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Really, someone should tell the universe to stop making eating hours coincide with the best time to have informal sit-downs with people you have to try and be friendly (but still professional) with. Though she supposed she could have just discussed the latest transfers and the news of Igen Weyr at the next drill, something told Lyveana that she had better make herself available that afternoon during lunch. Part of it was because she knew she was still angry with R'than, and if she had to discuss what happened formally, everyone would know she was angry. She never had mastered the subtle diplomacy required for discussing emotional topics, so it suited her just fine to let everyone ask their questions when she could handily sip some klah to cover an ill-timed grimace.

The other part was that she had been a wingrider, and she knew she had preferred to hear about things like transfers and illness when she could return to her weyr and internalize the changes. Telling her wingmen that they wouldn't have a wingsecond, and would also have two other vacant spots in the formations, right before they were supposed to fly them...well... that was just wrong.

So she had squashed her bitterness towards R'than's desertion and asked Ruinnth to let the rest of the wing know that she would be at the Hurricane Wing's table that afternoon for lunch. Sitting forward now, she calmly finished her plate and was sipping the last of her redfruit juice while she waited. Uncomfortable as it sometimes was for her to be in the Dining Hall where some of the older, more traditional riders, glared at her, she would be there until any and everyone who cared to know where R'than, A'ras, and Z'ven had gone had asked their questions. 'Why' was the one question whose answer eluded her, other then the obvious one. Overcrowded Ista was rapidly approaching intolerable, and she could hardly blame those riders who left for that reason. She hoped it wouldn't come up, but that was a forlorn hope. Everyone would want to know 'why.'

She would not, however, discuss what had been said between herself and R'than. If at all possible, she would try and let everyone draw their own conclusions about his 'why.'

(( ooc note: ORP is open to everyone, even those not in the Hurricane Wing. Time is at roughly 11am-noonish, or peak lunch time.))

Veyes scooted down the hall and ducked into the lunch room while his tiny blue flit clung to his collar and shoulder. His little guy had just recently been hatched and still quite new to everything about the Weyr so Veyes had been taking things in stride as best he could. Fortunately, with his mentor, L'thor having 4 flits; things were a little easier because he always had someone to talk to about them. However today, Mine was really hungry and so Veyes had to really scurry though the morning chores to make it to lunch quickly. At least, here he could find something quick until the baby could get it on his own.

Grabbing up a bowl, he realized stew was the main course today at lunch and he wondered how he'd feed this to Mine. So he grabbed a few meat rolls to go along with it and hoped the filling would be acceptable or he'd have to beg at the kitchen door. So he finally sat down not looking around since he was in such a hurry and plucked the tiny blue off his shoulder and set him down by the plate. He visualized 'hot' as best he could so the little guy might avoid getting hurt.

Mine started poking around at the meat roll immediately and yipped as it heated his nose! Falling back on its butt it stared at the meat roll and then looked up at Veyes. Veyes smiled and tore open the roll pulling out strands of shredded meat and blew on them until they were cooler then placed them in front of Mine, who poked at them with its small hand until he realized it was safe then leaned in to start gnawing on the morsels.

Veyes sighed and looked up suddenly realizing he chose a table that wasn't empty. "Oh...umm...I'm sorry, Ma'am. I didn't see that someone else was here. My new flit was really hungry." He noticed the knots and knew she was a wingleader but it took him a moment to realize that she was the one L'thor mentioned was the first Green wingleader ever.

Meanwhile, Mine looked up having finished the small bit of meat and waddled over to Veyes' stew bowl. The flit's head bobbed back and forth as he watched the floating bits of meat and veggies in the thick stew. Mine's small hands reaching at the stew to grab at a piece of meat only to learn that the stew was hot too and its hands jerked back with the meat it tried to grab. The meat flew out of the bowl and plopped on to the table causing the little flit who had fallen on its butt and tail to roll and stalk-waddle towards the offending meat. Mine puffed up his little body trying to look big even though he was still quite small.

