A Promise of Beer

Writers: Eimi, Yvonne
Date Posted: 7th June 2006

Characters: Tsaera, Zebrekhan
Description: Tsaera gets a visit from an acquiantance from long ago...
Location: River Bluff Weyr
Date: month 12, day 15 of Turn 3

"Red or white..." Zeb muttered to himself as his grey eyes scanned the bottles the young apprentice had brought out for him to sample. "You don't happen to know which the Weyrwoman prefers, do you?"

The young woman shifted uncomfortably. "Uh... Not really, sir. I've never met her personally."

"Ah. I see." Well, that was no help. He tried to think back the forty-some turns since the last time he had met her, back when his back was strong, his hair dark, and his upper lip still bare. To be honest, Zeb didn't have too many memories of her back then. She was brilliant and dedicated, seemed to not be afraid to talk to people, but at the same time wasn't exactly the most popular woman in their class. He was sure they had drunk together at some point, but he wasn't sure he could remember her at a party with any surety, and certainly not what was in her glass!

Hmmmm. Maybe this whole thing was a bad idea. She probably didn't remember him at all... Or worse, she might remember him better than he remembered her, and that would be just as embarrassing. But then again, how often was it he actually had a chance to reminisce with someone who had the same friends, the same experiences at the Hall. "Fine, I'll take the red. And the white."

Cradling both under his arm he climbed the steps two at a time. It was not even a strain. His legs were used to climbing over rocks, hills, mountains, up cliff faces and through caves. Stairs were more like an easy restday stroll in comparison. As he climbed, he couldn't help but scan the rock walls as he ascended. He noticed the subtle changes in the layers of rock as he climbed up, through time from the oldest rock, higher and higher through millions of turns of earth building, learning its story of birth, invasion, tension, release. It was an unconscious habit now. As he reached the Weyrwoman's door, his eyes automatically traced a crack along the wall that had been filled in long ago. **Mason's mistake... Poorly mended,** he thought subconsciously as he knocked on the door.

"Come in." Tsaera glanced up as the door creaked open, admitting a man about her own age with hair whitened by age and skin burnt dark by turns beneath the Southern sun. He wore a moustache and a half-ways hesitant look in his eye, and was vaguely familiar. She glanced at his knots - a Master in her own field, then, and there was only one Master who had recently applied for a permanent station at her Weyr. She smiled and steepled her fingers. "Master Zebrekhan.
This is a surprise. Welcome to River Bluff Weyr."

"You used to just call me 'Zeb', Master Tsaera," he smiled as he closed the door behind him.

"I probably did." Tsaera grinned and leaned back in her chair. "So, out of all the Weyrs in all of Pern, why did you walk into mine?"

"It was the closest," the Master chuckled as he held out the two bottles. "Red or white? Which should we open first?"

Tsaera raised her eyebrows. "While I'm delighted to see you, Zeb, I've also got some hidework to finish and can't exactly sit back and down a bottle in my _office_. Perhaps you could stop by my weyr in a candlemark or so?"

"Still all about the hidework, are you Tsaera? Well," he grinned. "I suppose I could find your weyr. Its the one with the big gold dragon, right?"

"One of them, yes." Although it would be amusing if he wandered into Lenala's weyr... she brutally strangled that tangent just in case it got too tempting. "And I'm _not_ all about the hidework, thank you very much. Unfortunately, though, the Weyrwoman is."

Zeb grinned his mischievous grin. "Yes, well, I seem to remember the _apprentice_ was too. Not to mention the _journeywoman_ and I would assume the _Master_ as well. You were practically _famous_ at the Hall for your estudiousness."

"And you for your lack of it. It's a wonder you earned your knots at all!"

"Well, not only did I earn my knots, but I have become something of an expert," he chuckled with a bemused gleam in his eye. "And now I am here to teach your aspiring miners and geologists. Will Pern ever be the same?"

Her lips twitched. "Probably not, but more to the point, my _Weyr_
isn't going to be, is it? Very well, Zeb, I'll have a drink with you.
But only one, for old time's sakes." Old times sakes - they'd never been friends while she was at the Hall. Friendly, yes, but not friends. But maybe a shared drink and a little reminiscing wouldn't make her feel quite so _old_.

"Red or white?" he asked with the hint of a triumphant smile at having finally squeaked in through the crack in her all business fecade.

"White. I haven't been able to stomach red since I got poisoned at that Conclave."

"Yes, I heard about that." Who on Pern hadn't. And that beastly woman that did it had gotten away, he thought with a slight frown. "I'm glad to see you are not suffering any ill effects, other than your understandable aversion to red wine. Which is bad enough," he added with a small wink to try to lighten the mood once again. "Have you any glasses?"

"Top drawer of the cabinate over there," Tsaera said pointing. "Don't pull it out too fast or you'll break something."

"Well, that sounds like the safest place to keep them," he snorted, setting the bottle on the desk before her. "Is there an opener in there too?"

"In the drawer below it." She watched him carefully turn to her cabinate and fetch two glasses before rummaging around for a corkscrew. He had a broad back and well defined shoulders and arms, but then again, most Miners did. She was no exception.

"I have to say," he called over his shoulder as he riffled through the tangle of tools, "your vintners have quite a selection of wines. Where do they get the grapes?"

