Astride Hadamarth, Hadamarth is in a wonderful holding pattern, wings spread wide and holding onto all those lovely air currents that buffet smaller beasts but make him sit like a greyhound bus in rush hour traffic in the sky. Thera, not so great a holding pattern. In fact she's weaving rather wildly on top of her brown, securely tucked in by three straps (Hadamarth though it for the best to up the number). She calls out to the world, "Not drunk, just tipsy. There was a young maiden from Ista, who had lips so red to kiss ya, and when she bad, she'd make you...W'ren! It's a Waebrenny wenny! Hadamarth, wave to W'ren, that's a good boy." Hadamarth duly waves, which sort of lopsides him a bit.

W'ren turns backwards in the direction of his ever sturdy wingsecond and realizes the obvious about Thera. Then, he does what only a big brotherly type who really adores but is so totally misused by the little sister type (even though there is more of a stepmother relationship here in reality) /can/ do... he facepalms. "Shards and Crackdust, Thera!" He yells then peeks out between his fingers. "Are you inebriated?" Three straps noticed, he clenches his jaw. There is no way short of raising Faranth from between he can get another helper at this late time! "What were you /thinking/?"

From Hadamarth's neck, Thera says, "Was I thinking?" and Thera has to blink that thought through a couple of times and then the light bulb sort of glows a bit; halogen, so not a sudden bright light just sort of a flicker and an audible hum, "Oh right, thinking. Yes, we were thinking. About Boll and scarred men and how lovely they look and that maybe we didn't really want to see them look so lovely but we can't really leave them there you know and so 'ano left some wine skins. And you know what?" She positively beams, "On food days when Hadamarth eats and I don't, I can get a widdle tipsy from wine!" Really, she's rather pleased with this discovery!"

>> (Fort Weyr) Gnaedath whistles softly into the link, swelling it with an orchestration of soft woodwinds and the sweet aroma of ... is that burnt cedar wood? >>I just want to reassure you that Hadamarth's rider is perfectly fine. Not even the least bit not okay.<< Yep.  <<

>> (Fort Weyr) Birgith knows her sibling, and these words stoke the fires of worry, which leak out through her thoughts. << Why would you need to mention it if she was okay, Gnae? >>  <<

W'ren would growl if he could, but for the moment he merely shakes his head, setting his jaw and glides expertly into the wind. "Get my wing and let's go! We don't have time for this!" Better to trust the best flyer in the weyr to get the rider there. But that's going to give her a nasty head in the morning. he raises his hand into the air with the ready to between symbol. "Maybe the cold of between will sober you up a bit!"

>> (Fort Weyr) Hadamarth sits on the candles, stuffs the sage and cedar back into the incense box, repackages the tea and squashes the musical accompaniment and blandly offers a RUMBLE <<She sings loudly and of loose women. I am not sure what a loose woman is, but they are flexible!>> <<

(Fort Weyr) Gnaedath isn't speaking, see. >>It's a secret.<< You can't twist his wing or tweak his tail or even torture him with songs of loose women to get it out of him. Violins sing his very humble praises. He's /not/ going to show them the picture of Thera drunk.  Nope nope. He's a steel trap, whatever that is. And just to prove it, he pitches in a dramatic swell of cellos for good measure.  >> <<

>> I bespoke Hadamarth with: I sense that Gnaedath envisions Southern Boll Hold  just in case Thera can't. <<

From Hadamarth's neck, Thera says, "And away we go to where the woman are fine and the..."

Hadamarth was here but now he's somewhere else.

                                              ------- Travel Spam Omitted -------

Gnaedath blinks in from ::between::!

Sky Above Southern Boll Hold Courtyard

Hadamarth flies towards the courtyard.

W'ren leans into the wind, cursing at Thera's early entrance.  Wingsecond means /follow/, but what does that mean to an inebriated woman who hasn't eaten all day. "Crackdust! Just follow her down, Gnae." Gotta work on those entrances.

In the sky above Hadamarth wings up from the fireheights.

In the sky above Hadamarth soars upward, the tropical winds filling his wingsails.

