Finn, D'ren, Linny


Settle down… not as saucy as it sounds. Finn and D'ren posture, teasing Linny mercilessly. Rider and Trader strike up a friendship over their mutual acquaintance. (NSFW content)


It is nighttime on the twenty-eighth day of the tenth month of the first Turn of the 12th Pass.


Igen Weyr, Ground Weyrs, Linny & Kaelidyth's Guest Weyr

OOC Date


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Ground Weyrs

Spacious by necessity, the slightly grimy atmosphere of these weyrs house couches made to fit dragons of various sizes and in various states of health, each with feeding and watering stations near to hand, as well as the necessary medical aids to treat any draconic illness. A small alcove offers up a different view: Healer's records stashed in meticulous order on a shelf, a cluttered desk full of hidework in process, and a polished small basin where fresh water may be poured. Above it, a small rocky shelf protrudes, holding various cleaning supplies in neatly labeled containers: redwort is most prevalent, followed by numbweed.

Sunset is past and Igen's twilight has settled on the Weyr. Temperatures, beastly during the day, have plummeted with Rukbat's disappearance and the night winds are cool and pleasant, despite the ever-present grit they carry. A young man in Igen garb, face coverings and long robes, walks the path that winds from groundweyr to groundweyr leading a stocky runner and cart laden with all manner of goods. He stops before a weyr that is host not to a convalescing rider and bonded, but to a visiting goldrider. He pulls the veil from his face and squints through the twilight at the pool of light spilling from the weyr entrance. White teeth flash in a grin before he pats the runner and begins walking again, drawing closer to the entrance.

It's at that moment that a shining golden bronze dragon bursts out of *between*, circling once before he lands neatly just on the outside of the gold's ledge, and perhaps startling that poor runner. Which he didn't see due to the dimness and the lengthening shadows. Crouching, the bronze rumbles and lets his rider dismount, the Istan tugging off his helmet and unwinding the scarf from around his neck. "Might stay the night, not sure yet," he tells his dragon, thumping him on the shoulder.

To say the crack of displaced air and the presence of an apex predator startles the runner is … understantement. The Reika have not been at the Weyr so long that the runners are innured to the presence of dragons and the one the young man is leading screams in terror and rears, yanking the man's shoulder and causing the spars of the cart to creak ominously as the wagon tips up and teeeeeeeters. The man says in a loud, calm voice. "Whoa! Whoa… Eeeeeeasy…" She comes down, hooves thudding into the sand, eyes rolling and wild, the man's hand outstretched, voice lowered murmuring soothing nonsense assurances. The wagon, in near slow motion, teeters for a long gut-wrenching moment and then -CRASH- settles back down with a crunching noise. A low groan of dismay at that crunch. The young man, who has got the runner's head under control and is soothing her, looks around and spots the rider and his great and glorious bronze dragon, head tipping back, "Ah." As if the crack and the blast of cool air from ::Between:: weren't clue enough. Still murmuring to the runner, the man leans around to peer at the wagon which is riding considerably lower than it had been.

Aikuonath swings his head around and promptly backs up, lowering himself to the ground with an apologetic croon, and D'ren's head whips around as well, swearing. "Oh, shards, I'm so sorry!" he calls, hands up but not approaching. Because running at them wouldn't be good either. "I'm so, so sorry. Didn't think there'd be any animals over this end of the bowl… Is everything okay?" He heard that crunch. "Did your wagon break? Shards."

Finn's sharing time between peering at his wagon, settling his runner and gawping at the great bronze dragon who seems -at least to Finn- to glow in the dim light. The 'whoas' directed at the runner switch nearly seamlessly to awed admiration of the, well, cowering bronze. D'ren? Oh. Right. There's a rider. "Uh, yeah," the young trader grimaces, looking at the wagon. He braces against the head tosses his runner makes, "I think it did." Break. "Normally you're right, not a lot of animals here. Today," he gestures at the cart, "A delivery."

D'ren approaches slowly while Aikuonath settles a short distance away, head up and neck arched, watching, his hide glittering in the fading light. "I'm sorry. It's my fault, I'll see that it's fixed. Or pay for it at least. And help with your delivery, least I can do. Where were you headed?" he asks as he walks slowly forward.

