Rainwater is a blessed thing for arid country, yet often paired with the turbulence of a charged atmosphere and violent thunderstorms. Anyone with an excuse to be indoors has found one or made one up, Th'bek's being his daily pilgrimmage for food. Often getting one good meal a day in the evenings, Arroyo's wingleader is gorging like a gold about to rise to mate. He takes up one chair at the designated wing table, but three plates and two cups, each a different beverage. A brown and green firelizard vie for an interest in this spread, so far their human only giving them dirty looks.

Chelsa enters from the outside, soaked through from the storm. Sure, everyone loves the rain in the desert, until they're the ones that get caught out in it. She hangs her riding jacket on the back of a chair at the Arroyo wing table and makes a show of wringing water out of her hair, today pulled back in a braid. "Seriously, no one gave me any notice that it was going to rain today. This is almost enough to make me miss the sandstorms." Yeah, not really.

The woman's voice Th'bek hears pings his auditory canals, but he isn't quite in a position to concoct a reply with the quantity of baked goods inside his mouth. He chases the cold roll down with some watery wine, pauses, then spins his head to track the source as Chelsa. "What, you can't feel 'em coming in your skin yet?" Picking at the young woman's non-Igen origins. Th'bek isn't cruel, in fact, his chief feeling at the moment is hunger. "Can dry off here if you want," chomping down on a thin strip of meat.

"Ah, thank you," Chelsa says and flops down on a chair… a different one from the one her jacket is hanging on. Between the two of them, it looks like a big party is happening at the table. "How long do I have to be here before I get this tingling weather-sense?" Hopefully you didn't want that cookie dangling at the edge of one of the plates, because she totes just nabs it and starts munching.

In his feeding frenzy, Th'bek doesn't see Chelsa's initial creep up to his cookie. It's after he's placed the wine back down does he see her arm retracting and what's his, now hers. "You're lucky I didn't bite into that one already." Because that's how he preserves all his food from being eaten by opportunists. Except firelizards haven't those scruples. Valmai and Iscah are trained to be polite about their similarly starving status, looking like gaunt and silent vultures following the brownrider's movements with their faceted eyes and heads. A kitchen server comes to deliver some scrap cuttings in a shallow bowl. Th'bek thanks her and relocates it to a bench for the firelizards to feed themselves. "Mmhm, I think it's plus or minus five Turns. Some catch on sooner." Grin then he pursues some rivergrains with gusto. "What're you going to do in your off time?" Because he likes to know his riders' hobbies!

Chelsa gets extra enjoyment out of the cookie because it's stolen, just so you know. "Well, I'm lucky you didn't secretly lick everything on the plate. At least I would have seen if you'd taken a bite out of it." She gets distracted by watching the firelizards begin their feast for a moment before she turns back and gives him a shocked look. "Five turns? That's ages." She gives an overly dramatic sigh. "Ah well. I guess the time will roll along soon enough." A hum at his question. "Well, usually I work on a sewing project, but right now Kuramaeth and I are having a 'discussion' about what's appropriate decorations for riding straps." Eyeroll. "How about you? You have off time too, don't you?" Even wingleaders must get some time off.

Th'bek rides his forearms just slightly up on the table, lobbing a mock-serious look at his wingmate. "And who says I didn't?" He didn't, but the act may not be totally above him should he have a food item he particularly covets. His stare endures for a full three seconds before he makes himself laugh and go back to eating. "Ages? Kuramaeth is nearing three Turns already and you had to have been in Igen at least for some months before Search, right?" He's pulling at strings because he really is making the five Turn ordeal completely up. Sewing projects, while finishing his rivergrains, are common enough, but he explores these straps accoutrements. "And what sorta conclusions have you reached?" Clearing his throat while deciding what to eat next, "I'm filling the hole in my middle then I think I'll check on my sister and brother, just little things fostered outside of the Weyr." Zeyta and F'dan's twins.

Chelsa pauses mid-chew, thinking about Th'bek's comment. "Well, if you did lick it, it didn't hurt the flavoring any," she says, then pops the rest of the cookie into her mouth. "Three Turns? Have I been here three Turns already? I guess I have, at least." She loses track of time. No wonder she has trouble keeping track of the weather. "Well, Kuramaeth wants all kinds of sparkly things attached to the straps, and I tell her I'm worried about compromising the structural integrity, so she says I should just put the decorated straps on top the functional straps, and I tell her, exactly how much time do you think I have?" Another eyeroll. So, no conclusions, just a stalemate. "Aw, that's great you're going to see family. They're very young?"

