D'wane, Amani, F'kan, M'noq, K'vvan, Mayte, Kodi


The day after the fight at the Zingari camp, D'wane and Amani spy a beat up F'kan in the Living Caverns and call him over for a chat. (UPDATED)



It is morning of the twenty-ninth day of the twelfth month of the twelfth turn of the 12th pass.


Living Caverns, Southern Weyr

OOC Date 19 Jan 2018 05:00


d-wane_default.jpg amani_default.jpg f-kan_default.jpg m-noq_default.jpg k-vvan_default.jpg mayte_default.jpg kodi_default.jpg

«Do you have to try to be this dumb, or does it come naturally?»


Living Caverns

Grand and spacious, the cavern curves high aloft in naturally-vaulted ceiling that soothes any sense of claustrophoba. Rich woods line the cavern floor, varnished and stained a rich mahogany, while round tables scatter about candlelit and intimate. The largest table lies southerly next the sideboard, long trestles that seem oriented to providing for the weyr's youngest. The rich blue of Azov can be seen from a distance in good weather, when the heavy stone doors covering the entrance are allowed to stand open.

Oh, it's early. Not toooo early though. The sun has at least made its appearance and the lines have gotten long in the living caverns. Luckily, when you have a big fancy knot, one of the perks for all that work people make you do means you can at least get a platter of eggs and bacon set aside for you to consume during a 'working meeting'. Which is exactly what D'wane has done. Klah, bacon, eggs and hides. They got it all. He'll just be waving that piece of bacon as he talks a bit with his hands. "Soooo… is it you or Mayte that's been working with the dragonhealers most lately?"

This is why Amani actually likes meetings with D'wane; there's usually food involved. Not that she wouldn't have her own around (when she remembers it's a perk of the knot), but he always picks good stuff. This breakfast, for instance. She's plenty content to be here early for eggs and bacon with a side of hides, even if she's not exactly in the most chipper mood. There might be a folded parchment in her pouch that has something to do with that. But for now, she's good, biting off the end of her own bacon strip. "Me," she replies, "mostly because I've still got less experience. And I'm pretty keen on learning more of what I can do apart from Zymuraith helping out…"

Slinking in from the outside, a certain brownrider is sporting an impressive array of bruises to his face. One of F'kan's eyes is swollen shut with a shiner, another blooming bruise from the bridge of his nose, which is looking a wee crooked, the left side of his jaw is purple and red and all shades in between. He's also walking with a hitching gate, favouring one side. His untouched eye is red and bleary, an impressive bedhead on him. At least his clothes are clean. He isn't taking anyone in, just heading straight for the klah, keeping his head down, and shaggy hair over his eyes. No one will spot him right?

D'wane also happens to keep meetings short and to the point. Except for that time he and Va'os had a bet going on for how many different puns they could come up with regarding whatever that meeting agenda had been. But usually short and to the point. He'll nod and munch on that bacon piece he's currently holding before he starts throwing grease everywhere. "Have they said how much longer before Haheth's wing will be up and ready?" That question could probably be answered by one of the hides in front of him, but he could try asking Amani first. "And have you found out what there is you can do while Zymuraith is helping?" And the arrival of a certain miscreant of a brownrider is definitely noted. F'kan's not getting off that easily. D'wane's not going to say anything just yet. He'll let his eyes bore into the back of the rider's skull for the moment. It's not like he couldn't have ordered the man to report to the council chambers as soon as the report came back from Igen… but no. They're waiting. Maybe letting the false hope build before suddenly yanking out that carpet from under him?

Amani does manage to smirk as she watches D'wane finally eat his bacon, getting some more of her own and forking it together with some eggs to pop into her mouth. The question garners a sigh and a slight frown. "I think they said just over another sevenday. And…I know how to stitch." Though something about the fact makes her wince a bit. "Adjusting it for dragon hide hasn't been too hard. They're trusting me with closing up wounds now, but not wings yet; I've still got some practicing to do." When she sees who D'wane is watching, she goes very still, klah-dark eyes silently snapping with anger. But it's anger she keeps contained just to her gaze for the moment. "I know exactly what caused that," she murmurs for the Weyrsecond's ears alone, "but if you'd rather hear things from him first, I promise I won't strangle him before he gets a word out."

