Who

A'kehm, Catryn, J'ran, Jedi, Keelie, M'noq, Myziri, Rocio, T'ral, Z'ok

What

The Lynx Wing Banquet. Gifts, gab and surprise Thread!

When

It is afternoon of the twenty-fifth day of the third month of the seventh turn of the 12th

Where

Old Southern Weyr

OOC Date 26 Feb 2016 08:00

 

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It's sad and a little foreseeable that A'kehm is chasing down the servers with the meat on skewers.


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Central Garden

This was once a well-groomed profusion of flowers. It is now a riot of color, half wild and half refined. Elegant roses gone rangy climb the trunks of skybrooms. Shaggy hedges define a half dozen meandering paths that are visible only because the pavers are made of stone. Beneath the bushes lie beds of shade-loving herbaceous greenery. In the broad central plaza there stands a rough-timbered pavilion. It is square, bearded with climbing vines whose flowers give their fragrance to the air, night and day. Its tile roof sweeps down to pointed gables. Around the building there stand a handful of sasaki trees; their twisted boughs still showing signs of the care they were once lavished with, lifetimes ago. What were once smooth, well-fitted paving stones are now mortared with moss and crabgrass. Paths lead off to the north and south between the trees. To the southwest the reflection of light upon water can be seen, and to the west that same light the gape-eyed glitter of shattered greenhouse glass. A ruined Hall looms to the east, the path leading to it choked with fallen limbs.

It is the twenty-fifth day of Autumn and 86 degrees. Partly cloudy, the storm seems to have almost passed, occasional short falls of rain painting the ground.


Despite distant grumblings of thunder, the afternoon sky remains simply sullen rather than actively angry and so it is that Lynx gathers in what was once a garden amidst the ruins of Old Southern. Long tables harvested from the weyr's caverns are topped with handsome place settings, lined in rows under the broad roofed pavilion. Strings of glows crisscross the space to brighten the drear and provide illumination overhead as the sun sets, unseen, beyond a screen of gray clouds. Firepits boast tall crackling fires licking over spitted meat and roasting vegetables. Don't worry, Lynxes. Laevia didn't oversee all of the meal preparation. From her time as a Candidate, Catryn knows those on the kitchen staff who still cleave to the Old Ways ('With butter and sugar for all!') and some of Ardstelle's faithful disciples have been specially requested. The fare prepared falls somewhere in the middle on the Laevia/Ardstelle continuum with neither genius nor the extreme of either. It is, however, rustic and plentiful. The remote location means there's only a small group of servers and they are laregely occupied by circulating with through the area with offerings of roasted meat, vegetables and fruit skewered on long swordlike spits. Lynx is on its own for beverages, tapped kegs and vats stand ready to serve.

T'ral is circulating as the Lynx of the chain assemble, Catryn's hand in the crook of his arm, the Wingleader moving from knot to knot with greetings for riders and guests.

Yerenath and Sahizath had landed together and their riders enter the group of Lynx riders and guests in the same fashion. Though known not to be attracted to the opposite sex, J'ran escorts Myziri as if she were more than just his very close friend as he rests his free hand over hers in the crook of his arm. Her flowing emeraldine dress with the iridescent pattern in a lighter green compliments well with the Weyr colors he wears in his dress leathers, his tunic and trous crisply pressed and his boots shined to a mirror-like finish. When they finally begin to mingle, he smiles and nods to his wingmates and offers greetings to their guests and introduces Myziri as a good escort should.

Ahiardhath glides over the reach of trees searching for a terrain that will take his landing. He finds it many yards away but even that effort rips climbing vines and fractures a fewer lesser branches. His rider walks but takes his time of it, familiarizing himself with the landscape, even plucking and chewing a leaf to see if it's the same plant he thinks it is. Nope, poisonous. Dead. JUST KIDDING. He looks prepared to fight Thread, a day as any other, though he smells yet clean. He sees those already gathered, wingmates most. "How did you get on Sahizath in that?" Once close enough, he remarks to Myziri, picking a vein of leaf capably out of two teeth.

That's right, Myziri's wearing a dress! She made an effort. Because she's been absolutely bored to tears. She also wheedled J'ran into dressing up to, just so she wasn't the only one. He still manages to look prettier than her, of course, as she walks along on his arm, smiling at those they stop to talk to. She's on her best behavior - at least until she hears A'kehm. Then she rolls her eyes. "It's a dress, Kehm. It's actually easier to climb a dragon when your legs are not confined." And it's a flowy, swirly thing that's quite…freeing. She nudges J'ran "Right?" About the dress thing. He would know.