In the sky above Hadamarth flies in from the sky high above.

In the sky above Hadamarth circles downward in a great arc, and lands in the courtyard.

Hadamarth circles down from above in a great arc, and finally lands.

Thera swings down from her lifemate Hadamarth's neck.

W'ren follows the brown dragon pair with his eyes. Down. Up. Up. Down. Up. Down again. "Shards and crackdust," he mumbles to himself as he unhooks himself from his dragon straps and prepares to dismount. So much for a quiet, unassuming  entrance. Noticeably missing from the courtyard is Mrrth.

Hadamarth lands with a staid plop and Thera actually lands perfectly for once. Well that's something to file away for when she's sober. No sliding down her dragon upside down. No flying up, over and down a neckridge. Absolute perfection. She even manages to unbuckle her straps and while the slide down is precarious at best, she lands on the ground softly, on her butt. "I think we're here!

W'ren leaves the oil, food and other such amenities he's brought strapped to Gnaedath's harness along with his flying helmet. Striding quickly over to Thera, he reaches out toward her, whispering urgently. "Get up here, Es. Grab my hand. Get yourself together, woman. We've got a job to do." He looks her over, then peers up at the dragon, then back down again and leans down into her to give her more help if she takes it. "Did you bring T's tools?" He twists his head around to see if by some miracle they've actually managed to enter this courtyard without being seen.

Thera reaches into what the Pernese would equate as a bra, which really after betweening, it's really rather chilly in there and brings out a spare set, "Compliments of Master Dominick! What do you do with the little one I wonder? Is it for little jails? Or little locks? Or to pick your teeth? I never really asked him and he never taught me how to use them." She'll take his hand and haul herself upright, "Okay, I'm ready." See, she can walk a fine line drawn in the dirt... if it's five feet wide and encompasses a trench.

                                             ------- Travel Spam Omitted -------

Southern Boll Jailhouse (#2041J)

The front office, manned by at least two soldiers at any time the cell is occupied, is first through the door, followed by a series of four small cells, each with its own locks. Each of the first three cells contains two small cots, a receptacle for bodily functions, and lacks in all privacy from the others.  The fourth cell, farthest back, is similar to the others in being small and open, but differs in terms of security.  The sturdy bed in this cell is bolted to the back wall. The pulley system that had been the pride of the fourth cell, is gone, and a gaping hole in the ceiling where the pulley had been attached.

As before, there's four cells along the corridor, and as before, T'jano occupies the last of the cells. What is perhaps distinct this time, from the previous time, is that T'jano lays in the bed, his lean form long in it, and all of the glows are dimmed, so that the place is nearly pitch.  Movement of a pale form that resolves itself to be Yo, precedes a quiet warble of greeting.

Also different is the relative guard strength. One lone, rather old guard sits at the table, playing a game of solitaire with the dragon cards. He sits lazily, one leg up on one of the empty chairs. From time to time, he glances toward the cell, as any good guard, but as the glows are dim, and the man is resting, it's only a cursory glance.

W'ren steps quietly into the shadows behind Thera, who knows the place, and therefore, despite her party hardy self, is still the expert on where T'jano is being held. He peers at the guard, then touches Thera on the shoulder, holding up one finger to his lips for her not to say anything. Then, pointing first at himself, then at the guard, then at Thera, then giving Thera a flat-handed 'wait here' gesture, he begins to make his way up behind the guard.

Thera enters on little cat feet, except they are in Weyrling boots, so they clomp alot. She eyes W'ren, completely misinterprets those hand movements. Is this a game? Oh goody her expression says. Then she spots the guard and with an exuberant leap plops into his lap rather unexpectedly, it being dark and all. "Hello sailor?" she says in a really bad approximation of a sex voice and smiling lewdly as she slides her arms around his neck. Really she has no idea what that means, but heard it somewhere, or it was in a story or something. "Playing a game? Why don't you play with me!" Alright, as distractions go, rail thin gaunt looking girls are probably not the best way to go, but he's old, maybe he won't notice.