Veyes blinked with surprise, "Mine! Oh, I'm sorry, Wingleader! Umm...he's not quite umm...tidy about things yet." He grabbed his napkin and immediately wiped up the trail of stew that Mine left on the table. Fortunately, the meat landed on the table and not in the wingleader's lap!

The unfamiliar voice piqued her interest and chased the looming storm from her face, for the moment. Looking over at the slight, and very childlike figure speaking, Lyveana briefly toyed with the notion of telling her to go and sit with the Weyrlings as she was supposed too. She looked to be all of 14 or 15 turns... if even that!

But that would be rude wouldn't it. And the Dining Hall did tend to fill up rather quickly these days.

She is Anidanth's rider. Ruinnth put in helpfully, though not without a slight hesitation. Ah, so this was not a dragon Ruinnth knew well. Between observing the Weyrlings as they trained and the joint drills with other Wings, Rui had developed a talent for remembering other dragon's names, even if she did forget their riders. This one was likely a transfer then, or one of the older Weyrlings who had graduated, but had not been placed in a Wing yet. Whichever was the case, Lyveana did not exactly have a crowd of people falling over themselves to join her, so she schooled her expression into one of bland non-description and motioned for her to sit.

"You may. What is your name, rider?" She asked, noting out of the corner of her eye as another younger lad seated himself at the other end of the table. Arching a brow at that, she was about to say something but decided against it. Her reputation was apparently bad enough, why add being a child-hater? She would just have a word with the candidatemaster later about a manners refresher course.

Well, that was her logic up until the boy noticed his own error, at the expense of looking like a fool with his baby blue firelizard making a mess of the table. Now Lyveana did look at him directly, a slight frown crossing her features as he hastily cleaned up. Really, she did not need this.

"Young dragons and firelizards are sloppy eaters lad, there is a reason they are fed separately from humans until they can contain themselves." She said, keeping the edge out of her voice... barely. "And do not blame him for being an untidy baby, he is a firelizard, accept the responsibility of being his owner and chastise him so he does not repeat the behavior." Really, what was Z'nal teaching these children? Her bright eyes did not leave Veyes, so she missed Merya's apologetic look, not that it would have impressed or swayed Lyveana's opinion. The girl had nothing to look apologetic for; the boy was obviously acting of his own accord.

Unfortunately for Merya, Lyveana was rather sensitive to the rank and social structure of the Weyr, and was highly unlikely to speculate on what-have-yous when it came to future assignments. That was the purview of the Weyrlingmaster and the Weyrleaders, and if any of them asked, she would share her opinion, but until then her opinion was just that, an opinion. She would, however, take pity on the poor girl. Faranth knew she had been nervous fresh out of Weyrling training!

"Well met Merya, I am Lyveana." She did not offer to shake hands, but she did nod her head in neutral greeting. "At the moment, I expect there will be some shuffling amongst the older riders, as well as with the youngsters, due to the recent transfers to Igen." She answered, pausing to take a sip from her mug. "Once within the Wings, everyone will know that you and your dragon are youngsters, so as long as you work hard and put forth the effort to try and keep up with the older riders, you shouldn't have a problem, no matter where you end up." It might seem pretty obvious, but Lyveana had seen many a Weyrling try too push past their limits, or the opposite, to the point where they had to be grounded until their lazy attitude was corrected. As to Wing size variations, and which Wings had the most openings, she wasn't going to go into details. Mostly because her's probably had the most, and that just left a sour taste in her mouth.

It was widely known that some people had transferred to Igen Weyr with the lady Favan and Mella was not surprised to hear that A’ras was amongst those that had opted to go. What did surprise her was when she heard that supposedly Hurricane Wing’s Wingsecond had chosen to transfer as well. When she heard that particular tidbit she ha been anticipating a Wing Meeting.

Cresth’s hunger, combined with her own, convinced Mella that eating would be in order, so she made a quick detour for food. When she finally arrived in the Dining Hall she was carrying a bowl of stew in one hand, a cup of klah in the other, and was grasping an apple by its stem with her teeth. Some might have found the sight a tad peculiar, but she didn’t seem to notice, much less care; she was hungry and didn’t feel like making multiple trips.