F'kan reaches the klah pot, pours himself a large mug, dumps in an obscene amount of sweeterner, his eyes always down. But suddenly he gets a bit of a chill as if someone was watching him. But he really doesn't want to look up and put the worse of his injuries on full display, so he'll just hunch his shoulders forward a bit more, heading to a table near the wall, where he sits, klah cup in front of him. Then the room starts to spin again, so F'kan pushes his mug towards the center of the table while he crosses his arms to create a pillow for his head, hissing softly as he gingerly lowers his face onto them. He'll just stay like this for awhile, ok? thanks.

Klah would probably be the nectar of the gods if Pern had gods. As it is, D'wane's just going to hold his mug like his life depends on it as he continues staring at F'kan, continuing to nod along to what Amani's saying. He can multitask. "Can't say we ever could have too many dragonhealers." That's approval, although it sounds gruffer than he probably meant because all that focus on the problem-rider. He does turn to look at Amani when she mentions knowing what caused it, raising an eyebrow slightly. "And you think I don't? Want to summon him to meet his doom now, or let him nap a little longer?" The bronzerider's opinion might be a bit clearer when he picks up one of those grapes that have been sitting ignored on the table. Ignored until he decides they do make excellent ammunition as he pelts it at the back of F'kan's head.

Amani gets it; observing said problem-rider does seem to inspire gruffness, and that includes in her right now. "How…oh." Her surprise corrects itself in short order; the how is obvious. Just because she got a note right from the source doesn't give her sole knowledge, because dragons, of course. Though it does give her a different perspective. She doesn't even have to open her mouth to give her own answer; she has a sense of what D'wane might try to do, and gestures forward just before he sends that grape flying. "Nice aim." She'll just hide her snickering behind a sip of klah for the moment.

Look at that, D'wane's aim is pretty good, cause the grape hits the back of his head right on target, pulling a little groan from F'kan's lips. He's been spotted. What to do? He could pretend he didn't feel it. Who knows who threw whatever it was that hit him? But then his hungover mind is innundated with a barely misty lake, bright summer sunlight glinting almost painfully off the mirror still waters. Accompanying this cheery image is the overly loud voice of Quaverilth. «F'kan. I think someone is trying to get your attention. Let's not be rude now.» His voice drips with smug sarcasm from the brown. Wincing and lifting his head against the bright mental onslaught from his lifemate, he turns around in his chair and spies the Weyrsecond and the Jr. Weyrwoman looking in his direction. Great. He offers a weak salute from his seat and says sullenly, "Can I help you Sir, Ma'am?" his words are carefully formed since any movement sets his bruised jaw to aching. «Oh yeah, real respectful. Let's see how that works for you.»

D'wane has excellent aim. And very little shame. Even when F'kan has already turned to face him, he's still going to let that second grape fly. "I think it might be too late for helping. You did more than enough last night. Fighting at another Weyr?" Quaverilth isn't the only one that's overly loud. The Weyrsecond is making absolutely no effort to ensure this conversation isn't overheard by all. Especially during the peak point of breakfast rush hour. News is probably already starting to fling itself around the Weyr faster than words can be said. "So, now that you've had all night to think of your transgressions, what do you think we should do with you? With him?" He's going to use a lifeline and ask a friend weyrwoman!

Amani is just a little twitchy with the control she's exerting over her emotions at the moment, her fingertips beating out a soft rhythm against the side of her klah mug. "You might pull your sorry arse out of that chair and come face us properly. Trust me, you really don't want me coming over there right now," she tells F'kan with a deceptively even tone. She just watches the brownrider as D'wane speaks, giving a slight double-take when the Weysecond cedes the call to her. "What happens with him in the wings is something I leave to you and the Weyrleader," she replies, tilting her head toward the bronzerider. "As for what's in my purview…" There's something inscrutable that comes into her eyes as she looks to F'kan now, possibly conflicted…but it's difficult even for her to say at the moment. "When Zymuraith starts to rise, you can go cool your heels at the Barrier Hold until her flights are done. Until further notice." Zymuraith likes Quaverilth, so it's a hard call to make…but the distress factor right now would make things a mess. "You're lucky things happened in Zingari territory, or it could've been much more embarrassing. But to keep the risk to a minimum on the diplomatic front, any trips you wish to take to any other Weyr will need to be vetted through me and Mayte." Which might be a pain for all involved, and Rhiscorath might gnaw on a written request her and there…but oh well.