Mottol the guard is /completely/ surprised, and doesn't recognize this woman. So, he grins up at her. "You've had a bit much to drink, haven't ya, lass?" The man offers with a grin. "Not a sailor m'self, but you might be talkin' about my uncle. Now, /there's/ a man who knows his way around a ship." He moves her to sit a little further out on his lap. "Well, I was playin me some solitaire, since it seems all the other guards are havin' a special training meeting tonight." A grin. "And our prisoner is a quiet one. Well, he /was/ singin' sea shanties for awhile. Dunno why." He shrugs. "Whaddya wanna play?" He reaches for the cards, starting to stack them up. "Can't do much that's interestin', or the missus'll..." A knowing look suggests Thera can draw her own conclusions. Oh, by the way, he totally does not notice W'ren.

W'ren falls back against the wall as Thera rushes past him, nearly being knocked over in her enthusiasm and miscalculations of his hand gestures. When he rights himself and sees her in the guard's lap, his jaw nearly drops on the floor. "What ...?" This is NOT the way to play Shadowman! Didn't she get the memo? Taking advantage of the poor unsuspecting 'sailor", W'ren quickly strides up behind the man, drawing his reverent, ancestral, highly ornamental and sentimental heirloom knife....   (wait for it) ... turns it backwards and bonks him on the head. "Yeesh, woman! Get a /GRIP/."

Thera pouts a moue of her lips and then perks up considerably at the mention of a game, giving him a winsome if drunk sort of smile. Twisting to look at the cards, "Do you know how to play firelizard tails? It's a really grand game, and you can play with one or two. I've only ever played it naked, but we don't have to do that. You need a ..." Then W'ren goes and bonks him in the head and she looks rather horrified and wide eyed up at the Assistant to the Assistant Weyrlingmaster, "Did you have to do that? We were going to play a game!" Another pout before realization and recollection, "Oh, no, wait. Yes, we were here for something else..." and sliding off of the poor unconscious man's lap she teeters towards W'ren. "After you. Maybe I'll just wait here?"

Of course, when he gets knocked on the head hard, Mottol reacts the way any normal human does. He goes out cold. His arms go limp, and when Thera moves, he falls forward, whacking his head on the table, and resting there. He's gonna have a helluva headache when he wakes up.

W'ren would reach out to offer Thera a hand off the man's lap, but he's too busy shaking his head at her and resheathing his heirloom knife, now tainted with blood like everything else Barlord. "Firestone and flames, woman. This is not spin the Benden!" He takes a deep breath and peers down at the man, wincing when he bonks his head on the table. "Yes. Maybe you should. Make sure he's still breathing, okay? Give me the tools." Or does she want him to reach in there and get them himself?

She doesn't, because 'Ewwwwww!' and giving him a glare Thera spins on her heel and just about knocks herself cold yanking on the cell door and opening it wide. "You go first and hurry up." Breathing, he's not breathing? Her eyes go wide and she lets go of the door and it swings closed before she swings back to poor old Mottol. "You didn't kill him did you! He was going to teach me a game!" Really, she's rather stuck on that.

Stuck or not stuck, W'ren doesn't wait to find out. he just shakes his head and tries to catch the door before it closes.... On. His. Hand. "Shards!" he yells, loud enough to wake the dead, perhaps even T'jano way back into the cell. For if Thera's inebriated exclamations haven't woken the man by now, perhaps a rumbling male baritone roaring with pain might. Grabbing the door with the other hand and opening it, he cradles his hand by his chest and strides through the door, peering into the cells as he walks down the aisle. "Teej? Are you here?" Because really, they haven't gotten to the 'dad' stage yet.

A groan in response:  "Quiet. Softer.  Less noise. No light."  The request comes in mind tenor, as the figure in the bed curls up into itself and the gold firelizard lifts herself, stretches and fans her wings experimentally.  For the dragon and the lizard, the stay has been hopelessly boring. For the man, much has passed. "I'm here. Where else would I be?"  And far less banter than usual; the sound of his own voice hurts, even.