Completely unaware of the impending clusteryouknowwhat outside her weyr, Linny saunters out with a little smirk on her face, like all is right with the world or maybe it's about to be, and then… jaw drops when eyes land on both D'ren and Finn. Together. Talking. Stunned so much that she can't keep the panic off of her face, eyes wide as her mouth remains agape. The only thing that would make this worse is if R'lar would be standing there with them. Finally, mouth snaps shut and she reaches up to brush some hair back out of her face. "Hi." Act casual. Just act casual.

"Oh, wow, um," Finn, uncertain how to answer, finally nods, "Sure. My thanks, rider. It shouldn't cost much to fix," he peers under the wagon and grimaces, wincing as he straightens and shrugs apologetically at the bronzerider, "Maybe." Where delivering? He waves up at the cheerily lit entrance of the weyr where the visiting weyrwoman is staying, a grin ghosting across his face as he does, "Just there, Sir," he shakes his head, "No need, I can manage." He looks at the cart, to the weyr entrance, to the cart. "On second thought…" The runner, now that APEX PREDATOR has moved away to an uneasy but not terrifying distance, has settled some, her eyes still rolling and her breathing labored, but she's not tossing her head at least. "Uh, you mind seeing if the back gate will open while I stay here," he pets the runner's nose and looks up towards the weyr. I wonder if— "Linny!" Finn calls, rather louder than he should, and the runner -soothed- tosses her head, yanking his arm again, "Ow."

D'ren moves forward to crouch beside the wagon, mindful of the runner, and he winces. "Yeah…that's a pretty big maybe. But I'll see to it that it's fixed. What's your name? And caravan?" He follows his gaze to the entrance, and chuckles. "What, to Linny's weyr? I was going there myself, I can take it for you," he says, moving to see if the back gate will indeed open. When the trader calls out to Linny, D'ren smiles and waves. "Hey, Linny! Delivery for you!"

Moving swiftly in their direction, she's also just as quick to make introductions. "D'ren, this is Finn." She shares a look with the bronzerider, a significant and weighted one. "Finn, this is D'ren, father of my son." But with that done, Linny's eyes are on what cart, curious, but once those eyes fall upon the runner, the goldrider practically skids to a stop, staying put. "Uh. Just bring it inside for me, huh?" Yes, little Linny, who rides the third biggest gold on Pern, is terrified of runners. Go figure, right? "Well, wait. What did you bring me?" So she can figure out where they need to put it, depending on what it is.

Finn moves straight to Linny, hands reaching out to catch her face and plant a kiss just as she's introducing him, "D'ren," he says, beaming at the bronzerider (he's still sneaking glances at the bronze behemoth, by the by), and so he misses the significant look from Linny to D'ren. "Oh!" Finn's brows go up, "Two boys and girl, right?" The two are familiar enough to have shared that, but it's not a certain thing. "Oh, just the first of the furniture and, ah," he grins, "bedding you ordered."

D'ren doesn't see her look, because he's trying to get the gate open. And even if he did, he wouldn't know what to make of it. "Nice to meet you, Finn. Sorry it started off with me breaking your cart." He'll fix it! "And that's Aikuonath." He peeks up over the wagon just in time to miss the kiss. "Just Linden," he says, "though I kind of helped raise Roslin too." The third boy…he doesn't know. "Furniture? Shouldn't that go…wait." He leans against the cart. "Wouldn't it be easier to wait until you have a permanent home? Ooh, bedding? What kind? Is it that…that light kind? The kind that doesn't make you sweat."

Even if D'ren's there, Linny can't help but smile up at Finn after the kiss, giving him a softer greeting of "Hey", slinging an arm around his waist as she turns her attention back over to D'ren and the cart. "Two girls and a boy," she idly corrects Finn, but her tone is distracted as she figures out where everything should go in her small temporary home. "We can find a place to maybe stack the furniture until I have a bigger weyr. If I get a bigger weyr. The bedding we can put on right away." Lost in thought, it takes a moment before she realizes D'ren was talking, and so head snaps up, eyes on him. "Well, I decided to order the furniture early, since it would take awhile to make, but apparently the Reika are quick workers." That gets a smirk sent up to Finn, squeezing herself slightly more against him.