J'ran chuckles softly as he hears A'kehm's question though he leaves Myziri to answer until she nudges him. His eyes sparkle as a faint blush colors the tips of his ears visible since his close cropped blonde curls don't cover them. "Depending on the length of the skirt … yes. Oh, and the height of the heels, of course, since they can sometimes throw off my balance." His tone is faintly teasing but he speaks too easily of these things so maybe he really does know what he's talking about. Scary, that.

A'kehm slicks his tongue over those teeth once he's groomed them. "No clothes is the best way to ride yet." Innuendo and known fact. Just don't detour between. Riding gloves are tucked behind him into his belt when J'ran waxes about women's clothes. "Easy fix, just don't stand. Catryn!" Chin lifting as if to judge the view. Oh and T'ral. He isn't saluting until he catches the bluerider's eye. If not, it'll be an I.O.U.

Rocio is over by the keg drinking. Or, well, trying to get a drink as she attempts to flirt her way to the front of the line. "Ain't that just the cutest tie!" It's a classic attempt at using her Southern Belle accent to try and weasel—err, charm her way closer to the booze. She does look pretty tonight, btw, in a nice strappy sundress with equally strappy shoes that Catryn notices when she and T'ral walk by. "Mister T'ral don't you look handsome…" It doesn't hurt to shmooze the wingleader right? RIGHT? Fingers waggle at her wingmates in greeting and she returns her focus back to the line at the keg. Priorities, Rocio has 'em.

"I tried that. Too much chafing. The dress is much softer." She rubs her fingers over the silky fabric, completely deadpan about having just admitted to riding naked. She smiles teasingly at J'ran, "Heels? You're a braver girl than I, Jor." Myziri prefers lower heelers, just in case she wants to remain upright. But she's got her hair up in a profusion of curls and so that adds an inch or so. Her eyes move over A'kehm "You're looking like yourself." She notes, before noticing Rocio "Look, J'ran. Booze!" Thank Faranth for that.

The wingleader is wearing his nicest leathers which is not to say 'dress leathers.' He hasn't had a set of proper dress leathers for over four Turns now and like A'kehm, looks ready to mount up and fight, apart from the grin on his face as he and Catryn weave through the throng, she in black, a striking contrast to her sunny hair, he in deep gray and blue that sets off the glint of humor glitterind in dark eyes. Something is afoot, says that look. Under the shelter of the pavilion he joins J'ran and Myziri, "Afternoon. J'ran, be sure to convey my thanks to your cousin. Her help was most appreciated. Myziri, you look lovely." His eyebrows merely raise at J'ran's casual ownership of the mechanics of womanly dress. T'ral inclines his head to Rocio as she breezes by, glancing at the line forming. He pets Catryn's hand, talk of heels is sure to make her nostalgic for her own, "Soon, Cap'n. Soon." A'kehm. T'ral pivots to open the knot of discussion, keeping himself between Catryn and A'kehm. In the wild, rogue males eat the young of other males and some deep instinct moves him thus.

J'ran chuckles at A'kehm's matter-of-fact suggestions for resolution of those few problems he mentioned, his blue eyes glittering with amusement. "I'll keep that in mind, A'kehm." Myziri's teasing is taken in stride since she's always teasing him about being more girl than she though he squeezes her hand in return as she mentions booze. "Hmm, we'll have to get some … maybe when the line dies down a bit," is murmured more to himself than anyone else since that is about when T'ral and Catryn arrive. "Thank you, sir, I will. She will be pleased to know that her help was more than just a favor for her cousin." The skin around his eyes crinkles briefly before his gaze moves to the woman on his wingleader's arm, a gentle bow of his upper torso given in greeting. "Harper Catryn, you're looking lovlier by the day."

Z'ok has been here all along! Really! Well, not really. He's a few minutes late, and he's not the most subtle about slipping in. Instead of his usual green finery for an occasion such as this, he's wearing a wherhide vest dyed a deep red to match his trousers, the cream tunic beneath tucked neatly into a pair of shiny black boots (the matching jacket is slung over his shoulder). His hair is too short to style, but it's been brushed into spiky heights that add almost a whole half inch to the diminuitive brownrider's height. He pauses for a moment to take in the decor of the setting, a smile playing about his lips before he heads for the beverages, but the line pulls him up short. He's not that thirsty, after all. So he meanders instead, watching his wingmates quietly while he waits for the booze rush to die down.