Thera makes sure Mottol is breathing before she stomps somewhat staggering after W'ren. Drunk yes, but she knows how to keep her hand out of a closing door. That was a skillset acquired at the age of five! "Of course he's here," she says to the man's back rather cheerfully, "He was here the day before yesterday so why wouldn't he be here now? Where else would he be? It's not like Boll has all that many jails. Only one in fact that I know of, but maybe there are more. Do you think this is the right one? It had bars, this one has bars. It had Teej, and this one has ... Teej." And then she promptly turns around starts walking the other way. Artificial courage only gets you so far before real courage is needed and Thera has not much of that.

W'ren finds the cell, trying to tune out the constant blathering of the brownrider, "Es, be quiet, will you," he says whirling around on her only to notice her walking back out. "Wait, where are you going?" He leaps back toward her two steps to reach for her for pulling her back. "Come back here. You can't go wandering out there. You'll get yourself killed." Wake up, T'jano. We're here to get you out.. "Thera, where are those tools? Do you want me to reach in there myself and get them?"

Nothing is wrong with his hearing. It is in fact not only acute, but amplified over and over again, and despite T'jano's sincere pain, he does recognize the voices. "Thera?"  Soft, with just the vaguest touch of hope there, in those two syllables. "W'ren?"  That would just be surprise, quiet but complete.  This does warrant T'jano's rising up to twist around on the bed, and stockinged feet touch the floor, before he'll rise somewhat unsteadily.  "You' came to visit?"    He's touched.

Now Thera's turned around and is stalking back when she's accosted by W'ren. Going from happy drunk to cranky drunk she just slugs him in the gut and keeps on going until she reaches T'jano's cell. Scowling, "You!" gets yelled at the man, "you are impossible, hopeless and you drive me insane! You don't get to tell me one thing and then go off and do a completely different thing just cause you feel like it. And stop making me love you and turn around, I don't want you looking at me." She blinks for a moment and then remembers, "Oh tools!" Reaching back down there and fishing around in the pernese equivalent of a bra she comes up empty. "Wait a second, I think they slipped." And she starts hoping up and down.

W'ren turns at the sound of T'jano's voice, the beacon in this dark, dank place. Because surely neither of fort's finest here thought to bring a candle or torch to light their way through a dingy dungeon. Now that would be just to prepared for them. Oh no. They have to show up to a rescue without a light and with one half of them a weaving, drunken playgirl! "We're here to get you out, P....oof!" W'ren doubles over with the blow to his gut, still cradling that hand of his against his chest, a gesture with easily loosens his grip on Thera. Blowing out deeply, he rises, skips a little in the direction of T'jano's voice. "Don't listen to her, Teej. She's crazy in love with you, and I really wish the two of you could shardling make up because she's driving me insane!" He stops short of Thera just as she's jumping up and down and facepalms. Could this rescue be any less professional?

"She's terribly cute, isn't she?"  T'jano observes, watching the hopping brownrider with a mild amusement that shows through his pain. "You've come to get me out?  Where's the guard?"  Despite the question, T'jano does turn to begin, slowly, gathering his possessions together.  The hides and scrolls are neatly collected onto the table, and that takes but a moment, before T'jano reaches, gingerly, down to get his boots.  He does look up at Thera and, with a slightly lopsided grin, shakes his head.  "I'm watching you, Thera.  See me looking?"  Pale eyes have the advantage of being oh-so-visible even in dim light.

"You are not allow... Woah!" Apparently hopping up and down with a body full of alcohol is not really the best of game plans and Thera reels in a circle before making a grab for the bars. Happily the tools slip out of the bottom of her tunic and clatter to the floor near the bars. Head spinning she focuses with a frown at T'jano, "What's the little one for again?" For a moment she tries to figure out why exactly she's here, "W'ren came to get you out. I came to look at you...," another blink, "Why am I here W'ren. Oh! Love, no he knows that already." But she does keep looking at T'jano which is very unfair of him.