Paying little attention to the two younger table occupants, Mella chose a spot across the table from Lyveana to put down her food so she could remove the apple from her mouth. Nodding in greeting to the Wingleader, she slipped onto the bench and carefully placed the precious apple in her lap, mentally wishing that she had worn clothes with bigger pockets. Having already decided that eating wouldn’t be a problem – otherwise the meeting would’ve been elsewhere – Mella spared a quick glance about her before she took a bite of her stew.

… and very nearly grimaced. The gravy had the taste of having been cooked too long, and the meat not nearly long enough. Mella had also heard the rumors that dissatisfied Candidates, Weyrlings, and even some Riders that had started to act up, but by good fortune she had not been victim to their antics. Luck, it would seem, was no longer on her side.

" Stew's well dusted." she muttered, but dutifully took another bite, refusing to waste it. Those fardling fools had best hope she didn't catch any of them, because while she didn't care for the overcrowded state of the Weyr, she didn't appreciate the few remaining comforts being spoiled. Mella hoped that mischief-makers would be appeased with the departure of Favan and the other Riders.

The look Lyveana directed at Merya shifted to one of uneasy suspicion, was she daft, deaf, or terribly self absorbed? Lyveana had figured the Weyr would have been buzzing about the transfers for sevendays afterward, it had involved Favan being promoted to a Senior position somewhere else after all! The greenrider had long ago come to terms with the power of the Weyr gossip grapevine, but perhaps she was mistaken in her estimates. Though, any way she looked at it, she had had the Weyrlings and recent graduates pegged for the most apt to listen to even the most ill begotten rumor. Shards, some of them probably started them!

In any case, she was saved from commenting with A'dan and Mella's arrival. Between the two of them, she felt a bit of that earlier frustration disperse as she tried valiantly not to smile at the pair. The fruit shipments must be exceptionally good! She might have to get up and locate a redfruit for herself at some point.

"Good afternoon Mella, A'dan. How fare Cresth and Sigranth?" She asked, turning her full attention to her wingmates. While it wasn't 'beneath her' to comment on the stew, Lyveana had adopted the policy that rivaled just cooking it herself... and that was not eating the stew. She was careful not to say that aloud, however, lest sensitive cook ears pick up her words and take exception to them. One run in with the Headwoman and two with her various assistants was more then enough for Lyv.

Changes were brewing within Ista, whether they be for better or worse all of Pern had yet to find out. The junior queen rider Favan and her nasty tempered Cheoth had finally been granted rank and seniority. It had left a sense of relief over most of those within Ista, many glad that the woman and her queen had been transferred far from Ista and plopped happily in the desert. . . .

It also meant that some new transfers appeared while some Istan blood dispersed alongside. If his current room mate hadn't fled so swiftly, perhaps the tall, gangly bronze rider might not have noticed. In fact, despite gaps in wings and candidates flocking to Igen, new faces, transfers and Candidates fresh off the dragon were fast to take up space. Really, this entire over-crowding bit was a mess and there didn't seem to be much of a cure.

Oh well. . . . Such was the way of things, he guessed. It was a mild irritant, really, but T'loa was too relaxed to care much about it. He was certain he'd be given a new room mate, though the posh weyr he currently inhabited was large enough for two or three! Furthermore, he had Niyath, a spot of shelter, and food. . . .what more did he honestly need? Yes, the food caused him to despair from time to time, being a former kitchens worker and studying under bakers of the day. . .surely they weren't that low on resources or talent.

Ah, if only he could take up some kitchen space and whip up a batch of spicerolls or some bubbly pies. . . Ah, but there were enough heads crowding the kitchens, and what they lacked in talent with a spoon they made up with sour faces and acidic tongues. No, he wasn't going to bother them or blame them for the unfortunate lack of tithes and one too many mouths to feed...

Laden with food, Niyath had informed him that Lyveana would be at their table during lunch. Now, T'loa hadn't exactly flinched or been surprised by the transfers. A'ras had his reasons which the tall man had neglected to ask about, and he was quite certain others did as well. R'thain had been quite a surprise, of course, but on the other hand one could also guess. . .