A'kehm slaps the tucked gloves on the seat of his pants while grinning at leisure at Myziri. "I feel like myself too." He does move on, overdressed, fresh from the snow fields no doubt or the ultimate altitudes. Getting to the pavilion and being intercepted by T'ral does finally initiate a salute that's one-half Varvara's artistry and one-half 'I don't give a damn today'. He leans his neck to one side as to send Catryn a look of no good, but acquiesces to J'ran's greeting of the harper. Like Rocio, he intercepts the front line but isn't complimenting anyone's tie.

"Get in line!" Rocio half-hollers to A'kehm when he attempts to cut in front of her. And knowing the greenriding huntress, she's got secret knives hidden in secret places — always be prepared! That's part of the Lynx motto, or it should be part of Lynx's motto. >.> Finally! Rocio gets to the front of the line and poooouuuurs herself some really good booze from the keg (and might just elbow her bronzeriding wingmate, too). Meanwhile, Catryn is just about ready to find herself somewhere comfortable to sit down so she can get off her feet for a while. A nod is given to J'ran with a smile, "Thank you. It's a struggle these days." Especially at eight months pregnant. A tug to T'ral's arm means she's off to find someplace to sit with a taaall glass of ice cold water.

There's an actual feminine pout for J'ran's abeyance of alcohol, though since T'ral and Catryn arrive in their vicinity there is a perfectly valid reason, though she does send a wistful glance in that direction when A'kehm goes for some instead. Oh well. Instead she sends a beautifully innocently friendly smile at the wingleader "T'ral. You look very handsome today." is said in response to his compliment to her, "And Catryn, you're positively glowing." Let's hope thats not sweat from carrying around an extra person inside of herself. She also spots Z'ok and waves to her clutchsib, though remains on J'ran's arm (as is proper for someone being escorted).

Knowing that the booze is one of the reasons for the banquet in the first place, J'ran keeps his eye on the line and when it is only a few people deep he takes his leave of T'ral a short time after Catryn moves off to find her own drink and place to settle. With an inclination of his head to T'ral, he leads Myziri to where they fall in line behind one of their brownriding wingmates and her obnoxiously talkative guest. While waiting for the chance at the tapped kegs, the greenrider simply smiles and nods at the young man's queries and comments since he can't get a word in edge-wise. Finally the brownrider drags the man away — literally — and J'ran finally releases Myziri's hand so that he can pour them both a glass though he offers her the choice of wine or ale while he enjoys the icy cold beer.

'Always be prepared' is Jedi's contribution to Lynx's should-be-motto. "Doesn't she?" T'ral's reply to the compliments sent Catryn's way. She gets a kiss to the cheek after the tug to his arm and, now, with the Wing gathered, appetites whetted and thirsts beginning to be slaked, T'ral hops up onto a chair and draws a deep breath, the report of his Harper-trained voice cutting through the muller. "Thank you for coming! Please gather 'round." Any booze opportunists may take this as their cue to cut the line. As those assembled move to comply (or don't) he continues, "It's been a long Turn and a trying one. I won't stand up here long," he smiles down at Catryn where she sits sipping her water, "But I wanted to take a moment to acknowledge that we're the anchor wing of the upper flight for a reason. We're the best." His grin is broad, bright in the dark brace of his beard and entirely unapologetic. He lifts his glass, "And it is my privilege to lead you all." He lifts his glass in salute, "Jedi, Mi'lo and I, working with the Healers have a gift for all of you." Though the brownriders stepped down from her post as 'second, the credit is given where due. Servers circulate amongst the tables with cloth-wrapped bundles, calling names. "A'kehm? A'ke-oh. Here you go, sir. Bl'asay?" The brownrider pulls himself from his attentions to his date. "Hmm?" J'ran. Myziri. Rocio. Z'ok. Qu'inn. M'noq. Before long all of the bundles are distributed. He probably doesn't need to prompt anyone, but the bluerider grins and calls out, "Open 'em up!" Within each bundle a single pauldron of black hide chased with silver. Lynx colors. "This is Threadfall gear. Part of your uniform. And, by extension," he grins and takes a bundle from Catryn, "Feel free to wear 'em in lieu of dress leathers when the air's hotter than blood and twice as thick." He grins, "Or over gowns. The jury's still out on sundresses." A wink bridges the distance between rider and weyrmate.

Thank Faranth J'ran hit the booze at just the right time. Myziri chooses wine and gives her escort a thankful smile before turning when T'ral seems ready to speechify. Surprise comes, of course, when those packages are handed out; even more so when the pauldrons are uncovered. Though she eyes them skeptically in regards to wearing them with her dress "I think just with my leathers, don't you?" This to J'ran, who would know better than she about fashion. "Would ruin the line of the dress, wouldn't they?"