With one eye swollen shut, F'kan depth perception isn't the greatest at the moment, and while he sees the grape headed towards him, he doesn't manage to dodge quiet enough and takes a grape to the bridge of his broken nose, wincing as his hands reach up too late to protect his poor appendage. Then the Weyrsecond is talking about the fight in a really loud voice, causing another groan from the brownrider as he gets to his feet as the weyrwoman strongly suggests he make his way over there. Hissing, he clutches his ribs on one side, he's pretty sure none of them are broken, just badly bruised from a certain Trader's knee. As he walks gingerly over, he listens to what Amani is saying and clenches his jaw as she outlines her conditions. When he gets to the table, F'kan will stand as straight as he can, looking down at the pair of them, hands behind his back. Quaverilth's mind lake ripples slightly in irritation. «Thank you so much for that. You're not going to be happy until you see me celibate for life are you?» With a mental groan, he shifts slightly, "Yes Ma'am." he mumbles to show that he's understood her.

D'wane steeples his fingers as Amani presents her suggestions, although she does end up delegating most of the punishment decisions back to him. He was trying to teach the young weyrwoman an important lesson in spreading responsibilities, but apparently she's already got that mastered. The bronzerider lets out a little tsk as Amani only restricts him to having to get permission for travelling to other weyrs. "That's a bit more generous than I was thinking… Zymuraith could use some practice in grounding a pair. Oh… for about a month outside of work related duties. And then the permission thing can continue for as long as the Weyrwomen think it's necessary." He'll leave it up to their discretion. Rhiscorath could always use some more chewing material. "We can't exactly toss you back in weyrlinghood again because that clearly didn't do enough good. You'll still fly in Ocelot, once the healers clear you." There's a glare at the much banged up F'kan and a headshake of disgust at the foolishly (and recklessly) acquired injuries. "We have enough riders out for legitimate wounds, can't keep you out of 'Fall without a medical reason. You'll fight and you'll drill. Report to K'vvan or his appointed person of the day a half hour before drills are scheduled each morning. I'll talk with them about changing up your sweeps rotation… hauling in Firestone from Southern Barrier for a few sevens sounds appropriate…"

There's a mild scowl that tugs down the corners of Amani's mouth in the wake of D'wane's suggestion about grounding, though judging by the vagueness that passes through her gaze, it may not be entirely for his words. She's receiving things on a few different fronts at the moment, so is trying to juggle her focus and keep her train of thought aligned…and presently has to block Zymuraith a bit in favor of attending to the current situation. "A month," she agrees, and nods along to the rest of what D'wane is doling out for the brownrider in front of them.

As the list of restrictions start to pile up, F'kan can only stand there and take it, his face growing red under his bruises with each one. He is trying so hard to bite his tongue, but he's getting overly frustrated with one small thing, until he can't hold it back anymore when D'wane goes on about legitimate wounds, "It's not like I did this to myself for fun. I was jumped by some of those Zingari savages." He blurts out, hands clenching into fists at his sides. A roll of mental thunder brings storm clouds over a misty lake as Quaverilth's voice crackles with electricity. «Do you have to try to be this dumb, or does it come naturally?» The brown is thoroughly done with his rider's shit.

Lynx had a dawn practice session in the guards' practice room, and while most of the wing's riders finished and headed to breakfast, M'noq is a bit late, staying to go over a few things with a younger rider. Whether that's for the wingleader's benefit or the rider's is anyone's guess. But he heads into the living caverns and goes immediately for klah, snagging a mug and a fresh pot, despite the morning's rising heat. He catches a bit of commotion and heads over, not so much because anyone might need his assistance but because, hey, gossip. "That kind of morning, isn't it? Anyone need a refill?" He holds out the klah pot, offering to pour.

"Maybe you should duck faster," D'wane has been one of the first folks on the whole 'people who are done with F'kan's crap' list for a while. "You're a rider. You don't put yourself in a place where you can get punched. One wrong hit, you're dead. Then Quaverilth's dead. I've seen bigger men than you go down from 'just a punch'. Think about that as you're hauling in the 'stone for the next month. Any more questions?" Because really with that tone, he would LOVE to welcome some more. He does glare briefly at whoever was intruding, but it's a M'noq. And he's got klah. Presence is allowed and D'wane wordlessly holds out his mug for a refill.