So T'loa had decided to seek out his Wing's table. He wasn't going to gossip or demand of his Wingleader a plethora of questions, but he could at least show his support. It couldn't be easy being the first green Wingleader, and more conservative minds found it intolerable if not insane.

Fortunately for T'loa, he was all too glad that the green pair had been chosen. Funny how men were supposed to lap up rank like a rising queen drank blood but such a stereotype was incorrect. Though he had alway dreamed of Impression, he honestly hadn't given much thought to shiny hide or bronze dragons. . . . To Impress a blue like his father, or even a green would have been more than he could have wished for.

Unfortunately for you, I had other plans. The bronze dragon remarked quietly from his ledge. He was enjoying the sunlight upon his back, admiring various green dragons nearby. He was just as relaxed as his rider, easy-going and with out much of an ego or drive for rank. He could appreciate a queen, certainly, but the bronze harbored a much more insatiable taste for the daintier and (usually) much more pleasant greens.

Pffft. . . unfortunately. You big oaf, you know I wouldn't change you for the world. Even after all their Turns together, T'loa couldn't help but be proud of Niyath. He was a simple bronze, but both dragon and rider had simple needs. Politics wasn't their game and both much preferred to take a back seat and let others argue, fight and war over such power and responsibility.

Approaching the table, laden with a plate chalk full of various fruits, a cup of cold fruit juice tucked in the crook of his arm, and his free hand holding another plate full of various tidbits - from burnt sweets to slightly stale rolls and a heaping plate of (rather unbearable and tasteless) stew. He never looked forward to meals anymore, but he also wasn't one to miss them.

"And if it isn't the best wing on Pern," he greeted his fellows, eyes bright with good humor and a lazy but genuine smile eternally plastered upon his features. "Wingleader Lyveana, I trust both you and Ruinnth are well?" With his ranking wing mate greeted, the tall man precariously set down his handful and leaned back in his seat.

"Mella, A'dan. . . I trust you and yours are the same?" And then his eyes fell upon a young lad and a small blue fire-lizard. . . Strange, really, but with a lack of seating any place was better than none. Another woman, one whom looked completely unfamiliar, had also joined the table though she wore knots of a rider. Leaning forward, canting his head lazily to the side he added to the unknown pair, "You should feel so honored you know. I don't blame either of you for sidling over to sneak a peak at Hurricane Wing. We are, after all, the best." Though his mock-arrogance was obvious, the pride for his wing was not.

Who cared of Lyv was a green rider? Thus far she had yet to steer them wrong. . . and until she couldn't perform her duty, with or without threat of Thread, than T'loa would support her unconditionally. They were all dragon riders, and though there were various ranks, at the end of the day they were kin. . . family. They had to support one another, each one was a different breed set apart from the rest of Pern. . . . The size of ones dragon didn't much matter.

Though T'loa was curious what new second would be named.

“ Cresth is Cresth: grumpy and fat.” Replied Mella with a bit of a shrug. The Blue had a lost a bit of weight, true, but not enough to be news-worthy.

‘ I am not fat.’

‘ Perhaps not as much as you were before we were assigned to this Wing, but you’re still carrying too much weight.’

Outside Cresth rumbled irritably, eyeing another small, hapless animal from the spot where he had dispatched his last meal. Feeling Cresth’s gluttony about to get the better of him, she sent him a mental hand-slap.

‘ Don’t gorge.’

‘ I am still hungry!’

‘ You’ll regret it later if you keep eating. I’d swear you were nothing but a flying stomach if I didn’t know better.’

Mella could feel Cresth switch from one common mood – hungry – to another – grumpy - but wasn’t concerned. Cresth was grumpy rather frequently, but rarely for prolonged periods of time. She would let him grumble and sulk for the time being, and would soothe any remaining discontent after the meeting.

Picking her way around the meat chunks, Mella took a sip of her drink to wash away the coppery taste of blood, figuring a scavenging Flitt could have them. She allowed her eyes two wondering over the two Bronzeriders, idly wondering if one of them would be replacing R'than, were he truly gone.