Z'ok waggles fingers back in Myziri's direction when she waves, offering a bright grin across the room. Since the line is fading, he begins to drift that way, only to be stopped by T'ral's sudden speechifying. He has no glass to lift in return to the wingleader, but he does offer a bit of hearty applause, along with a couple of his wingmates who are close by. When the server hands him his package, he unwraps it slowly (totally not timing it so that he's on pace with his fellows), removing the pauldron carefully and eyeing it with just a hint of confusion. Without strapping it on, he slaps it on his shoulder, rolling the joint and testing the move of the accessory against his muscles. "Sharp," is all he offers, lifting the bowl to sniff at the new leather. What? Everyone loves the smell of new leather.

"Oh so NOW people can cut the line!?" Rocio, having just waited a decade in line for booze, grumbles an expletive under her breath and walks over to the gathered group of wingmates. She receives a gift and then unwraps it to reveal a spiffy looking pauldron that she plans to bedazzle the hell out of when she gets the first chance. "Hey, ain't this cute." Her glass of booze is set down on a nearby table top right before she attempts to strap the thing onto her shoulder. "How does it go? Like this? I ain't never worn one of these before…" Hey, Kehm. Help a gal out~

J'ran accepts the package when it's presented and nods his thanks to his wingleader before stepping back. When the clue is given to unwrap them, he smiles at the way the pauldron looks and smells. He's a really sense oriented guy. "Hmm, yes … I think over uniforms would be fine but not sure I'd put it with a dress. Unless it were a black dress with silver accents … then it could look good." His tone is thoughtful when he says that, maybe he's thinking of a new outfit?

Don't mind Jedi - she's just over here, trying to stay both out of the spotlight, and away from the booze. She's mostly even succeeding! Since she helped with the pauldrons, she's of course wearing hers - it only makes sense she'd have a sense of how to put them on, at least!

M'noq has been lurking around rather quietly, even with Keelie as his date. Even with all his wingmates around, he has stayed towards the edge of things. Oh, a gift. He unwraps the pauldron, initially puzzled. It takes a moment of watching what the others do with it to figure out what he's supposed to do with it. He mimics Z'ok and holds it up to his shoulder. "Decorative? I hope it cleans up easily after threadfall." So it'll stay looking as cool as it does now.

"What, haven't you seen a line of one before?" The bronzerider is nonplus and now that he has a vessel full of port in hand. He is, however, expecting a knife in his back when spinning from Rocio to accept the distributed gift. Rue to put the drink down he fought so easily for, he pins the gift between his chest and wrist and pulls until the single pauldron is exposed. "Huh." Working it over in his hand to judge its quality and composition, he almost doesn't hear Rocio's request. Now he must put the drink down regretably and his own while lacing the greenrider's. "I think it goes like this." Fiddle, pause, cinch.

T'ral ducks to get his own bundle and shrug into it, hopping down to circulate with the rest, helping anyone who seems to need it. Except A'kehm. A'kehm is on his own. "Yeah, you… and cinch that." Big beam, "Looks great. How's it feel?" He moves along. "Evenin' Jedi, looking smart," he grins at the brownrider. He crooks his arm and makes circles with his elbow flung out. Hope no one was walking by. Returning to his post up on the chair, T'ral gives a signal to the head server. Thunder grumbles overhead. At the pavilion's edge servers line up with spitted meat ready to circulate. It's almost chow time folks. "These aren't just for looks." He heard M'noq's inquiry. "We had them fashioned because there's a higher than average incidence of offside threadscoring to the upper arm and shoulder." Something about the blindside… it gets blindsided. "A few more items of business and then we'll eat." His hand drops to his belly. "We'll be phasing in a new position in Threadfall. Outriders. Agile pairs whose job it will be to fly a zone of overwatch on the main formation. Bronzes, browns and sturdier blues will fly a formation that doesn't rotate out with outrider pairs swapping in and out as needed. To oversee the implementation of this new initiative, I'd like to congratulate Rocio and Myziri on thier promotion to acting Wingseconds. Effective immediately." Have fun with that ladies. T'ral fishes a pair of knots from his coat pocket and gestures the women forward.

"We'll look amazing against thread, though." Myziri murmurs to J'ran, admiring her pauldrons and stroking her fingers over the new leather. "Thread'll be terrified by our fashion forwardness." Or not. She catches sight of Jedi standing on the opposite side from the booze and gives her a wave, also mouthing a silent "bwok, bwok" - will the other greenrider get it? Only if she reads lips likely. Then T'ral is speaking again and…"What the fuck did he just say?" She jabs J'ran again - maybe a bit harder than necessary. Seriously. She's hearing things.