W'ren growls at the woman, turning his body away from her to protect his injured hand before he reaches toward her to grab the tools as soon as they fall on the ground. "Look, Thera, give me the tools and go get Aodien out of the infirmary, will you?" Better to get this woman out of the way... is his first thought, but then when T'jano provokes her, he nearly gasps with impatience. "You're just as bad as /she/ is!" Such is the fate of the terminally immature...and his mate. He shoves the tools between the bars at T'jano. "Here, take these things and pick the lock. The guard won't stay out cold forever." And at this rate, Thera will lose her shirt in a game of dragon poker before the night is over if he wakes up. Literally. He twists his head back at Thera. "Aodien! Infirmary! Now, weyrling!" Says the Assistant to the Assistant Weyrlingmaster. Maybe her expert military training will kick in if he pulls rank. Or not. But he's dealing with a two drunken love-swooned idiots here! One has to try /some/thing.

"Wait a minute.  You're sending a drunk Thera to the infirmary?"  T'jano asks W'ren, though he does require the support of the bars as eh reaches down to pick up the lock-pick tools.  A moment's going through them, before he finds the one he wants, "The little one has the same job as the rest of them, Thera.  Just for littler locks, more subtle."  The tool goes into the pick and T'jano leans his head against the cool of the bars, in order to continue his support.  "Pardon my questioning your wisdom, W'ren, but that's my weyrmate and /she/ doesn't need to be thrown in jail and /she/ certainly isn't in any shape to be going and getting the Smith out."  He considers that a moment, while nimble fingers feel, push and remember. Another tool is nudged in, and then the door swings free. "Besides, I'm sure he's chained."

Thera furrows her brows together and tilts her head to stare at W'ren, literally beginning to open her mouth to whine. Military training? Fine and dandy with Mottol, he was sort of cute in a decrepit kind of way, "But Aodien's got four guards and is chained to a bed. That's what they told me. That's a lot of firelizard tail double solitaire to be playing. You can only play with at most two and that would be..." she rolls her eyes upwards to count, "at least six times give stales, and do you know what you have to do in that game. First you have to bend your knees ...." Interrupted entirely by the answer to the question, she's distracted enough to watch T'jano work. "Are we still weyrmates?" Hope there too in her voice.

W'ren raises a brow. See, that was his first choice when he tried to stop Thera from leaving and got hit in the gut. But T'jano has forgotten that, apparently. Still, heat of the moment and all, W'ren just shakes his head at his father and  then looks at Thera, then shakes his head at /her/, then looks back at his father. And then he just gives up. "Pops. You need any help with your stuff? We should go quickly. We didn't exactly have a clean, quiet entrance." He jerks his head Theraward. Taking a deep breath, he looks back at Thera. "I heard the guards were minimal in the infirmary." He turns his head back toward T'jano. "Amarik is helping us. Iona and Sass, too, in their own ways. It's only fair we break Aodien out as well."

To Thera, first, T'jano asks, "Did you leave me?  I wasn't entirely sure.  I don't want you to leave me, Thera. I love you.  But if you need to leave me, then you should.  Are we still weyrmates?"  But he does not have time to afford her to answer the question; T'jano is distracted over to W'ren again. "Saskia, again?  And Iona.  I've no objection, can go and get him out fairly quickly if you two can provide..." His lips curve in a smile, "Some sort of distraction.  Just make it," T'jano asks, "A quiet one."

Rather soberly she says, "I don't want to leave you either T'jano, but it would help if you told me that. Okay, you kind of just did." Sense, not Thera's strong point at the moment since she isn't sober. Her eyebrows perk upwards, "We're weyrmates!" Then she snorts, "No one listens to me. Lizardtails! First you bend your knees and then you take your arms and the cards are sorted by suit and then scattered onto the floor..."

W'ren tolls his eyes with the melodrama between the two begins, but he says not a word and goes straight to his work, fills all their stockings and turns with a jerk... "Here, let me get those things, " he says and helps himself to T'jano's belongings. Just pretend he's not here, mind you. Backing out of the cell, around Thera to give her lizardtail squat more room, he just shakes his head at them both and whispers urgently, "Would you two make up already! And Teej? She wants to have your baby. I promise you the baby will be available to you 24/7. Please let her get pregnant, okay? Now, Lets go!"