For all of the supposition he may have pre-licked his food, the brownrider can only commit to a firm round of smiles and hummed laughter. "Not quite seven, but they know about half of what I do already and they aren't even half my age. I've got to step it up." Wiping his mouth, a courtesy gesture only as he's far from finished eating, Rev sees what's left of the small quantity of sheepsmilk in his cup. Special order. "Sparkly," trying to think of items that yield that characteristic, "the inner lining of some shells are pretty fetching, enough that people make jewelry out of it. Nothing I'd buy though." In case Chelsa suspected it.

Chelsa gives a little sigh. "Seven, huh? They probably already have their Igen weather sense, don't they?" If Th'bek is distracted, though, she'll reach out and snag a savory bun from one of the plates. Clearly she isn't that concerned about whether or not he has licked anything. "Not you too!" she protests in horror. "The last thing I need to worry about is attaching ten thousand bits of anything to leather that's supposed to keep me safe. And then keeping all those bits still attached, because they're going to start falling off almost immediately. I've already paid more than I care to for specially made buckles and dyed leather."

Eating really isn't compatible with conversation, at least not right now, with Chelsa. At her fatalistic reaction to his siblings' weather sense, he needs to exhale a laugh, but has to keep his mouth close and the half-chewed food inside. In response, he sort of blurts, then coughs, then solves everything with a quick drink. "Can't put anything past you, can I? Aye, they're too smart for their own good." What else would one hope to expect from spawn of Zeyta. "Hey now, I only made the commendation without any bias. But if you want my bias, I hate trinkets and paraphernalia so you wouldn't see me tying one thing to my straps, leathers, or boots, never mind one-hundred."

Chelsa mulls over the children's weather expertise for a moment. "Maybe I should have kids teach me, if they're so smart. But then I'd have to keep them nearby, so they could tell me when I'm supposed to be feeling something." Maybe this isn't such a good idea after all. "I don't mind a few trinkets, though often they aren't practical. Unless you're just using interesting buttons instead of jewelry or something. Mostly, no one wants weird bumps and stuff under their jacket when they're fighting Thread."

Th'bek follows the tail end of Chelsa's conversation with his eyes, before inputting smartly, "just make sure they're at least five Turns old." He refrains from suggestion Chelsa tie a kid among Kuramaeth's straps to solve the problem of weather forecasting and the green dragon's attraction to strap accessories. Three-quarters of the way done, Th'bek stacks two empty plates on top of one another to consolidate room. "That's right, I forgot you were a weaver before Impressing. You and Krias must have a lot to talk about. Or maybe you're rivals?" Krias, weyrmate to Arroyo rider S'ror, is a mighty fine tanner who guest stars in Last Call to take commissions on riding leathers, gloves, and other rider trappings.

Chelsa sticks out her tongue at her wingleader. Very professional. "What? I was just going to borrow your brother and sister!" Not that she would be particularly good at keeping an eye on them, but it still might be fun. "Oh, Krias? Honestly, my leatherworking skill is nowhere near as good. I still work mostly with fabric, and thank goodness we all still wear that." Then she sighs. "I wonder if I could find something small that satisfy Kuramaeth's need for decoration. Honestly, she has been impossible to please lately." Or is that always?

Th'bek taps his mouth with a finger pad. "Zeyta might have something to say about that," which is watered-down Latin for don't poke the beast. "I don't want to hear about dragons being abnormal 'lately'. It makes my mind wander. You should seek out a dragonhealer's opinion in case it could be tied to her health." A touch paranoid perhaps, but he holds his wing's dragons dear. "I think I'm finally full." There's minor rivergrain residue on his plate and he's deadset on not wasting it.

Chelsa doesn't press the idea about the kids. She'll just have to struggle along with her own lacking Igen weather sense. Th'bek's suggestion for a healer makes Chelsa drop her barely nibbled-on bun to the table. "What? You think she's really sick?" A frown. "Well, that would explain…." She breaks off, comment edited for present company. "But I'm sure she would say something, wouldn't she? I mean, she will complain about a thousand other things, with even less cause." A sigh of resolve, then she smacks her palm down on the table and stands. "I have to go. Thank you for sharing your meal with me. Even if you did probably lick all the good stuff."

With a last thrust into his mouth, Th'bek effectively ate enough for two people or five small children. He's leaning back, hands on his abdomen as if holding it altogether. "No, but dragons are sometimes fickle beasts and dragonhealers have a lot of experience with… ughnn, I ate too much." Totally breaking the dragon health stride. "Anytime, Chelsa," all too glad to ingest and converse, "keep me abreast."

Chelsa tries to follow Th'bek's advice about the dragonhealers, but then he gets sidetracked, and she starts feeling guilty about not stealing more of his food. "Yessir. Safe travels," she adds, remembering he was going to see his siblings. Aren't you supposed to wait half a candlemark after eating before flying adragonback? But she keeps those thoughts to herself, as she grabs her riding jacket and runs back out into the rain.