J'ran manages to get his own pauldron onto his shoulder and shrugs to settle it into place before cinching it snugly in place, a faint smile curling his lips at the feel though it's a bit odd. "Well, come on … you can at least try it on even if it doesn't go with your dress, Myz." He takes the pauldron from the other greenrider's hand and fits it on over Myziri's shoulder and gently tightens the straps though leaves it loose so it doesn't crush the fabric of the dress. They aren't fighting Thread right now. When T'ral makes those announcements, his head tilts consideringly until that startling announcement that causes his 'date' to jab him in the gut. "Oof. Well? What are you waiting for, ma'am? Get up there and get your shiny new knot." With a gentle push at the small of her back, he gets Myziri moving though it's up to her to keep going.

Keelie was visibly relieved when the food came out on skewers, although she didn't eat much. She's been here the whole time, honest - and yes, relatively quiet. She watches curiously as M'noq and the rest of the Lynx wing open their gifts, and helps him tie his on. "You look handsome." At mention of Myziri and new wingsecond, the red-haired girl spins, spots her friend and beams.

Z'ok is in the middle of actually strapping on his pauldron, so he misses the second part of T'ral's announcement, frowning as he struggles with the buckles. "This'll take some getting used to." is perhaps a bit louder than it should be, definitely more annoyed-sounding than probably meant, and unfortunately falls in the moment of silence between announcement and Myziri's startled response.

"Ow, hold on! You're pinchin' me…" Rocio swats A'kehm's hand just as the bronzerider finishes tying off the pauldron on her shoulder. He might tighten it just a little too much when she turns to deliver a smack to her wingmate— but, when people start clapping and whistling, she goes all 'buh?' for the moment. "What'd he say?" No, seriously, the scout didn't hear. A hand reaches up to rub at her ear and before she can say anything else, Rocio is being ushered toward T'ral. "Oh no, that ain't right…"

Take some getting used to indeed. Myziri seriously needs that push in her back to get her going, pauldron'd shoulder and all (it actually doesn't look too bad with her dress), only stumbling a bit in her shock. Which is obviously matched by her mentor, considering Rocio's own reaction to the announcement. She glances at Niamyth's rider first, with a confused look before something suddenly has her straightening her shoulders and almost marching up to T'ral. That's right. Myziri's gonna own this (admittedly with a little boost of Sahizath approval). Looking up at her wingleader, she nods. "Thank you, Sir. I'll do my very best to fulfill your confidence in me." Unless this is just some mortifying punishment. In which case, she'll likely go get drunk.

M'noq probably needs assistance with his shoulder-thingy more than anyone else, but fortunately Keelie seems to have a decent understanding of how it works. He manages to get into it and cinch it up without strangling himself or cutting off circulation in his arm, so, that's a win. T'ral's explanation of the use of the thing makes him feel a bit better about wearing it, since he's not really one to wear flash for the sake of flash. Knots are handed out, and they have have two new wingseconds. He applauds and cheers with the rest of them. He grins at Keelie and leans in close to her, murmuring, "Thanks. You look particularly lovely, yourself. Thanks for coming with me to this thing. Hopefully it isn't too boring."

Jedi waves back at Myziri, but since the brownrider can't read lips, the chicken reference goes unnoticed. She claps a little for both of the women, a small smile on her lips. Did she know? She probably knew - at least a little. Maybe she even made some of her own recommendations when she stepped down! The exact circumstances of that remain ambiquous, but she at least seems pleased to see both of the women heading up to T'ral to accept those knots! LOL IT'S ALL YOURS NOW.

"Relax, relax." T'ral did not miss the look of abject WHAAAA on either of the greenriders' faces. "It's temporary while we're implementing the new formations. If you find it suits you — and you might — we'll talk. I'll need the help in the short term," another fond look at Catryn and her burgeoning belly. He nods at Myziri bucking up. He leans in to speak something quietly to the both of them.

T'ral mutters, "… you … … … … orders. … deserve it. Congratulations." to Rocio and Myziri.

"Oh, one last piece of business. I know the hold on out-of-weyr leave has been tiresome. I appreciate your patience and support." Patience? Wasn't the hold on leave a punishment? What's that about? "Thank you again for being a Wing I'm proud to lead." He claps his hands, rubbing them together eagerly. "Let's eat!" With a bounce he hops down and takes his seat. The servers take this as their cue to enter, circulating with mouth-watering skewers.