Really, he has a splitting headache. Thera is not making it, in any way, better. "There's --"  He notes, in an absent way, the items that W'ren gathers, before T'jano departs from his spot to collect several other items, palm-sized, that have been secreted around the cell.  Then he'll be back out again, offering a hand to Thera, while he supports his own frame on the bars, "Hello there." A quick smile comes with that, "My name's T'jano.  I've a dragon named Mrrth. Lovely green.  It's very nice to meet you.  Don't suppose we could maybe go out sometime?  I love to dance on empty beaches and roast spiderclaw over a fire."  A nod to W'ren. Getting there. "Go ahead.  We'll catch up."

Thera just glares at W'ren and then frowns, "Go away. Mommy and Daddy want to kiss," and then she turns back at T'jano, and grins. "Maybe we could if you promise not to invite your mother along." Leaning in to support him or maybe it's the other way round, she reaches up to brush her hand across his brow and then hiccups in his face. The hand flies to her mouth and she swallows, "Sorry, we sort of found the wine sacks." And have spent most of the night drinking them.

W'ren shakes his head at the two lovebirds. "Oh, no. I'm not leaving /you/ two here by yourselves. You'll /never/ be out of here." Besides. You're both drunker than firelizards on hormones. He waves the arm  laden with T'jano's things and the elbow of the injured arm away from the cell and toward the front door. "Come. On. You two need to get a room and have lots of babies." What does a lone Shadowman have to do these days to get a Barlord rescued? Stand on his head? Fall on his knees? Dedicate his father's first born child? Wait. He's already done that one. "Dragons. Waiting. Fly Away now. Smooch later."

"I'm /not/ drunk."  Teej murmurs. "That was yesterday.  Today I've a hangover.  /She/," T'jano points out needlessly, "is drunk.  So no Aodien?"  T'jano asks, about the change of plans, perhaps proving that indeed he is not drunk.  But he does reach up to touch Thera lightly, fingers assuring her of his proximity and attention, before he'll reach for one of her hands. "C'mon, good looking. Fellow here's stressed that we're lingering.  And I'm about ready to be leaving here. You ready, or you've your heart set on your card game with the guards?"  T'jano's smile for Thera is quick, for he attends the direction his son walks, with a clarity.  Yo flits around the humans and ahead, serving as scout.

"You were drunk?" and this is news to Thera who will clutch the man's hand and follow rather wobbly. "Lets go. The Smith can fend for himself. I'll come back and get him when I remember why I wanted to in the first place." She frowns over that and then frowns at W'ren as well, "Well, are you coming or what slowpoke?"

W'ren shuts the cell door, shaking his head and strides purposefully past the two. He peers back as he walks every now and then just to be sure. Thank Faranth's posterity for small miracles. "Aodien can get himself out at this point," Wren agrees. "I would just feel better if dawn's watchdragon didn't find the lot of us here." He opens the office door, waiting until T'jano or someone catches it before he lets go, and walks through.

>> I bespoke Mrrth with: I sense that Gnaedath sifts into the space between minds to rumble softly. >>Come join us in the courtyard. We are all leaving.<< <<

"On our way, W'ren."  T'jano speaks quietly, steps quietly, cat-foots along with his fingers tangled in Thera's.  He knows his way out only somewhat, and has to rely on either the others, or the gold lizard who darts ahead, flits back and, at one point, banishes a few of the resident firelizards.  "Yes,"  T'jano finally answers Thera, "I got good and drunk after you left. Yo brought I lost-track-of-how-many flasks of wine from Harry's, I think.  I figured that way it was on Thadd's tab, since he was keeping me here."  T'jano grins, raises Thera's hand to his lips and kisses her fingers lightly.  "W'ren. Thank you.  Not sure when my brother would deign to have me released."

