D'renn is Sacked! Log

18th September 2000
Logged by D'renn

Training Grounds
The marks of thousands of claws give testament to the shuffling of the young dragons that have torn up what little grass once grew in this corner of the bowl. Tucked in between the feeding pens to the south and the curve of the Weyrleader's complex, the training grounds are home to daily exercises and classes, all taking place well out of the way of the hectic bustle of the rest of the bowl. Cut deep into the cliff face, the large, covered openings leading into the extensive weyrling barracks rise high over the heads of any who come near, although the height of the caldera's spindles far above cast their own reaching shadows across the hard packed earth.
It is an autumn noon. Although the sun is high overhead, the wind chills you to the bone. Wispy clouds race overhead, occasionally blocking out the sun.
Soaring high overhead is Satyr.
Brown Lisulath and blue Trydanth are here.

D'renn has been missing again. Only for a day or two /this/ time, but still….. Down he gets, smiling as if nothing's been happening.

Lisulath lands with a soft thump, brown head swivelling to survey the training grounds - oh, good, no errant weyrlings trying to singe his wings today. He bugles hello to Trydanth as his lifemate slides off.
Lisulath croons a soft farewell, watching with twinkling eyes as Adora swings from his back and lands on the ground with a quiet thump.

Trydanth is quite happy to return Lisulath's greeting - not /his/ fault if his lifemate has been lax in his duties over the past few months.

Adora shields her eyes from the noonday sun. "D'renn," she calls out, pushing a clump of her now-shortened hair behind one ear. Mustn't let him get away….

A merely average young woman, neither ugly nor beautiful, watches the world through clear flourite-tinted eyes, the color marred only by doe brown flecks in the iris. Tawney lashes frame those large eyes, while matching sienna hair falls no longer than her chin, still frustratingly straight as it frames her open, friendly countenance. A perpetually arched eyebrow and almost defiant tilt to her chin belay the aura of innocence that still cloaks her from head to foot. Medium of height, neither tall nor petite, the self-confidence she projects often make her seem older than she really is. A lilting smile often plays about her lips and is usually the first indication of her mercurial shifts of temper.
Soft leather mocha in the form of trous fit snugly over Adora's legs, loose enough for comfortable riding, but still clinging in all the right places. Flaring out over curve of hip is a tunic of the same pale brown, trim around the hem and cuffs a pale sky blue. Sturdy boots of fawn brown cover her feet, durability and comfort in one. Curled possessively about Adora's neck is Ozma
She wears 'Reaches colors of blue and black knotted into a double cord with three loops and one tassel. Two ribbons, one fawn brown, the other silver, twine among the intricate knot of Weyrsecond.
Adora is 23 Turns, 3 months, and 16 days old.

D'renn? Trying to get away? Well, he stops his attempted slink off into his office, and gives Adora an unfathomable look. "Weyrsecond… Adora…" he greets her. Sheepishly.

Pulling off her riding gloves, Adora steps away from Lisulath with a final pat to his neck. "Weyrlingmaster D'renn," she says with a crooked smile. It's not an /un/friendly smile, but it's not really an I'm-looking-forward-to -what-I-have-to-do smile, either.

"Weyrsecond Adora." Does someone appear to be repeating themselves? D'renn scuffs one unpolished boot in the dust of the training grounds. "Did you want me for something?"

"How have things been lately, D'renn? I haven't seen you around much lately." It's a benign comment, with no undertone of censure. Merely smalltalk, since Adora hasn't seen D'renn around much lately. She takes another few steps toward him, hands clasped official-like behind her back.

D'renn takes a step or two back, just mildly intimidated. "Erm…. I've… erm…. things have been odd." That about sums it up.

Adora stops, one eyebrow raising for a split second before it settles back into place. She's not /trying/ to be intimidating. "Odd, hmmm? How so? Things working out ok in Zephyr?" Her head tilts - a sure sign of communication with her lifemate - and then, "And how about your weyrlings?"

"Zephyr? Weyrlings?" D'renn assays another gulp, shuffling his feet again. "Well, erm…. I…. erm…. it's fine. Really, it's fine." Is he speaking too fast? And is Trydanth giving him a reproving look?

Adora relaxes slightly, wiping a small bead of sweat from her brow. It's just the hot autumn sun that's making her sweat, right? If evidenced by the cross of her arms over her stomach, she doesn't like what's about to come next. "I'd heard from…sources…that you've been, ah, missing some drills of late. And some sweeps over the Hold? I hadn't heard from Catia that you'd been grounded." She's honestly giving him the benefit of the doubt, here.

"No, I've not been grounded, I've been…." D'renn starts to sweat too as he searches for an excuse, mouth working a little. "I, erm…. I've been…." Whatever he says is going to sound stupid: best to make the best of it. "I've been missing."