A'kehm is half-prepped to dodge when Rocio thinks to smite him, but she's onto a higher calling with Myziri. He grabs his full glass of port and stakes a bit of territory by Z'ok, and possibly M'noq and Keelie. Bengal and Bombay reunion, yo. An elbow is firmly planted on the table while thunder reaches their ears. Ahiardhath roams outside the pavilion, the bronze's mobility in the jungle easier when using his four legs. "Z'ok, where's your date?"

Z'ok is finally up to speed, it seems, and he offers both Rocio and Myziri a bright grin of congratulations as he tugs the last buckle into place. When A'kehm pulls up, the brownrider gives his clutchbrother a nod. "Oh, I've been busy studying and stuff," he says in answer to the question, not acknowledging the color that blooms temporarily in his ears. "I didn't really have time to ask anyone." He frowns lightly as he considers that, and adds. "Not that I'd have been able to decide who to bring, that is." He inhales deeply, his eyebrows lifting as he exhales his next sentence. "Sooo many…." (And he's totally not checking to see if A'kehm buys that. Very carefully not checking.)

See, Rocio always sorta knew that she was T'ral's favorite. And since her mentee was also chosen for such a promotion, it only proves it! She'd brush her shoulder off if she didn't have a pauldron fastened to it. >.> That whispered 'congratulations' from T'ral is met with a half smirk when she's given the knot with a salute snapped in return. "Thank you kindly, Mister T'ral." Dang. He knows about the Kitten Mission. Turning around now, the greenriding scout makes her way back to her drink and takes a loooong swig before heading to the keg for a refill~

Okay, so Myziri has the grace to blush at that murmured comment and look suitably abashed and admiring - how had T'ral found out? She also sends a sidewise glance toward her mentor, because she's also curious as to what she did to craft things up. Interesting. Regardless of her thoughts, however, she nods to her wingleader, taking the knot. "Even temporarily, I'll do my best to…uh….make you proud." Or craft things up some more. Whichever. Mention of food? Totally has her turning away to grin first at J'ran (bestie!) and then wave to Keelie, finally noticed on the periphery with M'noq (when did they sneak in?) before she heads back to her escort, though not without detouring around to Jedi "Did you know about this?" is hissed through her teeth before she's back by J'ran's side "I'm starved. Let's find food. And where's my booze?" Because priorities!

Keelie may or may not have strapped M'noq in wrong, but it's secure, at least. They wear similar things in her tribe, only without buckles. "Thank you." She grins back. "Boring? I feel like I haven't seen everyone in ages! You are so lucky to have so many clutchmates in your wing." For serious. A'kehm gets flashed a grin, and then Z'ok who are nearby. Reunion indeed! Grin goes to knowing smirk at A'kehm's question of a date and then Z'ok's blush, although her eyes are kind, and she doesn't comment. She returns Myziri's wave, cupping her hands around her mouth and yelling: "Wingsecond!" at her. And, then there's those skewers. Was she not supposed to eat them before? Oops. Good thing she only ate part of one! Etiquette lessons FTW.

Jedi doesn't answer Myziri's question - instead, she gives the girl a completely devious smile, and tilts her head to the side innocently. Did she? Or didn't she? Yet another thing Jedi's not spilling the beans on! The important parts of the party are mostly over, so the former wingsecond takes a few steps back, mingling further with some of the others. She'll make her rounds, congratulate Rocio and Myziri - and might even propose a toast (sans alcohol, of course!), but after that, the brownrider deliberately fades into the background. In a wing trained to pay attention to such details - well, that's no small feat.

J'ran remained where he was after he'd sent Myziri forward with that little push, guarding the woman's drink and clapping along with everyone else for the temporary promotion of his friend and her mentor. When she returns, he grins back at her and offers her glass at that inquiry. "I'm starving too. There's a couple seats there by the rest of our clutchmates … let's snag them." Guiding her in that direction, he holds out the seat for her to settle into before taking his own chair beside her, ready to enjoy the skewers and other foods on offer and devours everything that comes in reach as if he's never seen food before. After the last few sevens, he's heartily tired of bland, tasteless stew and burned bannocks.

M'noq shoots a grin over at Z'ok and A'kehm, since they're nearby. He grabs a couple of skewers when they're nearby, and snags a glass of wine as well, offering it to Keelie. Hopefully it's a good one, because M'noq's choice is a bit random. "It's a good group," he says to Keelie in agreement. "I miss seeing some of the others that ended up in other wings too. I don't miss living in the barracks, though." Enough said about that.