"About half of the wine is made here at the Weyr from our own vineyards, but the rest comes from Emerald Falls Hold and the Vintner Hall in Amethyst Cliff territory. A small percentage comes from the Northern Hall, but that's mainly for entertainment purposes. As well as a small selection from Crystal Waters Hold, but they're not Hall affiliated."

"Yes, I remember. I helped them identify a new section of aquifer when theirs started running low. And then where would _Crystal_
Waters Hold have been." He chuckled at the thought. "They would have had to have changed the name to Plain Old River Water Hold, I imagine."

Tsaera smiled. "Perhaps, although names rarely have anything to do with the actual location. Have you been working out of the Hall, then, or somewhere else? I must confess that I've lost track of most of our classmates."

"I've been working out of everywhere _but_ the Hall, actually." He brandished the corkscrew and went to work on the top of the bottle. "But I've managed to keep up with quite a few people. Letter writing gave me something to do while traveling all over Pern."

"Really? Who?" Tsaera hadn't had much time for her Craft, especially once she'd become Lady Weyrholder. And even less time now that Thread fell. Keeping up with acquaintences had fallen to the roadside long ago.

"Well, Aloc, for one," he said, answering with the first name that came to mind. "He's working out of a small mining hold in Emerald Fall's territory cutting gems. He doesn't seem to be too interested in getting his Masters knots, but he's married to a woman a third his age with tons of children, and deliriously happy."

"Good for him." The Weyrwoman smiled, idly thinking... if Velker hadn't died... if G'lanet hadn't been fatally 'Scored... perhaps things would have been different. "He was always one for the ladies."

"That he was." And he wasn't the only one back in the day... "And speaking of ladies, I still keep in contact with Pactsa. She's up North teaching at a Hall up there."

Tsaera sighed and accepted the glass of wine he handed her without the intention of drinking it. "I'm not surprised. The Plague and the subsequent Craft Ban made it hard for women to practice their Craft outside of a Weyr. In that respect, I was lucky."

"That you were," Zeb nodded thoughtfully as he swirled the wine around in his glass. "Of course, your chosen specialty could only benefit from the aid of a dragon."

"Yes and no. That's why I stood, originally, but I never planned on Impressing gold." The Weyrwoman smiled fondly at the glass in her hand, thinking of her dragon. "Tabanirth, for all I love her, comes with a lot of baggage that is _not_ conducive to Crafting. When she's broody or after she's clutched I'm pretty well stuck at the Weyr, and once I became Lady Weyrholder I simply didn't have the time to go galavanting all over the countryside. Still... flying beats thrashing through thorns hands down."

"Well, I suppose its different when you Impress a dragon of your own, but I still enjoy climbing a mountain more than flying to the top of one. There's something to be said for the accomplishment of it." Zeb sighed a took a large sip from his glass. "Course, I doubt the healers will be allowing me to climb any mountains any time soon."

"What's the matter? Your transfer request simply said, 'health problems'."

"Ah, its just my back," he shrugged. "It hasn't been happy with me for quite a while. I guess its tired of hauling heavy loads for days at a time." Zeb didn't even want to _think_ about the hints of arthritis he was starting to feel in the colder temperatures.

"Happens to the best of us." She smiled slightly. "Just be glad that you're not throwing around firestone sacks."

"Well, luckily the Weyrwoman doesn't have to mess with that stuff. Firestone smell can permeate like nothing else," he chuckled as he settled back in his chair. "I've prospected for firestone once or twice myself. Let me tell you, I would have a healthy respect for the poor buggers that have to mine it if they weren't mostly the scum of the planet."

"And I have a healthy respect for the poor souls who have to deal with it here, although it really is a necessary evil."

"That it is." Zeb nodded slowly, twisting his glass absently in his fingers. He looked over at the Weyrwoman's untouched glass and the corner of his lips curled into a smile. "You're not gonna drink that, are you."

She raised an eyebrow. "I thought you were here to say hello and get re-acquainted, not to monitor my drinking habits."

"Understanding your drinking habits is part of becoming re-acquainted. Besides," he said, lifting a brow right back, "I just wanted to know if you needed me to drink it for you. It's too good to go to waste."

"I'll keep my one glass. You can take the rest of the bottle back to your weyr when you go. Like you said, it's too good to waste!"

Zeb chuckled. She certainly had lost none of her spunk over the turns. "Are you sure you wouldn't like to keep it? I have the red for company."

"I think that you'd be much more adept in showing it the respect it deserves than I would be."

"Not a drinker, eh?"

She shrugged. "Like I said, being in a coma for months because of wine kind of puts you off it. I actually prefer cider or beer.
Although you're right, I'm not much of a drinker. Who'd trust a drunk Weyrwoman?" she added wryly.

"Hmmm... Cider or beer. I'll remember that for next time," he said with a wink and he stopped up the bottle with the cork once more. "You will let me visit you again, I trust? Or should I wait for a formal invitation from the sober Weyrwoman?"

"Of course! Old Hall friends are always welcome." She picked up the wine and took a small sip, then smiled. "But I'll be holding you to your promise of beer."

Last updated on the June 8th 2006

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A Promise of Beer