Gyles has spent most of two days in his radiant tub, soaking away the exhaustion of nearly six months in the ranges, and the unexpected shock he suffered upon his return when he finally learned of the shuttle accident that has cost the Guild so many fine people.

Shrugging one some clothing grabbed randomly from his closet, he runs fingers through raggedly-cut hair and wanders out into the depths of the 11th level to find a meal in the singer lounge.

Singer Common Lounge
This is where Singers can meet and relax after a hard day of work. Chairs and sofas are scattered around in conversational groupings. Several bright stripes lead off to the various Singer accommodation quadrants.
Contents:
Gyles, just standing there
Shepherding Manual
Online Terminal
Sign: Catering for Special Events
Shepherd Board
Planetary Brochure
Catering Unit
Obvious Commands ("." for list):
.wander .look .wait .pace .couch .pillows .table .catering unit Obvious Exits:
Level 11 Level 10 Level 9

Gyles strolls over to the catering unit. Gyles scans the menu and punches up some of his favorite selections, collecting the steaming dishes on a tray, along with a cold beer to wash it down with.
Gyles sits down at one of the tables and slides his chair closer to the table. He pops the lid from the bottle, picks up his fork and takes a few bites of the beef. After a few half-hearted motions at eating the meal, he decides the beer is less effort and settles for a liquid meal instead.

Some hours later, the meal has cooled to an unappetizing congealed mess, and a collection of empty bottles has grown around it as Gyles spends the afternoon alone. With his singer metabolism, even this much beer has about the same effect as water would, particularly given the slow speed he drinks. It doesn't even occur the to the man to drink something more potent.

Daline comes in from the lift area.
Daline pokes her head in, glances around, and spies Gyles. She grins, and tip-toes in.
Daline edges along the wall, using a group of incoming singers as a screen to get behind the seated man.

Gyles is sitting alone at a table, back to the room. A half-eaten platter of mongolian beef and a barely touched bowl of hot and sour soup sits before him on the table, but his attention isn't on the food, but rather on some unseen point on the far wall.

Daline, chewing on her bottom lip in concentration, frantically waves her hand in a shushing motion to another singer who begins to giggle. She sidles closer, holding her breath....

The only movement the older singer makes is to pick up a bottle and take a long slug of beer. From the number of empty bottles on the table, it is apparent the food has gone cold long ago. Gyles isn't aware of the room past the beer in his hand, and whatever it is he's watching on the wall.

With a final glare over her shoulder at the grinning singers, Daline comes up behind Gyles, slips her hands gently over his eyes, and whispers in a deep, husky voice, "Heya big fella. Never thought I'd follow you here from Maxim, eh?"

Gyles starts, and roughly shoves the hands away from his face as he whirls to snap at whoever has interrupted his fugue. He bites back whatever he was about to say, glaring up at the girl in quickly fading annoyance. "Oh. Hello, Daline," he finally mutters. Draining what's left of his current beer, he puts it down with the rest of the empties and pushes out a chair in wordless invitation. "It's been months. I gave up finding you and went out alone."

Daline settles into the chair, chuckling as she apologizes. "Hey now, didn't mean to scare you..."

Gyles gazes at the young woman a long moment, then shrugs and slouches back into his chair. "Never mind," he says, waving a hand vaguely toward the room. "I wasn't paying attention."

Daline neatly avoids mentioning her grounded state by looking over her erstwhile partner with some concern. "Gyles, you look terrible," she says bluntly. She edges her chair closer, leaning one elbow on the table and asking softly, "What's wrong?"

You feel the mild caress of crystal resonance softly along your nerves.

Gyles avoids Daline's gaze by picking up an empty and fiddling with it, trying to peel the label from the surface with a thumbnail. "Nothing," he lies. "What makes you think anything is wrong?"

Daline tilts an eyebrow up expressively, "What have you done to make me think there isn't?" She nods towards the bottles, uneaten favorite foods, and disheveled appearance.

Gyles glances guiltily at the half-eaten platters. "Maybe I'm just not hungry," he mutters, placing the bottle with the peeled label back on the table. "Don't you ever lose your appetite?" he asks, trying to switch the subject from himself to the woman.

Daline refuses to be distracted, although she sighs faintly as she seems to mentally prepare for a long battle of wills. Carefully she rests her hand on the other singer's wrist, "Gyles....come on...talk to me."

A long moment passes before the fellow shakes his head. "There's nothing to talk about," he insists. "Not a thing. I'm just so broke I don't know when I'll ever leave this dirtball again, that's all," he says, hoping that satisfies her curiosity. And that thought has, in fact, been bothering him for months.

Daline still looks unconvinced..that was too easy. "And that's all? To drive a Milekey adapted black crystal singer into a bout of nonsensical drinking?"

Gyles shrugs slightly and runs a hand through his hacked-up hairline. "Yeah, that's all it is," he mutters. "And I'm not even drunk, much less stuporous, kid."

Daline rolls her eyes. "Well duh." She sighs, resting her chin on her hand. "Something else though....you're a frightfully bad person to hide things."

Gyles finally glances up long enough to meet Daline's eyes a moment, but he only shrugs off her concerns and tries, again, to change the subject. "When can you go back out again? Last I heard you were still grounded." He chatters on a bit about the claims he found recently. "All I have left is some very pale blue, pretty lousy stuff but it pays its way these days with blue high."

Daline lets the subject drop for the moment, but she still looks unconvinced. "I'm cleared as of tomorrow night....want to go rustle up something good together?"

Gyles smiles slightly, "It's about time. I've gotten tired of working alone. I managed to clear all the storm damage from that blue vein." His face falls slightly, "It's all I've got at the moment, I'm afraid."

Daline looks unfazed, waving a hand airily, "More than I have, then. We'll find black, I'll bet you." She smiles, trying to elict a response from the man.