A'kehm doesn't buy it, Z'ok, but notice he doesn't have a date either. Unless one counts Ahiardhath who is smelling the savory meats and lingering. He turns to Keelie and M'noq, looking like he's calculating complex equations. But then, food wins him over and he takes two skewers, one for each hand, and enjoys peeling the meat off with his teeth.

Myziri settles into a chair with more than her usual grace (it's totally the dress!), smiling up at J'ran for holding it out for her. Then she smiles around at all the rest of the table. "Isn't this great? We get to get together and talk and not have to worry about thread lacing our brains out of our heads while we do it for once." Ah, Myz. Such a conversationlist. But seriously - they're usually only together for drills and threadfall and sometimes not even then, depending on who's out on mission; or not out on mission because Lynx wing doesn't do missions. No missions. Sweeps. Out on sweeps.

People seem to be believing his story, so Z'ok relaxes visibly, grabbing a glass of wine from one passing server and a skewer of meat from another. Because, food is good. "And it's nice to get out of the Weyr for a bit," he says to the table with a shrug, nodding at Myziri's comment. "As much as I like the Infirmary, I also like the smell of the jungle now and then. To clear the stink of numbweed from my nose at the very least."

J'ran smiles at Myziri's comment and nods as he glances around at their wingmates with clutchmates and other guests scattered throughout. "It is nice to get to just relax and chat. Seems it's been forever that we've been able to do that though I'm sure it's not." The different types of skewers are examined and one of each taken. At least he'll get a taste of everything and it's a lot better than the bread and cheese he's pretty much been living off of for the past couple days. Z'ok's comment earns a soft chuckle as he shakes his head. "I'm rather glad I don't have to work in the Infirmary. The stink would drive me away if the blood and guts didn't." Not that he has a weak stomach for that stuff, he'd just not do well with the overall suffering the Infirmary represents in his mind.

Keelie has a quick sip of the wine; if it's a good one, she probably can't tell, but judging by her expression, she's enjoying it well enough. Or maybe it's just the pleasure of the company around her. She raises her eyebrows in agreement to M'noq of not missing living in the barracks, and tilts her head at A'kehm for his calculating look, and then blinks at Myziri for that 'thread lacing our brains out of our heads.' And then Z'ok mentions the jungle, and she smiles at him. "You should be in my wing. Many of my wingmates are dragonhealers."

The wine is passable, the best T'ral could wheedle out of Laevia. But at least there's a quantity of it. T'ral, circulating again now, claps his hands on the back of Z'ok's chair. "I find the scent of redwort is harder to dispell." He grins at J'ran, "Though, typically talk of guts is saved for dessert." Dessert, by the way, is a triumph of cooperation by #TeamLaevia and #TeamArdstelle. Roasted slices of brueleed pineable. Delicious. There might be arguments over the slices as they circulate.

It's sad and a little foreseeable that A'kehm is chasing down the servers with the meat on skewers.

"Remember my one and only visit to the infirmary?" Myziri grins at Z'ok "You were always much better suited to that place than me. But nice to see you actually come out of there. You know I won't be visiting you in there any time soon." Because seriously - remember the last time?? She takes a sip of her own wine, then reaches over to take one of the skewers from J'ran and pull off a chunk of meat with her teeth before handing it back - seriously, the way she and J'ran act, they could be an old married couple, except for obvious reasons; J'ran's prettier than Myz. She grins at T'ral too, when he comments. "I like the smell of redwort better too…much more than a numbweed boil." Yeah, she hasn't forgotten that either, T. She watches A'kehm chase after the meat skewers, but is distracted again by the pineapple…oooo.

M'noq arches a brow at Miziri's comment, though he privately agrees. It's nice to have time to socialize once in a while, especially considering how high-stress things have been lately. Lack of time off tends to do that to a group. He doesn't have much interest in the discussion of the Infirmary and such; he does his best to avoid the place. "Numbweed and redwort are the most interesting things we have to talk about? What about planning pranks on people who aren't here?" I mean, you could plan pranks on someone who is here, but it makes it more of a challenge.

"It's not for everyone," Z'ok says with a shrug, offering a small, sympathetic smile for Myziri's…er…misery. "But I like it, and Varaeth is really good at calming wounded dragons, so I feel like we belong there." That borders on personal revelation, so he busies himsel with eating meat for a minute. "Redwort's better than numbweed, for sure," he agrees. "But harder to get the stain off your skin when you're done for the day." Keelie's comment gets a nod as he takes a slug of wine. "Arianne and Lisette are in Serval, right?" He chuckles. "Varaeth may be one of the smaller browns, but hs'e never been quite as agile as your Gruffuth. Those maneuvers would drive him mad almost immediately."