"Likewise, D'ren." The trader chuckles, "It's not the worst introduction I've had," he rolls his jaw, scrubbing at unshaven scruff giving a lopsided grin and a shrug. Finn touches his brow at the luminous bronze, "Aikuonath." Finn's eyes go wide, jaw dropping, "Roslin! Roslin's your daughter?" Finn's grin becomes huge, slinging a second arm around her waist and pulling her close. D'ren? Who's D'ren? "She's one of the first people I met here at Igen. But…" his brow furrows, she said her mother was back…" he blinks, looking at D'ren. Um… there's something not adding up here…

D'ren chuckles. "Then I'd like to hear the story of the worst one," he says, reaching into the cart to pull out a chair. "Very nicely made, my compliments." Over yonder, Aikuonath dips his head down and rumbles softly to Finn, his wings shifting against his sides. It's then, chair on his shoulder, that D'ren notices how close the two are, and his steps falter. Oh. As for Roslin and that whole thing, D'ren doesn't say a word. When Finn looks at him, the bronzerider just shrugs and walks past them into the weyr to put the chair down. "Like to stay for a drink?" he calls loudly back outside, his voice echoing a bit. "Sure Linny wouldn't mind sharing…"

"You know Roslin?" That's perhaps the most surprising part of all of this, Linny craning her neck to peer up at Finn, brows furrowed. But as far as the story behind it, guilt creeps onto her face as she replies, "Remind me to tell you that story some other time, huh?" Because it's not exactly a story that can get put within a nutshell. Linny unlaces herself from the trader as D'ren picks up a chair to take inside, saying to him, "You don't need to do that." Because she's perfectly capable of helping too. Once she makes a wiiiide circle around the runner, Lin reaches to grab a chair, but then she's peering around it to teasingly glare at the bronzerider. "Hey thanks, D'ren, for giving away my liquor." But that chair isn't so easy for the petite woman to get, after all, as much as she tries to use all of her strength, but she's gonna keep trying. Just gotta get a good grip. Or something.

Finn scoops up the chair from Linny and an end-table besides. All in the dark wood that Linny had specified when she'd visited the Reika. He gestures with a chin at a footstool upholstered in rich, cream colored fabric. That's more Linny's speed. To D'ren, "That story's best shared over drinks, so, don't mind if I do," he beams between Linny and the bronzerider. At Linny's more sober response, his brow draws down, smile faltering, "Of course," he says quietly. He traipses into the weyr after D'ren, "So, how're you finding Igen?" Apart from the heat? And the sand? And the, uh, general dagger-in-the-spleen Igen-ness?

Inside, D'ren sets the chair down and goes about getting them three drinks of whatever is handy. He also pulls a package from his pocket and tosses it onto the table. Wrapped in black cloth with red ribbon, it's about a foot square and six inches deep, and squishy to the touch. Leaving it there, he also leaves the drinks on the table and is about to head out again when Finn walks in. "Here," D'ren offers, reaching for the end-table. "I'm just visiting. Linden and I actually live in Ista." He gestures to the table, with the three drinks and the oh-so-enticing package.

The weakling takes the footstool, and as her former weyrmate and current bedtime seem to be getting along just dandy, Linny is sweating bullets. It's only a matter of time before something happens, and she can't envision anything good coming out of this. The only thing she can envision is being alone after this is over, because surely they both will want nothing to do with her. All of these doomsday thoughts swirl around the goldrider's head as she numbly walks with the footstool into her weyr, and watches D'ren pour drinks for them. The stool is put off to the side and the drink is quickly put in its place in her hands, throwing it back as a shot before she goes to get another. She needs it.

Between Finn and D'ren the two make quick work of the cart, dresser, chairs, footstools, another dresser, and copious billowing bedding. Finn peers at Linny, the stiff set of her shoulders, the quick toss of the drink and waggled glass waiting to be refilled. "You uncomfortable, Linny?" He stoops to catch up the bottle and refill her tumbler, "Oh, look, a present." He looks up at D'ren, "Turnday?" Belated, but Finn's not a stickler. The bed has regular boring linens on it. When she's got all these new, billowy white linens. And they should SO be on the bed. Finn snatches up his drink and lifts it in a brief toast to Linny and D'ren before swallowing it at a gulp, setting the tumbler down with a crack and scooping up a huge armful of linens and walking blindly towards a wall. Can't see. Too much bedding.