The second those words are out of F'kan's mouth, trying to pass the blame yet again, Amani all but forgets D'wane is right there and doesn't see or hear M'noq approach. She rises as the Weyrsecond speaks, eyes blazing like the sun upon desert sand as she brings them nearer a level with the brownrider's. "I am one of those Zingari savages," she informs F'kan, her tone dangerously low as she presses her palms to the tabletop, leaning closer. "Think on that before you decide to insult them further. It wasn't a Zingari who broke your pretty nose, just so you know. And considering they weren't the first to strike anyone, your jumping was more than deserved. You don't need any rumor-spreading to ruin your reputation. You're doing a fine job on your own. Please dig your hole deeper, by all means," she invites, tagging on to D'wane's invitation. But she's not ready to sit down just yet, internally vibrating with a temper held in check. mostly.

Shards! They're everywhere! F'kan's eyes, well eye mostly, grows wide with the goldrider's revelation. Quaverilth though is in mental stitches over the situation. «HA! She's one of them too! Oh this is perfect. Can you please just manage to keep your gob shut so they don't think of any more inventive ways of making our lives miserable? Yeah, remember me? The one who has to also pay for your actions.» Lightning crashes onto the calm lakes surface of the brown's mind, his temper is being seriously tried right now. F'kan's gets that familiar faraway look in his eye as he takes in all his dragon is saying. Then clenching his jaw, which would have been smoother if he didn't wince when he jarred his bruises, he manages to say through his teeth as he looks from the weyrwoman to the Weyrsecond, "No Sir, no more questions." His voice even, willing his temper, that seems to be the main thing that keeps getting him into these fucking situations, into check…barely.

M'noq pours a klah refill for D'wane and then pulls up a chair, invited or not. Sure, he recognizes the serious tone, but he's there to temper things if excitable people get out of hand. He holds up a hand as suggestion to Amani to cool a bit. "Let's not have a repeat of a fistfight here, okay? She'd leave you with worse than a broken nose," he adds to F'kan, before frowning at him, recognizing him as one of the two Ocelot riders who had to repeat weyrlinghood. "Ocelot. You're… the one who can't keep it in his pants, right?" As opposed to the one who got his clutchmates killed. "You gotten any advice from your wingleader about not getting into fights?" That's gotta be something like getting advivce from a burnt marshmallow about how to not catch on fire, considering his wingleader is K'vvan.

"Good," D'wane narrows his eyes as he doesn't quite trust that F'kan doesn't have any more questions, but messages have been driven home at this point. Now his attention is focused more on the weyrwoman present. In a voice that's intended not to be overheard by more than just Amani and M'noq. "And weyrwoman, you might want to make sure you're keeping the personal and the professional feelings separate." He may also be bracing for some of that fury to be directed his way, but he at least felt it needed to be said. Bracing can also include eating his eggs though.

Amani is being cool, all things considered! But between M'noq interjecting and D'wane deciding he needs to dictate what she does or doesn't bring to the table, she can feel her blood boiling anew. She actually turns a subtle glare on the Lynx wingleader, narrowing it a bit further when she lets it rest on D'wane. The bluntness that once got her in trouble on a regular basis when she was younger threatens to barge forward, but she feels it and recognizes it for what it is. "Excuse me," is all she grits out before the reins slip from her grasp, and she strides from the table in a flutter of red and gold fabric to go meet her lifemate in the Bowl…and then find somewhere to clear her head.

Now how is it that M'noq managed to hit the one button that just snaps the tentative hold F'kan has over his temper and his ice blue eyes now flash at the Wingleader and then back at the Weyrsecond, pointing in the former's direction. "And that is exactly what started the whole fucking mess! That little Igenite slut has been keeping that old gossip alive here at Southern out of spite for one roll in the hay. She's a vindictive little bitch who is trying to make my life misrable from a continent away!" His voice rises with each word uttered. The weyrwoman leaving is all but missed.

So K'vvan has gotten all this shit passed onto him and he hasn't had NEARLY enough time to, like, shake it off. Nope. He's coming in red and fuck who else is here. THEN he hears the 'slut' remark and any chance K'vvan had of trying to play it cool go right out of the window. There are salutes he should do but that takes secondary to K'vvan walking straight up to F'kan and giving what APPARENTLY the brownrider has been given. A not-so-bad sucker punch is aimed right at F'kan's stomach. (So at least he didn't go for his face, so there is that.)