Gyles relaxes slightly as the young woman switches topics, finally. "Yeah, I hope so. I need something that pays better than blue, to get this debt paid off." He rubs the bridge of his nose a moment. "I've spent two days soaking, I can head back out whenever you're ready. Tomorrow night, you said?"

Daline nods, eyes assessing Gyles critically. "You should eat though, before we go." She glances at the cold food, congealed firmly to the plates. "You look paper-thin."

"Range rations can be less than palatable," he answers. "I ran out of food last week, cutting that blue."

Daline snorts, gesturing towards the mongolian beef, "And you didn't eat _that_? That once was a darn good dinner." She smiles, attempting to humor Gyles into eating.

Gyles turns to stare past, rather than at, the platter. "Well, I've been in here since I crawled out of my tub, I suppose I can try it again," he smiles the slightest bit. "Maybe with some tea this time."

Daline mmmmmmmmms noncommittally, standing and heading for the caterer. "What would you like?" she asks, poised to dial.

Gyles waves a hand vaguely toward the unit. "Oh, I don't care. Pick something you like," he replies. "And the tea." Though he'd really like another beer, maybe the tea will placate the girl.

Daline orders up the strong Earl Grey, a mug of jasmine for herself, and hot pepper and garlic chicken, a favorite from the Ranges. And dry toast. Masking her grin, she brings it all back to the table, setting the chicken in front of her and the Earl grey and toast in front of Gyles. "Unless you want some of this?" she asks innocently, wafting the spicy scent of the dish towards her partner.

Gyles ignores the toast but sips the hot tea, slowly, hoping his stomach doesn't start to rumble from the aromas wafting from the woman's platter. Two can play at this game, kid. "How long have you been grounded?" he asks, hoping to catch her with her mouth full.

Daline slowly, languidly finishes her bite of chicken, swallowing then inhaling a bit of spicy steam before answering. "Too long, in my opinion." She edges the plate closer to Gyles innocently.

Gyles remains slouched in his chair, the steaming tea cradled in both hands, its heat warming his palms nearly to the point of pain. He continues to ignore the woman's food, taking small sips of his Earl Grey. "Why did Medical have their clutches on you so long? Most injuries heal quicker than this." He eyes the woman, the slightest of smirks crossing his lips. "Or was it a mental thing?"

Daline glances at Gyles's dry toast, asking quickly, "You gonna eat that?" and not waiting for a reply before sliding it off the plate and pushing half of her meal onto the now vacated toast spot. "I never can eat all that." She resumes eating, replying straightforwardly, "Yep, too much Singing with crotchety old shepherds." She winks, "Otherwise known as 'silicate spider syndrome'....I was resonating like a damn sled drive."

Gyles snorts into his tea, then becomes slightly bemused by the wavelets visible in the liquid's surface. "That is what the radiant tubs are for, kid. Soak after every trip out, and you won't have that problem again." He takes a sip. "Hell, I sleep in my tub more than I sleep in my bed!"

Daline smiles sweetly at Gyles, "Really? How interesting. Maybe that's why you're crabby....?" She nudges the plate with the spicy chicken on it closer to the man, retaining her sweet, non-offensive grin.

Gyles has nearly finished the tea by now, and his eyes wander toward the platter of spicy chicken the woman has shoved under his nose so inticingly. A moment later his stomach rumbles most embarrassingly, and he finally relents. "Ok, fine, I'll eat it!" He picks up a fork and spears a few small bits of chicken. "Witch."

Daline wiggles her fingers at Gyles and loudly whispers, 'Ala-kazam!' She grins, twirling a bit of pasta on her fork and spearing a slice of green pepper. "Oh, quit complaining. Who else is gonna keep an eye on you?"

Gyles rolls his eyes at youthful silliness and spears another forkful of chicken. Chewing this mouthful, he eyes the youngster thoughtfully, completely distracted.

A light blinks on your wrist unit indicating that a new message has been received from Maxwell.

Gyles glances down at his comm and frowns thoughtfully. "Now what could he want?" He considers the problem a moment, then shrugs. "It can wait," he mutters, resuming his nibbling on the garlic chicken Daline so obviously wants him to eat. When his comm beeps a second time with a more insistant tone, he puts down the fork disgustedly, smiles slightly in apology to Daline, and stalks back to his room to find out what the Guildmaster wants.

The door slides open, and you step inside.

Gyles's Suite
The owner of this suite appears to like warm, comfortable colors. A thick carpet covers the floor, deep chestnut brown with a muted black herringbone across it. A wide couch and deep armchair covered in smooth black fabric are grouped around a low table of a gleaming mahogany material, and there are small, warmly glowing lamps on each end. To one side, near the catering unit, is a standard issue table flanked by two neat chairs with black-padded seats. Early moonlight shines through the window holo as the evening advances.
Obvious exits:
Bed Chamber Out

The door slides shut as Gyles settles into the chair before his display. Tapping an acknowledge of the waiting message, he frowns as it appears on the screen to be read.

Singer Lee;

It is my understanding that you just returned from a very long trip to the ranges, and that your health may be in question. I would therefore request that you report to the Guild Meditechs at your earliest convenience. Certainly before you consider another trip into the ranges.

Your cooperation is greatly appreciated.

Maxwell Farantine
Guildmaster

Gyles sighs tiredly at this, and frowns at the possible delays it could harbor. "Damn! Now I have to go placate some nosy medic, too?" He sits there a few moments, considering how to avoid it, but fails to conceive any single possible method for skipping out. "They've probably got a hold on my sled by now," he grumbles. "Nothing for it. Let's go see who's awake this time of night."

Gyles slides away from his desk and snaps off the screen, message in place. He turns and stalks out the door towards the lift.