D'ren gives Linny a curious look, and a little smirk. "Not a turnday gift, no. Open it," he encourages her, before he's moving quickly after Finn. "Here, let me help. These are fantastic. I'll bet they'll feel so nice against your skin." Who is he talking to? Or is he referring to himself? Damn pronouns as he and Finn move to the bed to start stripping it of the old bedding and putting on the new, tucking and tugging and smoothing things *just* so.

Are they talking? If they are talking, Linny doesn't hear anything but whatever is circling around in her head as she holds her drink, staring off into space, while the expression on her face borders on nauseated. Finally, when she blinks back into reality, and they are both messing with the linens on her bed, she's had enough. "Guys, stop! Stop. I… I need to talk to you." And do to so, the goldrider goes to her own booze supply, finding her favorite bottle of whiskey, and then she's get to chugging. She drinks until it burns so bad she has to stop, gasping for breath as she looks at both of them, and whether or not they're ready, she launches into things. "Finn, I slept with D'ren. He came over the other day, and… we have a long history together, we have a son. The whole thing is really complicated." But then her attention turns to the bronzerider. "D'ren, I really like Finn. It might be nothing more than a little fling while we're both here, but I have feelings for him, and there's a part of me that would like it to be something more." With the truth out there, Linny limps collapses into one of her new chairs, holding the whiskey bottle in one hand while the other hand covers her eyes as head tilts down. "You both can go, if you want."

Not a turnday gift? What then? Finn's eyes skip to the parcel, to Linny and to D'ren. Open it! "Right?" he says, rubbing the fabric between thumb and forefinger. Finn has fun making things difficult for D'ren, snapping the sheets *just* so they make an excruciatingly slowly sinking dome of billowing bliss. Aaaaaaand just as it's settled, "Too much on this side," he snaps the sheets up again, teeth flashing. Fun! So occupied with sheets, it's only as she's pounding a bottle of whiskey sans glass that Finn blinks at Linny, then at D'ren and back to Linny again. 'I need to talk to you.' A little feather from one of the pillows drifts down, back and forth, back and forth, landing and catching in Finn's scruff. It tickles. He twitches. Finn fixes D'ren with an amused look, tonguing the inside of his cheek. Did you now? The gaze moves over to the bedclothes recently removed. He squints at D'ren, then at Linny, grin slipping sly, "Mmmhmm. No one's intereseted, eh?" He leans to the bed, settling the comforter over the pillows, the blade of his hand slicing in to tuck sheets and comforter up snugly. He watches Linny wilt into her chair and straightens at the last, confusion on his brow, "Why would we go? I mean, apart from that I've got a terrified runner out there scared out of her wits and losing her mind." With a great, ruddy bronze dragon not far off. But… apart from those small details.

D'ren frowns when Linny goes to chug the whiskey, and he walks forward to try and stop her. And then when she sits, he tries to take it from her. He leaves the sheets to Finn, but gives him a bit of a smirk for the fiddling. And then he winks, reaching out to put his hand on Linny's shoulder, and if she let him have the bottle he takes a little swig. When Linny says she slept with him, he lifts his hand to hold up two fingers to Finn. Twice. Smirk. "So," he says, glancing at Finn with his brows lifted. "Threesome?" Up comes that third finger. His voice is calm, curious, almost hopeful, but his eyes DANCE. Then he grins, squeezing Linny's shoulder. "Linny…I don't care." He looks at Finn. "She makes the cutest little noises doesn't she? Well. I shouldn't call them little. You know." Wink wink, nudge nudge? "Well. I assume you know otherwise she wouldn't have kept you around…" He glances at the door. "Yeah…you want to go take care of that? Or I can…" he offers. "Not bad with runners but she might not like the smell of Aik on me." Then he shrugs and goes to put the whiskey away. Really, Linny. Stop turning to drink whenever things get stressful. Much more fun when you're sober.

