==== October 8th, 2013
==== O'ell, W'rin
==== W'rin runs into a new rider in the living caverns. Surprisingly they seem to jive.

Who O'ell, W'rin
What W'rin runs into a new rider in the living caverns. Surprisingly they seem to jive.
When 1 turn 0 months and 12 days until the 12th pass
Where Igen Weyr



Living Caverns
Dim light from hanging glow-globes cannot fully camouflage the ravages of time and neglect on Igen's busy living caverns, though hints of its former glory peek through in the decorative cuts to the cave's natural limestone and the high quality of dusty, tatty-ended tapestries. Here and there, skybroom tables — stained dark by wood finish and a decade of grime — sit in loose groups, flanked by wicker chairs with pointy, broken rattan that pokes out to invariably find unprotected skin. The seemingly randomly placed furniture, however, at closer inspection, forms a sort of cross-shape of negative space. At the northernmost walls and nooks of the caverns, a long buffet table with tarnished lazy susans hosts an array of finger-foods and pitchers for the interested, refilled occasionally by drudges that shuffle in from the curtained entrance to the south, beyond which lies the kitchens. To the east is a large arch leading outside and, across from that, to the west, a set of rattling doors that open to reveal the tunnels and stairs of the inner caverns themselves.

It is a winter evening at Igen that sees weyr's mountain of a weyrleader storm into the caverns. Even before his knot was quite so large the crowds already parted before him, just to jump out of the way of his charging mass, but now it there is an even bigger girth for the traditional man. Dinner is scooped up, klah, and then a glance at the weyrleadership table. Not known for being an exceptionally social man, or one well versed in graces beyond bodily functions he grunts a dissatisfied protest in the direction of ranked table and then disappears as best he can into the evening meal crowd, dropping unceremoniously at an unsuspecting table, a fork full of food already shoved in his mouth before he's completely situated.

Being a not so social sort himself, one of Igen's newest finds himself at a table that was just confined to one person sitting out it. Until Mount W'rin erupted and flowed down the mountain into the seat right across from him. At first O'ell just lifts his mug and tries not to pay attention. But, you know, the dude is BIG. Which means his knot is even bigger. "Sir." The polite salute is divested with quickly, so he can go back to shoveling his own food.

W'rin's fork freeze almost to his gaping mouth. Why does this always happen during meal times. Slowly his gaze lifts from delicious food to new-rider guy. The salute is greet with a grunt, with an extra one for the man the salute was attached too, and finally the mount of guess-the-meat is shoved into the hole in the front of his face. Man speak. He chews slowly as he considers the rider before him. There has ben an influx of new people, since W'rin and Corelle took the help, oldtimers who either, excited Igen is finally in the hands of the traditionalists, want to help, and others who just want to rank climb. Either way W'rin's been taking them in, as long as they are good riders who play by the rules. "How long ya been here?" Small talk. It's not his thing.

O'ell can handle man-speak. In fact, he even relaxes a bit as things descend to grunt level communication. He can deal with that! He's also content to pretend he's not being eyed considering. Nope, no eyeballing here. Just semi-edible food and a lot of noise. Lalal… "This morning." Small talk. Not his thing either. Doesn't even look like the man's been here long enough to be assigned a wing. He HAS been there long enough to squint suspiciously at the mashed vegetable mass on his plate though. And, lean forward to be sure he didn't just see anything wriggling out of it.

The weyrleader has no such reservations about the food, either the worms don't exist, or he's made his peace with digesting them. High protein after all. "Won't hurt ya." The fork is momentarily given leave of its post to jab at the man's food across the table, the release is momentary as spears at W'rin's food again. Oh he's being sized up all right. The verdict is left undeclared except that the giant hasn't thrown anything or killed anyone. Probably a good sign. "Which one are ya?" There have been a number of transfer requests across his desk, and his brow lift as he awaits the answer. "Why'd ya come?" Impomptu interview. Why, yes. Yes, it is.

O'ell grunts in response to the notion that if there is a wriggling thing, it won't hurt him. For now, he eats around it. "Name's O'ell, sir." he offers up, when prompted for his name. He takes his time chewing, looking up to meet W'rin's gaze unflinchingly. "Well. I've been a rider 24 Turns. Next Pass is less then a turn away. I figure that being complacent so close to a new Pass.. bad news." is said first, lifting his fork as if to gesture at himself and emphasize his point. "Jafyth on the other hand. He says no mid-life crisis is complete without a Weyr change. So there's that."

"O'ell." W'rin mulls the name open with open mouth and half chewed food, pausing to swallow well before the mastication was truly complete. "From Benden." His steal trap mind, at least for rider details, shows once again as he considers his food again. A snorted laughter at the dragon's comment and he nods slowly. "Well complacency won't be found here. Make sure you get out and see some of the Tourney events going on." His pride in the strides of his riders is showing, and Whirlwind has always been good even by the rest of Pern's weyrs standards. "May give you some idea on where you'd like to fly." Perhaps, W'rin will even give him some say.

"Good. I heard there were bronze and brownrider's needed as well. So, here I am." O'ell declares, washing down the last of whatever it is he just ate with… whatever it is he just drank. Good thing riders have cast iron stomachs. Or, rather, some do. "I will. Look forward to it, even." he agrees. "I'll fly wherever you need me most, Weyrleader." His own record ought to speak for itself. He did give up a Wingleader position to transfer to the land of sand, after all. "No point in transferring just to be picky."

W'rin's complaint is a deep rumble at the man's first assertion, "The deserters to the south took some riders with 'em. Appreciate at the help. I'll probably run you through drills with a couple of wings to see where ya fit." More food is shoved in as he unabashedly studies the other. Gave up, was kicked off, these things can be twisted so easily in a written transcript the man hasn't been so easily swayed yet. Though if the slight grin peeking from beneath his bearded face is any indication he likes the rider across from him. "You'll want to get a face mask, for flying - not an issue till after winter really." A hand scratches at his beard absently, a clean shaven face will stand out in this weyr.

O'ell leans back in his chair now, thumbs hooking into belt loops in relaxed repose. "Understood." At the very least, he is as easygoing as his records suggest. At least in a social situation. "Face mask. Got it. I'll start looking around." he agrees then, picking up his plate and cup like a good boy next and nodding respectfully. "I'll leave you to it, sir." His eating in peace or something. "Gotta shop for.. things. Hate shopping." he mutters to himself.

"All men hate shopping." W'rin grumbles after the departing man, it is an approving sound. Yes, this one he likes. Then he goes back to scarfing down his dinner.

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