Difference between revisions of "Logs:Oh Boy"

Living Cavern, High Reaches Weyr(#350RJs)

Stalactites hang high above this enormous cavern like a jagged chandelier or an inversion of the Spires themselves, but shadows cling to them instead of light. Below lie great tables arranged in rows, each large enough to serve a fighting wing, while in the nooks and alcoves around the cavern's edge sit more sensibly-sized tables, from six- and eight-seaters down to intimate spots for just a couple of diners. The only really open space is around the kitchen entrance, smelling of food and rarely quiet, and by the nearby serving tables with their long buffet of the day's offerings.

Tapestries on the smooth walls -- some faded and others newly woven -- only slightly mute the sea of sound when a meal is in full swing, but they add cheerfulness augmented by the glowlight from wall sconces and the centerpieces of each table. Still, shadows always creep along the ceiling and into the mouths of the exits -- the myriad small hallways at one end of the cavern and, at the other, the twisting tunnel to the bowl near an array of coathooks and and hatracks -- and late at night, when the glows are allowed to dim, the chamber can seem very dark indeed.

A'son makes his entrance via the kitchen doors. When they swing open the sound of women inside making chattering noises similar to clucking hens is quite audible. "You thief! Get outta here!" Then "Can't believe you're a son of mine!" The accusations being flung from there don't send as if they carry any really weight. The bronzerider is in fact, smiling broadly and laughing as he walks out. There's one glance over his shoulder before starts to make his way, chomping on a meatroll and swigging from a mug.

It's from the opposite direction that Milani arrives, a splash of eye-catching blue, briefly backlit as she comes in from the sun-bright Bowl. "No, no it should be all right if we put them in the second storage room," she's telling the pretty blonde girl at her side, both carrying clipboards. Ahh the work of a headwoman is never done. Only the laughter from the kitchens lifts her head and for a moment, Milani is quiet, some quickly hidden emotion flickering across her face. A smile takes its place as her gaze rests on A'son, then she bends again to pick up the thread of her conversation with Alieva. "Oh right, second storage room and shift the dry goods onto the two first shelves."

Mikandros is seated at a table in an alcove not too far from the clear area around the kitchen. Lunch being long enough past that all he has is a mug of klah sat off to one side. With elbows leaning upon the table's edge, he holds a small book in his large hands, brow furrowed slightly as he reads. It's the burst of hen-like clucking from the direction of the kitchen that prompts him to lift his gaze from aged lettering. A tilt of his head follows; has he seen that man before? It's a shame that studying the bronzerider causes him to miss the pretty picture of Milani's entrance with her assistant. Not until her voice drifts across the cavern will he twist slightly in that direction. Just a glance; she seems busy.

When an older woman peeks her head out to yell one final thing, he stops to respond. Their exchange is quick and he's still grinning ear to ear. Then she's waving him away, rolling her eyes and turning back in. It's this that causes him to not notice Milani out right. He stuffs most of the meatroll into his mouth as he turns, walking towards Mikandros. The food is swallowed and he drops down into the seat across from him without waiting for invitation. "Hey." He greets, lifting the mug to his mouth.

Blue-green eyes track A'son in rapid lifts from clipboard to bronzerider and when he sits, settle there long enough to notice Mikandros, but then Milani's continue to walk in step with Alieva. "All right, all set? Good. I'll see you in a little bit." The pair part ways, with Alieva heading back to whatever it is Millie just set her to and the headwoman goes over to pour herself a glass of water then cruises with apparent casualness over to the table where bronzerider and trader-now-repairman have settled. "Good day," she greets in a light enough tone of voice, a tentative smile offered for A'son, a surer one for Mikandros. "Settling into that shift all right?" she asks of the relative newcomer, hands curled around her glass.

Erm. Okay, so -that- wasn't expected. Mikandros casts a puzzled frown across the table towards A'son. "G'day, sir," is rumbled mildly enough, as he gently shuts the book and lays it flat on the table. Either he knows where he was up to, or doesn't care, since there's no marker to save his place. "Somethin' I c'n help ye with?" Still trying to place that face - he's -sure- he's seen him somewhere! Puzzle puzzle. When Milani does step over to join them, or at least pause nearby, she receives a much more open and relaxed expression. That being his boyish, dimpling smile as he rises immediately to his feet. "G'day, miss Milani. 'M settlin' jus' fine, all thing's concidered. C'n I offer ye a seat?" And he's all ready to pull out a chair for her, too.

"Sir? Nah, I'm nothing like that." A'son sips from his mug, looking up at the tapestries hanging above them. There doesn't seem to be any real reason for why he's chosen to sit there. Maybe it's just because Mikandros was nearby and the other surrounding people were already entrenched in their own personal conversations. Lucky him. "Oh, what? I was just looking for a place to sit." As if this should be perfectly obvious. The sound of Milani's voice switches his expression from relaxed and causual to something tense. Not just his face, but the line of shoulders tightens up. It's with visible control that he slowly adjusts, smiling. "Hey."

All that gallantry from Mikandros, tight smile from A'son, but Milani soldiers on. "Oh, that's all right, thank you. I just thought I'd check on how you're doing," she tells the woodworker and gestures for him to sit back down. Her gaze flickers back to A'son and though it's still a touch hesitant she smiles at the bronzerider too. "And you, Ays? How are you -- and Nikoth?" Oh polite chit chat. La la la. And she promptly takes a sip from her glass in a vague attempt to mask the Awkward.