Wait, what? What's that sound? Well, it's not the sound of her world falling down around her, and- are they making jokes about this situation? Linny's fingers uncurl to allow D'ren to take her whiskey, though she's certainly not happy it gets put away, but then she's looking up, glancing between them, ever so confused. "YouYou guys don't care? For fuck's sake, I was dying over here, thinking you both were going to hate me, and you…" But something else pops back into her memory, and it has her peering thoughtfully at D'ren. "You serious about that threesome?" Raised brows get lifted over at Finn, you interested?, but she better not push her luck. The petite goldrider pushes herself to stand, a hand reaching up to run through her hair a few times, as if she's still trying to process their seemingly easy acceptance of each other in her life.

Pffffff… Finn blows out a puff of air at the feather tickling his face. It swirls away wildly on the current of his breath. Two? Finn blinks. 'Two what?' he mouths before realization dawns. Oooooooh. He makes an appreciative purse of lips and nods. Then he holds up a single finger, pointing it at the bar; and another single finger, pointed at the bed; the finger switches to Linny and Finn's eyes tip up to the ceiling, flipping out a few more fingers. Outta fingers. He blinks, eyes wide at the casually tossed out 'threesome?' He swallows. Experienced for his age, it's mostly been pretty straight stuff. Dragonriders. He looks really young, just now, eyes a little wide and mouth parted, however he had just been scoreboarding D'ren. Or trying to. He skips over the query to address Linny's fading concerns. "Care? I might, if he were…" Finn looks at D'ren, eyeing the man up and down. "He's all right." He was worried about the runner. About the wagon. D'ren's all right in Finn's book. And -given how he'd snatched that bottle away- a good bit more concerned with Linny's life choices. Or, more to the point, aware of them. And, anyway, Finn can't find it in himself to be jealous, though… he's not sure if he wants to share. There's a speculative look, but he doesn't answer right away, happy instead to dish on Linny. "I wouldn't call them cute, either." Finn's grin is sly. Amusement dancing in his eyes, he fluffs the pillows on the newly made bed, "I should take care of my runner," he makes tracks for the entrance, a finger leveled in challenge to D'ren, "But I'm breaking in those sheets, bronzerider."

D'ren shrugs, pulling up a chair to sprawl in. "Why would I care? You and I aren't exclusive." Never have been, despite his efforts. When Finn counts, D'ren laughs. "Boy." Did he just play the boy card? Totally. "Don't even go there, there aren't enough fingers on Pern to count that." He wins. Hands down he wins. But he's grinning just the same. He glances at the sheets, grin growing. "Fair enough, you brought them. Just wash them when you're done, yeah?" There's a pause and then he calls after Finn, "What about the table?" Can he break in the table?

Linny's not about to get involved in their counting wars (though it's true that D'ren wins), because she has to appear neutral as they go tit-for-tat, all while she stands there, still wondering what in the world is going on. But hey, it is amusing. While they are busy being gossipy girls about her within the sheets, she's happy to slip back to her bar to grab the whiskey bottle again, and just in case he gets any ideas— "You touch my whiskey again, bronzerider, and I'm breaking your nose." It might not be an empty threat, either. At least, now that it's in her hands again, she's not gulping it but simply sipping it. "Are you guys serious? Do you want to schedule sex time with me now, who gets me where?" Now, she perches herself on the arm of one of her chairs, ever so lady like, drinking her whiskey as she watches Finn and D'ren go back and forth. This isn't so bad after all….

D'ren wins for a single night? Finn squints, he's not too sure about that. He cocks his head at D'ren's 'boy' the first flicker of temper showing in eyes narrowed so briefly it could be a trick of the light. He relents. It's likely true anyway. Since it's got as much to do with Linny as D'ren. More, really. And they'd had more time to hone things. Finn and Linny were a blade in the rough, still taking shape under the Smith's hands. D'ren and Linny were a, the Smith's eyes flash at this thought, a much-loved, much-used favorite blade, still keeping its edge after decades of use. "Table's fair game," Finn tosses an arm up in farewell, not looking back as he traipses out of the weyr. He hears Linny's amused rejoinder and ducks back in, head popping into view, eyebrows raised, "We could put up a calendar," he points at a spot on the wall by the entrance, flashes a rakish grin, and is gone.