Thunder rumbles, the rain starting in earnest. It's not blowing hard, so the pavilion is more or less dry. Though anyone on a booze run will get doused before they get soused. Dragons tucked hither thither and yon in the nooks and crannies of the abandoned Weyr register an unease.

J'ran mostly listens as has always been his wont when in a larger group though he seems quite interested in all of the conversations that are going on around him. He simply doesn't insert himself into any of them unless it's a word of agreement or a quick question. When Myziri steals food off his plate, his only reaction is a smile and a faint headshake at his friend's forewardness. They really could be some old married couple, couldn't they? When that thunder starts rumbling and the rain starts pattering on the pavilion roof, he sighs and nudges his friend. "We better get going or your dress will be ruined by the time we get home."

"Uh, M'noq? Wingsecond sitting right here." Myziri points to her new shiny knot, even as she winks and grins at him - there might be a 'we'll talk later' silently mouthed (because Myziri is always looking for someone who reads lips, obviously). Z'ok gets another smile and a nod, even as she munches on a piece of pineapple. "Personally, I solve the entire matter by just not getting threaded. Sahizath feels the same. These pauldrons will come in handy for that, don't you think?" She sends an admiring glance around at all of the new shoulder wear, landing on Keelie. "Your wing can't have all the healers. We need one for our own." Just in case, you know, someone gets injured when out on miss- er, sweeps. But then, thunder rumbles and another pout appears. "You're right. This fabric doesn't hold up well to rain, and it's my favorite dress." That's right, she has more than one dress. So nyah. She stands, smiling around at her wingmates and clutchsibs. "Nice to see you all. Let's not be strangers, huh?" And off she'll go on J'ran's arm, snagging one last skewer as they disappear before that rain comes down too hard.

Keelie laughs as A'kehm starts chasing waitors with skewers, bright brown eyes following his progress. She bites her lip and looks like she's considering getting up and joining him; she even shuffles a bit in her seat. Maybe it's the sensible dragon in her head, or, the conversation at hand… Z'ok's talking. She smiles at the compliment for Gruffith. "He is quick in the air," she agrees. On the ground? Not so much. At the sound of thunder, she sighs, but doesn't seem that bothered by it. She reaches under the table for M'noq's hand and sends him a look: want to go?

"We should have pie!" Keelie calls after Myziri. "I miss you."

M'noq sends a little smirk Myziri's way. "No one said anything about breaking rules, Miss Wingsecond." Though he actually would like to talk to her later, especially given her new position, to try to work something over on someone who might be close enough here to overhear. When Keelie grabs his hand, he gives her a look in return. "Yeah, maybe we should head back. I'd hate to get this fancy new pauldron wet." Joke. He's joking. "Your dress probably wouldn't be great in the rain either."

Z'ok wrinkles his nose at the thunder, and looks around at the servers, who are still trying, despite the rain. "We should see about getting these people back to the Weyr," he says, glancing after the retreating Myziri. "I can take seven or eight on Varaeth, but that leaves…" he counts, wrinkling his nose. "More than that." He doesn't wait to see if his clutchsiblings volunteer to help, already abandoning the table to begin coordinating an evacuation. Of sorts.

T'ral moves on from the table with a sketched salute, a satisfied look at the riders enjoying one annother's company company. The event came off and he really didn't have to do anything. Go Weyr Structure! Thanks Ione! He's circled back to Catryn and sits with her talking quietly, hand straying to her belly when it seems likely no one is looking. It's then that shock and anger flare through the minds of the dragons assembled all at once. He rises to his feet a roar in his throat. "THREAD! In the bowl in five." A surprise 'Fall. "Rocio," new Wingsecond. "You're sitting out, see that Catryn gets home safely." The bluerider pauses to press his forehead to Catryn's murmuring something in her ear before he striaghtens, "Myziri, with me. MOVE!"

On her way toward Sahizath and Yerenath with J'ran, Myziri isn't so far away that she doesn't hear T'ral's bellow. And she responds accordingly. All pretense of party mode is gone in an instant as she races toward an already alert Sahizath, reaching for the saddlebag hanging from the fighting straps - first thing Rocio taught her was always be prepared. Which is why her leathers are whipped on in record time and the dress ripped off right then and there to be stuffed in the bag instead. Tugging her boots up, she heads back to T'ral and awaits her orders - when forthcoming, she's off to fulfill them with alacrity, all business.

The sun falls and Lynx rises.

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