M'noq may have just crashed this meeting uninvited, but that doesn't keep him from offering his opinions. "I'm sure turning that energy to work will help, but I might suggest something additional, if not an alternative-" He blinks at Amani's words, realizing he might have overstepped. "Amani…." he tries, but fails to come up with any actual words of apology. He will have to try to catch up with her later. F'kan's venomous tone is a little much, and he doesn't actually know who the heck the man is talking about for a moment or two. He might try to say something helpful, but then K'vvan steps in from no where and cancels out any of M'noq's earlier attempts at advice. Should he just sit here and sip his klah, then? "All right, I didn't have an alternative to that…."

D'wane isn't going to push his luck any more with Amani. When she asks to be excused, he'll just give her a salute. Those hides will be safe enough with him. But F'kan's sudden tirade has the weyrsecond abandoning his last piece of bacon and standing. "You—" Whatever he was going to say is completely interrupted by K'vvan's sudden arrival and the sucker punch. D'wane winces a little bit as he assumes that's probably hitting some sore ribs. "Quit fucking blaming other people for your own sharding messes. That's what repeating weyrlinghood was supposed to teach you the first time, but you were apparently too fucking dense."

As the sucker punch that comes out of nowhere lands somehow perfectly on his bruised ribs, what little eyesight F'kan has remaining goes dim for a moment as the breath gets knocked out of him and he doubles over, groaning in pain, clutching his now throbbing ribs and stumbling back slightly. He can only manage to look up to see exactly who that came from but when he spies his Wingleader, he groans again and ducks his head. It will take him a couple breaths to straighten back up, hand still clutching his side though, and he gives a half-hearted salute, "Sir." he says, grunting as he leans a little bit to favor his injured side.

"I want him out of my fucking wing." K'vvan is really wanting to punch the bastard again, but Nadeeth is doing 'nooooo don't' plus K'vvan just realized who all exactly is here. Hi, M'noq. D'wane. "If he can't fucking get his shit together after three fucking months with me and weyrlinghood again I apparently don't have a hard enough hand."

You'd think M'noq would have some better handle on how to deal with K'vvan losing his temper on people. Well, okay, he does… he basically lets it slide. "Wait, let me get this straight. This guy was beat up by a girl, and that's why he's mad?" Just a minute ago, M'noq was suggesting that Amani would kick F'kan's ass, so maybe that isn't completely out of the realm of possibility. At K'vvan's rejection of the rider, M'noq shrugs. "Fine. Put him in Lynx. At least then he should get better hand-to-hand combat skills, along with some better discipline, hopefully." Muahaha, F'kan, M'noq has PLANS for you.

D'wane shuffles through the hides on his table until he comes up with one particular folder and hands it to M'noq. He doesn't even seem really surprised that K'vvan is saying F'kan is out of Ocelot. And since M'noq is just standing there, D'wane will pass on the file with all F'kan's disciplinary information over to his new wingleader right as M'noq says Lynx will take him. "It's all in there. And good luck." Cause Jaguar doesn't want him next.

Let's be honest folks: If he didn't transfer, Vani would kill him next.

You know what humidity ruins? It ruins a look. Specifally, Mayte's look, all 'bad ass' in leather. It does not go well in humidity. Mayte walks in to the LC, a bit droopy, and rather cross. She heads in the direction where there's a table. And some noises and familiar faces. "K'vvan. M'noq. D'wane." F'kan isn't immediately recognized but he gets a long, interested look. "Rhis is a little miffed and told me to ask you guys why."

<Southern Weyr> Quaverilth senses that: Rocketh thinks « Rhis, can you please file Quaverilth's under 'not leaving the Weyr anytime soon'? »

<Southern Weyr> Quaverilth senses that: Nokteryth A rather smug curl of ghostly smoke rises against a night devoid of light « I can sit on him if you like luv? Least for another seven or so… » Just because he just got some, doesn't mean a Nokteryth can't start sucking up for more.