"Missing!?" The weyrsecond's surprise is echoed by a slight trumpet by Lisulath. Shushing him with a wave of her hand, her weight shifts from one foot to the other, almost into a fighter stance. "Where have you been missing to?" Hm, that's a really odd sounding question.

"Just… around. Spent some time in Boll." In the sun, D'renn could say, but doesn't. "I… needed some time off. Sorry." Does that sound inadequate or what?

A cute, shapely weyrling - Fiala, one of the last to graduate - suddenly saunters past, casting a coy glance toward D'renn as she does so. "Haven't I seen you around someplace, once or twice?" she queries. "Weren't you the visiting rider from Igen who gave the straps lesson?" Not waiting for an answer, she winks, the proceeds on toward the Living Caverns.

D'renn's jaw drops. Surely she was joking - surely the whole Weyr knows who he is?

Adora now places he left hand on her hip, shifting that way. "In Boll." Is there an echo in here today? Attention caught by the weyrling, her eyebrows arch back up again, and stay up this time. She clears her throat, tongue wetting her suddenly dry lips. "And here we have a Weyrling who doesn't seem to know you." She clears her throat again. "How much time off have you spent?"

"I dunno." D'renn's sheepish to an extreme, especially considering that Adora used to be his pupil. "A few days here, a few days there… All my assistants are really competent." Which makes it alright, of course.

Adora sighs loudly, running her fingers through her hair like she used to when it was long. Was it only a few turns ago that she was a carefree weyrling. And now she has to perform /her/ job as Weyrsecond. "But assistants cannot take the place of a present, guiding Weyrlingmaster." Her teeth worry her lower lip…boy, this is harder than it looks.

"No, of course, you're right…." Fidget, fidget. D'renn runs a hand through his own mop of curls, looking almost beseechingly at Adora. "So… am I in trouble?"

"What would you do if you had a weyrling who was constantly running off, and no one knew where to find him? And he had a job to do, but wasn't around to do it?" It's not a rhetorical question that Adora is asking.

"Ground him, punish him, hold him back from graduation…." D'renn replies without thinking - hey, he knows the right answer to this!

Adora looks almost pityingly at D'renn. Then she brightens slightly, "How would you like all the time off you could want? You could spend some time with family," - faint shudder at the thought of the D'rennspawn running around the weyr - "Go to Southern and get some sun." Now, what is she /really/ trying to say?

D'renn looks interested. "Well, that'd be great Adora… but don't we have new weyrlings coming up?" Poor, poor, stupid, innocent D'renn… little does he know what the Weyr council really have in store.

Adora steeples her fingers together, tapping them idly against each other. Okay, that didn't work. Let's try plan B. "D'renn, what I'm trying to say here, is that, uh…" she trails off yet again. Hey, it's hard to sack the person who taught you how to sweep up after your newly-hatched dragonet! "Well, you see, it's just not good…" Another pause, one toe tapping slightly at the hard-packed ground. "We're going to have to find someone to replace you." There. She's said it.

"Replace me?" D'renn's thick brows settle into a thoughtful frown. Did she really say that? "Replace me?" he ventures again, this time in a squeak. "Replace me? I'm……" Go on, say it…. "Sacked?"

Nodding miserably, Adora leans into the suddenly-there muzzle of her lifemate. "I'm afraid so, D'renn." What else can she say? Let's just hope he doesn't beg for his job back.

"I'm sacked." Whoa…. this needs some thinking about. "I'm sacked?" he asks, just to check…. voice breaking. This is an emotional moment.

"Now you have lots of time to spend with Trydanth. And Donis. You can, um, work on your tan. De-stress. Try to think of it positively." Leave it to Adora to try an make things sound better than they are. It's in her nature.

D'renn chews his lip. "Try to think of it positively. Right. I can do that…." Yep. He can. Sure he can. "I'll…. erm…. I'll…. erm… speak to my assistants… the assistants… later." And without another word to Adora, the ex-Weyrlingmaster scrambles up Trydanth's side, and urges his dragon into flight. Argh.

Date: Tue Sep 19 04:00:53 2000 CDT
From: D'renn (#12016)
To: *Gossip (#627) and *High Reaches News (#7862)
Subject: A Weyrlingmaster Less…

Seems like D'renn, High Reaches Weyrlingmaster, has been shirking his duties of late. Sure, he made an effort to turn up to the latest weyrling graduation (wearing a lime-green low-cut dress, no less) but he's been missing an awful lot - to the extent that all his assistants have been doing lots of work, and some of the weyrlings don't even recognise him! (Not even in his raspberry leathers…)
Confronted on his return from one of his jaunts by Weyrsecond Adora, D'renn was driven to confess his sins…. and was promptly sacked, the first High Reaches WLM in living memory to suffer that terrible fate.

So High Reaches is temporarily WLM-less…. and D'renn has more time to spend with his family, Trydanth, and the mid-life crisis that prompted all this behaviour in the first place - Turning 40 hit the man hard.

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