everything falls into place and there is no room for denial. When it comes, at least the teen has the pretense of mind not to look smug about it. Admittedly though, if I'srie had been there, it was gurenteed that the former holder wouldn't have spared the man that. But P'rel, wasn't his weyrmate. "Whatcha do behind closed doors ain't none of my business, Th'ero and I wasn't tryin' to sound like I was suggestin' nothin' or diggin' 'round for the particulars. If it's any consultation, I never pegged ya for the type, but like I said…had it been the case it wouldn't of been the first time I was wrong." No judgements from the notably homophobic bronzerider, undoubtedly somewhere in that pretty head of his flooded with relief that he didn't have to be on guard with the other bronzerider. As he was around most other males. At the man's outburst for rank, Py looked completely taken a back. "Are ya serious? Weyrleadership is like celebrity status." After pointing this out, the Istan shrugs. "Whatever dude, if it ain't happened to ya yet…just count that as another warning. Cause it will. At some point." So says the guy not Weyrleader, this information probably just speculation or the hope for something more than a mountain of paperwork should his lifemate get his way. "I just wanna be left alone, so no I dun enjoy being chased around." The bluerider thing is dropped like a hot cross bun fresh from the oven, and P'rel's lashes lower at mention of breaking people's hearts. "I had to do that to a friend of mine couple sevendays back. We hated each other in the beginning, but then I grew to like her. One thing lead to another, and we were each other's firsts." His voice had dropped to one that was both low, and serious. As if this was something he was sharing only with Th'ero, and not something to be spread about. "Nothin' ever came of it. I dun think either of us knew what to say really. It just kinda happened." A thoughtful expression crosses his features, and then he sighs heavily. It wasn't exactly a happy sound, in the least. "I hadn't seen her in turns, and she shows up in Ista. Starts fawning all over me, in front of Iess, which pissed him right the fuck off." Sounded like that was neither here nor there, and so those golden eyes come up and he meets the dark of Th'ero's gaze. "It's like rippin' off a bandage. Do it quick. It might hurt more at the start, but yer better off for it in the end." There was no teasing, no laughter, just the evenness and perhaps even some melancholy. Though for who, was unclear. "I hated havin' to do that to her, but she needed to know it was I'srie that I loved and that wasn't ever gunna change. Maybe, maybe now she can move on…" A minute later, the Istan having fallen into silence and his expression drawn as if he really hadn't liked having to hurt his friend like he did, startles and looks vacantly out towards the bowl. Necessary evils, were a part of life. "Rene is lookin' for me." he says flatly, and rises to his feet, moving around the table and collecting all that paperwork. Oh so carefully. "If ya need anythin'….I'm just a firelizard away." He tips his head once, a show of respect towards the Weyrleader, and he turns and heads out towards the bowl.

There's a good chance that once Th'ero gets over this situation that he and P'rel could become friends. But for now, the Weyrleader's mind is far from such subjects. Even if the Istan bronzerider were to look smug, Th'ero would likely miss it. His glance has slid away from P'rel again to focus now on the table as he goes through the motions. One hand frees itself to grab his stein, only to discover it empty and sets it back down with more force then intended in his frustrations. It's then shoved away as the Weyrleader makes an equally frustrated noise with his tongue. His mood is rapidly souring, though not entirely by P'rel's words. Some of what the Istan bronzerider says takes some of the edge of his discomfort, but only enough that he doesn't send the stein flying at a wall or completely shut down into his own thoughts. Th'ero is a master at brooding and turning reclusive when forced with too much at once. Brown eyes dart to lock onto the golden ones of P'rel when the younger bronzerider comes off as surprised. "I am serious. And naive too it seems in that respect." The lack of reassurances that he won't have others seeking out his attentions for the rank he holds only brings a grimmer look to Th'ero's expression. It's not what the Weyrleader wanted to hear, it seems. Then the tables turn and it's the older bronzerider's turn to be surprised as he silently listens to P'rel share his own experience. Grimness eases a little, to something that could be taken as either understanding, sympathetic or both. The Istan has nothing to fear with sharing that information either, as Th'ero would never gossip. He dislikes it so much and thus would never intentionally do it. "I don't plan to sugar coat it. But I'm not going to be a blunt jerk either. K'hys has had too long to hope… Shards, it's going to be one damn mess. It will hurt regardless, but as you said, I can only hope he'll accept it and move on." With the silence starting on P'rel's end, Th'ero lapses quietly as well and awkwardness settles between them. The Weyrleader has no words for the Istan rider on his situation, not even some sarcastic quip. So as the strain builds, relief flickers briefly in his eyes when P'rel suddenly (and flatly) announces his need to depart. As he stands, Th'ero does as well, though his movements are stiff. "Of course." He replies curtly, trying to mask his anxiousness to just leave and seek out the privacy of his weyr to brood and vent. Another awkward pause, as Th'ero just stands there while the younger bronzerider carefully gathers his paperwork. He should say something more, but the words stick and he just lets the silence hang there. Returning the gesture of respect, the Weyrleader turns towards the bowl, following behind P'rel (despite that being awkward too) until he can slip away to the stairs that will take him down to his weyr.


'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.