F'kan gently grits his teeth as his winces when his now former Wingleader unceremoniously kicks him out of Ocelot. Then M'noq has his little quip about a girl beating him up, and his temper flashes once more, mouth opening as he is about to say something that will bring more violence down on his person, but with a crack of thunder and a fork of lightning from his lifemate, the calm misty lake completely gone now. «ENOUGH!» The mental bitchslap he gets from his dragon is enough to make him flinch visibly and forget what he was about to spew forth. And Quav isn't using the private band anymore, any dragon could hear him, «No more talking from you! Just stand there, look as pretty as you can manage, mouth shut

<Southern Weyr> Quaverilth senses that: Nadeeth will curl a ribbon about Quaverilth. « It's hard to have a rider sometimes. » There there big o'l brown. « I'll miss you.> As much as K'vvan will NOT miss his rider. (Nadeeth)

<Southern Weyr> Quaverilth senses that: The work of a good secretary never really ends. In the 'Southern' cabinet, a file is pulled out: 'Quaverilth'. Within the file, a few papers: 'Brown', 'Young', and 'Rider: F'kan'. There are a few more details that get hidden under another sheet but they promise to be interesting; fortunately Rhiscorath is a dragon of integrity. « Restricted airspace » starts to letter in in deep, disappointed red before the file snaps shut and the heavy, expectant library falls quiet again, watching… (Rhiscorath)

<Southern Weyr> Quaverilth senses that: A wave that had been so peacefully lapping against Southern's shore abruptly changes direction to wash against the oilslick of Nokteryth. « oh, you'll have your own airspace restricted soon enough…

Rock's just going to take comfort in the fact that he can do what he WANTS since he's not managed to catch a gold. (Rocketh)

"I hope you fuck him up." K'vvan says this to M'noq - and honestly, doesn't K'vvan have the BEST idea of what kind of fucking that M'noq can do? (Look, guys, it's Friday here my brain did go there) K'vvan glances down at his still balled fist, then to Mayte, then M'noq, then D'wane. "Good fucking riddance. Keep that shithead brown away from Nadeeth too or you won't have genitals." Beat, and then K'vvan is going to get murdered by Vani after she hears that, "Or Caelisth." Turning K'vvan is just going to get himself out now that he's WASHED HIS HANDS of F'kan. (And I need to do homework for serious)

M'noq takes the folder from D'wane, hefting the thing for a few seconds, as if the weight of all the disciplinary actions gives him all the information he needs. A glance at K'vvan, to see if the man is gloating at him (trading Vani for this guy seems like a very bad deal for Lynx). "Great. I'm going to peruse this thing, then we're going to have a chat this afternoon, F'kan." Should be fun. He looks over at Mayte, droopy with humidity, but perhaps also as another weyrwoman irate with this guy. "Mayte," he greets her with a nod. "F'kan, you've gotta stop pissing off the ladies, or you're never going to get laid again." M'noq is full of advice these days. A shrug is given to K'vvan. "I'll see what I can do." A pause. "I'm pretty sure fucking won't be involved on my part."

<Southern Weyr> Quaverilth senses that: Whatever card catalog Quaverilth was just pulled from is transferred to Ravaith's map, notes etched in sepia tones, along with a landscape with details to be determined after further exploration. « This one needs work. » And if he has anything to say about it, the other brown will certainly not be close to Nadeeth again. (Ravaith)

<Southern Weyr> Quaverilth senses that: Ozriath 's lazy rainbow bubbles drift through, childish laughter escaping each one that bursts, all whirling down a ath of yellow brick that seems to build itself. Bubbles rush to wrap Quaverilth in their childlike wimsy. «He will learn…someday.» At least Quav's doesn't have a knack for running into pirates and felines and coming out worse for it!!!

"But you have permission, M'noq!" D'wane can't help himself and goes just slightly less serious for a moment before it's almost like the sight of Mayte reminds him he's got yet another meeting to go to. The hides on the table are gathered up, both his own and Amani's. A salute towards weyrwoman and wingleader, one last glower at F'kan (and a prayer he still won't end up in Jaguar) and D'wane is outie. Someone else will clear off those breakfast dishes, right?

<Southern Weyr> Quaverilth senses that: Onwards that darkness speeds, encroaching on the shore and the island beyond, just look at those desicrated coconuts! « When was the last time you caught? » Sly streaks of midnight rainbows give arch singifigence to the innocent question. « Learn. Or die. » But hey! Nokteryth's still got it, as some of his dark rainbows spill in the direction of those lazy bubbles like perverted shadows. (Nokteryth)