"Marryn won't put me in jail," is Thera's pointed comment and probably seriously delusional one as well, aimed at W'ren's back and she'll get the door, though blink a little at its weight. "Watch your hand," she reminds T'jano kindly, "don't want to get hurt." She pauses for a moment bracing herself against it while he kisses her hand then raises an eyebrow, "Well Th'deus might me, but I don't care." A begrudging glance goes back towards W'ren, "It was his idea, but I came."

W'ren smiles at T'jano's words of thanks as he walks past the out cold guard, at this point lying in a pool of drool on the wooden table, snoring contently. "You’re my father. I couldn't have you rotting in this place after I spent so many years and tears to find you." He turns, revealing his smile to the two of them. One brow rises, his hand on the outer doors by this time. "Besides, Thera and I need you, Pops." He nods toward the outer door, opening it. "If you'll have us." Through the crack in the paused door, three dragons wait, one bronze, one brown, one green. "We need some time together. Where shall I take you?" He's assuming he has more between points than the two younger riders.

"Home for tonight. Then I'm to Ista Hold."  T'jano murmurs, blinking against the dim night lights. "Tonight, though, I want to make sure she's OK."  Thera.  "Thadd won't bother me, I don't think.  All's good."  Besides, Thera will need someone to hold her while she vomits, and someone with sympathy, empathy, for the next day. Wine hangovers... Wicked.  Whatever else T'jano was going to say is cut off by Mrrth's low warble and T'jano's hauling Thera over, so that he might embrace the green's brownish muzzle. 

Thera hasn't thought that far ahead, currently still in mid booze rush. Though in truth, she's getting really good at the whole upchuck thing, neat, tidy, precise. "We'll stand guard," she boasts somewhat unsteadily which is more so when she's hauled over to Mrrth. Blinking a little, "but you two should talk," and W'ren gets another glare, though it's rather impotently delivered given the dragon's muzzle. Hadamarth for his part sits waiting, tolerant, taking up the godly portion of the Courtyard.

Gnaedath turns his head toward the three as they enter the courtyard, rumbles softly in greeting, his great wings spreading out to canopy nearly the whole space above dragons and riders. W'ren doesn't wait for the two of them, instead walking straight to his bronze to load T'jano's things. "No, the two of you will sleep while /I/ stand guard. And I'll escort you to Ista hold in the morning." He smiles at Thera as the last of the things are tucked in. "Thera's right, Pops. I want to spend some time with you, if that's okay. I'll stay with you there." Then he grabs onto a strap tightly before mounting with one hand and a lot of help from his dragon.

You feel soft mental reassurance as you mount your dragon.

"Be delighted."  He will, however, usher Thera over to Hadamarth, and help her up on it.   Straps one, straps two and straps three, all done, before he'll catch her hand and kiss it once more. "Don't forget, when you're sober, that you still love me, that you want me, Thera, and that I love you."  With that, and gingerly movements, for he is still in excruciating pain from his own hangover, T'jano lets himself down and turns to the much smaller and lovely sea-glass green Mrrth.  Another quick embrace of her narrow muzzle, before he's pulled himself up and on the green.

Thera will allow herself to be loaded and strapped in and she nods at T'jano but then has to grab her straps to steady herself, "No I won't forget T'jano." That part she already knew. A sigh and she nods towards W'ren though he may not be able to hear, "the ledge is very comfortable." He can occupy his time by planning the building of a fireplace.

W'ren straps in and laughs, because in case Thera hasn't noticed, her voice hasn't exactly been tinkerbell soft this night. The ledge, your mama. "Gnaedath has a very comfortable tail for me to curl up in on that ledge, Thera, dear." W'ren banters back to her good naturedly. He grins, waves his good hand in the signal to rise before his eyes glaze over. "Let's go home, Gnaedath. All of us, please." One handed, drunk and hungover.

Bemused about the hand signal, T'jano points it out to Mrrth. She, however, is only too happy to leave, so as soon as T'jano is in the straps, she's up and will even consign herself to waiting until the bronze goes *between*, before she does.  But home, home again, where Mrrth will have her own ledge to crouch upon, and won't have to listen to Boll's blue watchdragon's incessant chatter.