D'ren gives Linny an odd look, chuckling. "We're not going to have a threesome." He remembers that one time… and he shudders, his expression closing off briefly. Dammit. "He'll be right back." He looks like he's about to say something more, but he doesn't. Dipping his head to her, he'll take his leave and follow Finn out towards the cart and the runner. "So what's the easiest way to do this?" The cart, not Linny. "Can we still move it? Push it to a crafter's area or something?"

Finn's already on his back under the wagon, a glow beside him. "I, uh, think I can rig something. Maybe." He scootches out from under the wagon. He hops up onto the flatbed and rummages around, glowlight sending shifting shadows flaring and flying as he moves. "Were you serious…" Finn clears his throat. "Uh." Right. Rummaging. He secures a few items and hops back down, moving easily with the seemingly effortless grace of youth. Scootching back under the wagon he kicks a foot out to get D'ren's attention, "Can you lift up on this side? I just need an inch or so."

"Serious about what?" D'ren asks, moving forward to crouch a bit, gripping the wagon and lifting. It's a bit more than an inch, but…dragonriders are strong. "The threesome?" he grunts. "No. Just…teasing her." He shrugs.

D'ren may read the wilt of relief in Finn's body by the way his outstretched feet loll. "There. Good. Hold that," comes his voice, clipped, as he focuses, working swiftly to see the job done. The wagon shudders as hammerblows crack from under the wagon. The runner dances and Finn murmurs. "Just a bit more," his feet shuffle as he shifts. "What'd you get her?" Finn got her a flower. Well, he got Kaelidyth a flower. Where WAS it by the way? He hadn't seen it.

D'ren holds it, grunting a bit. Usually he'd just ask Aik to help, but with the runner still there…D'ren adjusts his stance and holds on. "Something for the next time she and I fool around. Which…who knows when it'll be. Not here to try and get between you or whatever."

More hammering ensues. Crackcrackcrack! The runner dances again, the cart moving with its motions. "Eeeeeasy," Finn murmurs. "Oh? Oh." None of his business. Chuckles from under the wagon. He scootches out, "All right, ease it down." The smith stands, dusting hismelf off, "I woulda thought tonight. Seems that was your plan," arcing a brow at the rider as he backpedals towards the front of the wagon and reaches out to run fingers along the runner's side.

D'ren gently lets the wagon down and leans against it, wiping his forehead with his forearm. "Well that was the plan, yeah, but you're here, so." He shrugs with a slight smile. "You should go enjoy yourself. Not like she and I had official plans." It was a drop-in.

That sounds suspciously like 'run along and play.' Finn hasn't forgotten that 'boy' comment. He studies D'ren for a moment, smile-creased eyes serious, before turning his attention to the runner, murmuring quiet nonsense to the creature. He smiles, hands stroking the runner's neck, "She was about to lose it, huh?"

It wasn't meant that way, as D'ren studies him back with an easy smile. "Who, Linny or the runner?" he asks, straightening up and tugging down his riding jacket.

At that smooth reply Finn can't help but laugh, face falling into the planes it's meant to carry, laughter, which sit easier on him than that serious study. "Linny." He makes a soft, sharp noise to the runner and watches closely as the wagon eases forward. Terrible grinding sounds issue from beneath the wagon, Finn's face scrunching as he winces at D'ren. "Sounds great!"

D'ren winces as well. "Yeah…right. Let's get it to one of the crafters. I think there's a Smith's area just inside the bazaar…" As for Linny, the bronzerider shrugs. "A bit, yeah. She… gets herself into these situations and then expects the worst of them." He frowns. "I don't like it when she drinks."

Making a wide, slow circuit, Finn gets the runner and wagon headed in the right direction, back the way he'd come. The grinding noise is ominous and irritating. The runner flicks its ears forward and back. Forward. Back. "If it's the same to you, I'm going to take it home." To the Reika encampment. Plenty of wagon and cart repair goods there. CREEEAAAAAKKkkkk. "If it makes it that far." He peers across the runner's head to D'ren, "I didn't think drinking counted as a hobby until I met Linny," he shrugs, brow furrowed. "Is it… a thing? Does she have a problem?" Finn had any number of relatives who spent the better parts of their day half in the bottle.

D'ren walks on the other side of the runner, wincing at the sound the cart makes. "Sure, same to me. Didn't know you were camped here. Just let me know what I owe you." Then he exhales, hands slipping into his pockets. "She'd say no and likely hit me for suggesting it…and then go drink. So I'd say yes."