<Southern Weyr> Quaverilth senses that: White fire sizzles and sparks, diminishing to reveal a windswept stand of black and white striped tents, all dark within. Surrounding them, an iron fence lurks imposingly, bare-branched trees beyond whispering melancholy in the chill autumn breeze. Zymuraith's show is closed for tonight, the scents of rich caramel and spiced cider muted, lingering stalely from the night before as disappointed murmurings waft in and then drift onward. « Some never grow. I hope this does not hold true here. I am sorry, Quaverilth. » Sorry, but prepared to put into practice what she must…as always. (Zymuraith)

<Southern Weyr> Quaverilth senses that: The tropical paradise will just toss those rotting coconuts back at the apocalyptic darkness offshore. « Maybe you shouldn't catch so often if your children keep making such poor choices in lifemates…. » Somehow this is all Nok's fault. (Rocketh)

<Southern Weyr> Quaverilth senses that: Nokteryth smugs « Take after their sire don't they? » Just for that the darkness is going to chase all the fish away too.

<Southern Weyr> Quaverilth senses that: NOT THE FISH! (Rocketh)

F'kan watches as his former Wingleader departs with a few more colorful comments for him, but it's like his lips are glued shut, because all he can do it nods, lips clenched in a fine line. Quaverilth is so focused on keeping his rider in check that the other dragons are merely acknowledged each in turn. Time for turning to others of his kind for comfort will come, but right now, he is trying this new thing called Being Effective. It's working out well so far for the brown. When M'noq gives F'kan an order to meet him in the afternoon, Quav mentally nudges his rider, «And what do we say to this F'kan?» He asks in a tone you would use with a child. With a heavy sigh at this new and improved lifemate of his, he offers a salute. "Yes Sir. Anything else?" Cause F'kan would really like to go see a healer right now please.

It's like Mayte can clear a room or something. Brief nods to the out-going riders and then Mayte claims a chair, turning it around so she can straddle it while resting her arms on the back of it. It's like she takes the 'anything else' personally: "So you've pissed off K'vvan, which isn't hard," she doesn't even bother looking at M'noq apologetically, "D'wane, which is a bit harder and," for a moment her eyes cross to talk with Rhiscorath, "and Amani. And Igen," which is generalizing but why not, "which is pretty much a hat trick, I think." A look over at M'noq, "And you're gonna take him on in Lynx?"

M'noq really tries not to laugh at D'wane's suggestion of "permission." He salutes the departing Weyrsecond and then turns his attention back to F'kan. "All right, let's see." He pauses, a mental adjustment. He misses N'lim. "My wingsecond is A'hali. You need to see him about scheduling your firestone runs in lieu of sweeps. This afternoon I'll expect a list of your skills. Anything you've been trained in. Anything you're good at." Unspoken: he's seeing a lot of things you're NOT good at. "We'll settle the rest this afternoon." Yup, should be fun. He nods to Mayte. "I've seen K'vvan try to work with him for a while. I have some ideas." The two wingleaders have very different leadership styles.

"Yes Sir." F'kan says a little flatly, like a petulent child pouting after being sent to the corner. He eyes (with the only one not swollen shut) his new Wingleader and wonders what he will be like. K'vvan just sweared a whole lot. «Ahem. Don't forget the Weyrwoman.» Quaverilth interjects mists swirling gently as he really likes this new, quieter F'kan, even if he is being quite infantile. F'kan turns to Mayte and salutes as well, standing as straight as his bruised ribs allow for. "Weyrwoman." And then he turns on his heel, hissing as he jars himself, and walks gingerly in the direction of the Healers.

Kodi walks in from the bowl, freshly back from sweeps, going by the state of her gear, quickly being shed as she moves toward the tables with whatever's on hand right now. She manages to stack said gear in a mostly orderly pile on the end of one table near the others. There's a nod, then a salute, both gestures vague enough to include appropriate knots and the like. She then continues her trek to the side of cavern, loading up on a glass of juice, another of water, both balanced in one hand, and a mug of klah held gingerly in the other. Returning to her gear, she begins methodically draining the first of the glasses, eyes following F'kan before flicking toward M'noq and Mayte.

F'kan's great 'petulant child' imitation has Mayte's dark eyebrows rising to her hairline, which compliments the 'oh not in my house' expression she's starting to pull together. Except then the young rider pulls together a salute and wisely takes off. Her first question is then, "Did he really just salute the list of people he pissed off? Brassy!" Standing, Mayte reverses her chair and sits in it normally, flicking old crumbs across the surface of the table as she looks over at M'noq: "Do any of those ideas involve records?" a familiar head is spotted and Mayte waves at Kodi, a welcoming move. Now Mayte sounds a little distracted, "Because I don't have time to watch over his shoulder right now and Rhis… isn't sure about leaving him there right now."

M'noq is still sitting looking quite relaxed, sipping a mug of klah (fresh klah pot at hand on the table), as he opens the disciplinary folder he was handed and begins leafing through it. Not really reading, just skimming. "I haven't decided if that guy is just an idiot and will never learn, or if he has some hidden talents all his unfocused energy needs to be turned on. I mean, I can use an idiot, but I'd rather have someone who can learn." A smile and a wave is given to Kodi in greeting (he doesn't really know her, but she might look familiar?), before he arches a brow at Mayte. "Records? No, not really. I'd rather put him to physical work and see if I can instill any discipline. I will probably assign various Lynx riders to pair up with him. If I stuck one with him for too long, they might kill him."

"Are you sure you don't mean infill any discipline? Sir?" Kodi asks, her low voice audible, but unobtrusive. "Find the clear spaces in his head, and just put the discipline there." She finishes the juice and sets the empty glass on the table at her side, then picks up the water. She leans down to brush some of Mayte's discarded crumbs off a chair, then sits, her small frame gradually relaxing into the motion.

How do you solve a problem like F'kan? Canting her head to look M'noq over, Mayte's grin is brief: "Some riders just need more one-on-one time than their peers. I remember one Wingleader; the rider must have driven him crazy but he learned eventually. The key there? Respect." Kodi's suggestion has Mayte cracking a small grin: "Breaking him down to build him back up. But I wonder if this isn't something P'quil should have picked up on." The Weyrlingmaster at Southern.

M'noq chuckles at Kodi. "Unfortunately, I don't think you can just pour discipline into someone's head, no matter how many empty spaces there are there." He warms up his klah from the pitcher, then offers to pour for anyone else at the table who needs a refill. "K'vvan spent a lot of one-on-one time with him, though I don't know how much they talked." M'noq has more knowledge than most on how difficult it is to get K'vvan to talk about things. "In any case, we'll see. You sure you don't want him in Puma?" he asks Mayte with a grin.

Kodi only has a brief and quiet reply to Mayte's comment on P'quil, which is a soft grunt quickly stifled by finishing off her glass of water. At last, she pulls the mug of klah closer to herself, though it is not as piping hot as it was when she poured it a few minutes ago, going by the complete lack of steam, even on a day like today. "I think we can all guess how much they talked," she says quietly, dark eyes flicking toward M'noq, then back to her mug. "Very colourful when it did happen, I'm sure." She takes a slow sip, then leans back, mug balanced on her thigh.

Mayte lets the conversation flow for a moment, eyes narrowing in thought. "Leading and teaching are close, but they're not the same thing," she finally says out of the blue, rousing herself from thought. A nod of acknowledgement to Kodi's comment and then a look of horror at M'noq: "In Puma? Where Amani can kill him first? I don't think so." Even so: "Sometimes, one leadership style makes a better environment for others. I hope he does better in Lynx than in Ocelot." M'noq gets a long look, "But you'll let me know how he's doing, right?" It comes rather close to stepping on the Weyrleader's toes. And then to the greenrider: "Any thoughts?"

M'noq just laughs at that. "On K'vvan's part, certainly. On F'kan's part, I'm not so sure." The guy seems to yes-sir a lot, when he's not swearing about some girl who wouldn't sleep with him. A smile at Mayte. "I'll keep you posted. You're the only one who can approve him leaving the Weyr for something other than running firestone, and I'm planning on threatening him with sending him to Puma if he doesn't shape up." Who knows if he would follow through on that or not. He gathers up his file and knocks back the rest of his klah. "I should be heading back. Thank you for the company." A nod to Mayte and Kodi, and he departs.

Kodi is about to take another sip of klah when Mayte turns her question directly in her direction. She sets down the mug, face still a moment before she states, "I don't know what he did. But he's young. Young men are often idiots." She pointedly does not look at M'noq just then, and waits for the wingleader to leave. "It might be better putting the head cook in charge of F'kan's discipline." She takes that sip of klah finally, then finally glances at M'noq's departing back. "I mean, not really. We need all the bodies in the air we can manage. But if it's perspective and respect a person needs to learn, sometimes it is best to tear them down and rebuild. Let them see their life in a different light."

Add a New Comment