Finn nods, "I will," continuing along in silence. "In fairness, she called it a hobby. I still don't think it counts." Because Linny's totally pro. None of this amateur 'hobby' business. "If she knew that THIS is what we were talking about…" his eyes widen, instead of working out that threesome or the cute noises she makes, "I think she'd punch us both." He darts eyes forward, to D'ren, forward again, "I'll keep an eye out for trouble." Say, like now. Linny's back at the weyr getting soused. Great job, so far. Wait, did Finn just promise the father of Linny's son that he'd keep an eye on her drinking? Oh, boy. He was gonna need help. There's a flicker of regret at the words that had spilled naturally from his mouth. Too late to take it back now. Plod. Plod. Plod.

D'ren shakes his head. "It doesn't." He agrees with Finn on that. He shrugs. "She probably would but you know what? Maybe someday she'll realize it's only because we care, not because we're trying to criticize her. She gets so defensive. And then she drinks." He shrugs. "Thanks," he adds quietly. "She and I haven't been together for a while, but…she is the mother of my only child. I need her stable for his sake." There's a pause. "And for hers. Faranth, I just want her happy." He starts to kick a stone, remembers the runner, and stops. Plod indeed. "If there is trouble, feel free to tell me to handle it. If you two are building something…" He can be the one to get in her face about things? Can't get more broken than they already are.

Finn & D'ren star in the new reality series: The Interventionists. "I'll do what I can. If things get heavy, I'll… I'll try to get in touch." He shrugs, not having the benefit of a teleporting, telepathic dragon to aid in such endeavors. He looks off back towards the groundweyrs, the moons were high in the sky and up ahead, at the pens a commotion. A green dragon taking to the skies. The wind shifts bringing the scent of blood to the runner's nose and it shies, dancing, tossing its head. The cart creaks ominously. "Eeeeeeasy. Easy." Five or more dragons spring into the air after the green. The runner whinnies in fear. Finn sighs. The Reika camp was beyond the pens. "Maybe this way wasn't a good idea."

D'ren nods. "You have a firelizard?" he asks, watching the green rise. He pauses, but Aikuonath declines to chase, and D'ren looks relieved. "Maybe not. What if we blindfolded her?"

"Yeah, she's really young, though. Actually… Kaelidyth might help." Finn blinks, looking over at D'ren and then watching, fascinated, as the dragons tear off through the night, their forms silhouetted against the stars. Their bellows echoing off of the bowl walls. He shrugs out of his shirt and with a nod to D'ren to take the lead rope, murmuring soothing nonsense at the runner, he makes quick work of fitting the impromptu blinders over the runners eyes. "Easy there, easy. That's it. Good." To D'ren, "Good thought. You work with runners much. Before?" Finn gestures off back towards the groundweyrs.

D'ren nods. "She might," he agrees, looking skyward. "Glad he doesn't want to chase," he murmurs, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets, before he's reaching out to take the rope. "Not too much. I was Dolphincraft before I was Searched, but I always enjoyed runners as a kid."

"D'ren, I got it from here. Really." Finn points at the dimly visible wagons ahead. Sure, they're not Reika wagons, but D'ren doesn't know that. Right? "'Til next time?" He sticks his hand out to the rider. "Maybe we should fake a fist fight," the young man's eyes twinkle in the darkness, lips twitching.

D'ren pauses, squinting at the wagons. "Alright," he says, reaching out to clasp his hand. "Until next time." Then he laughs. "Only if I get to win," he teases. "Clear trails, Finn." Enjoy drunk Linny. With that, the bronzerider turns, heading towards the bazaar, while Aikuonath takes off from Kaelidyth's area and soars upwards to find and empty ledge upon which to rest, until D'ren decides to go back to Ista.

If she's conscious when he returns, Finn would, thanks. A firm handshake, the trader's grin slips lopsided, "I think you owe me, rider." Good-natured. A final squeeze and he drops his hand, "We'll flip for it." That D'ren didn't make tracks back to Linny is noted. "Clear skies, D'ren."

"Marks to fix the wagon!" D'ren calls. That's all he owes Finn. The rest, they're even on.

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