"What are ye like then, sir?" Mikandros asks curiously as he holds that chair for Milani. A'son might just have to get used to the monicker; he's older than Mik, and therefore gets the respectful address. But then the headwoman's refusing to sit, so the chair gets returned to its place. The young man doesn't resume his own seat, however, despite the gestured leave given to do so. Brown eyes are flickering back and forth betwixt the two, tight smiles and tense shoulders noted. It'd be wise to make his excuses and escape, most likely, but he's got that question hanging and a lady being nice and running away would just be -rude.- Twitch. "Ye look really pretty t'day miss Milani. Somethin' special goin' on?"

"I'm fine, we're fine. He's well as always." Yes, masking the awkward. The mug is lifted from the table and to his mouth. He drinks from it and then it stays there. A'son doesn't lower it, looking from the large young man to Milani. With his brand new table companion getting up, he seems a trifle out of place. But the feathers ruffled aren't ruffled enough apparently, as he remains just where he is. Only now he has to look up. Mikandros' question is answered with a simple, "Sir's not my name and I'm not anyone's boss. It's just A'son."

The awkward just amplified and for a moment, Milani's teeth catch at her lower lip, then she impulsive reaches for that chair again. "Or maybe I can take a moment to get off my feet," she says with a smile for both men, maybe hoping this means Mik can sit again. And even though he'd just pulled it out, Millie draws the chair out herself and settles. "Special? No," the headwoman says with a little shake of her head. "Thank you though. Just dressing for the weather." Her glass is set down and she folds both of her hands together, looks across the table at A'son. "Really, you should just call him A'son," she advises Mikandros. "It's perfectly respectful to do that with a rider and it'll make him happier," she keeps her tone light and picks up her glass again, gaze returning to said bronzerider over the rim like she's trying to figure out if that 'fine' is for real or not. "I'm glad to hear you're both doing well," she offers after she's swallowed.

Mikandros is left looking vaguely startled at Milani's abrupt change of mind, a helpless twitch of hands as she pulls out the chair herself. The corners of his mouth quirk slightly downwards, just for a moment, before he slowly sinks back into his own chair again. "I'll try t'remember that s- A'son." A flickering sideways glance, a brief nod of acknowledgement for the headwoman's advice. He reaches out to curl his fingers around his own mug, but doesn't lift it to join in the awkward-hiding-drinking going on. And since A'son's not asking: "How are ye t'day, miss Milani?"

A'son's eyebrows arch and he looks at her questioningly when she sits across from him. This wasn't expected. "It'll make me much happier. I'd hate to be driven into a 'Sir' induced rage and attach myself to your leg like an angry dog." It's said with the utmost seriousness until he tilts his head to the resident. Just the hint of a smile is tugging his lips, "Because you'd probably beat me pretty good. And my face is just too pretty for that type of abuse." The mug is slowly placed onto the table surface, like he's giving up his flotation device. Mikandros' prompts a question of his own, "Heard you weren't feeling well."

There's a faint look of apology sent Mikandros' way for her indecisiveness and Milani reaches out to make a little flower shape out of the ring her glass leaves behind. A'son's comical saying brings her gaze up though and this time it's a genuinely amused smile on her face. "You definitely don't want him to get attached to your leg, he's very stubborn and it'd make walking difficult," she notes with all due 'seriousness'. Her elbow comes to rest atop the table and she props her chin in her hand. "Just a few days, all better now," she tells the bronzerider though her gaze doesn't stay steady as she answers and the words are spoken a little too quickly. "It's starting to get a little busier, almost tithe time," she informs Mik. "Did you hear from your caravan leader about the furniture, by the way?"

Mikandros at least has no cause to try to conceal his honest reactions from either bronzerider or headwoman. So A'son's very-serious-really words are met with first a questioning look, followed by an easy grin. "Don't got no cause t'go beatin' on folk, s- A'son." It'll take him a while, be patient. "'Sides, m'boot leather's thick, not much damage ye could do." Gaze darting back to Milani, before he looks back to the older man, "Rangy thing like him? Nah." A joking lilt to his deep voice. An indrawn breath, a squint, "Aye. She weren't too pleased I'd write m'Da 'stead of direct t'her. But, says they'll swing by if ye c'n use th'goods. I got no idea what sorta timeline she's workin' by, though, 'cause she says it might be a couple sevens b'fore they c'n make th' time. They ain't all -that- far away." An apologetic shrug.

"I'm getting as heavy as my tooth is getting long the more years I live." A'son pats his stomach despite its distinct lack of fat. His hint of a smile is a bit bolder now. The quickness of her words are noticed near instantly. Milani is given a questioning look while he runs his fingers along the edge of the mug. "I didn't say I'd cause any really damage. I'd just be attached to you. For some that's torture enough."

That quip gets a humoring look from Milani and she reaches for her glass, has another swallow of water. There's a minute shake of her head towards the bronzerider. "Really, I'm fine, it was just a stomach bug." Literally, some might say. Her lips purse faintly at Mikandros' remark, brows furrowing too. "Oh? Hmm. I wonder why ... well, yes, the business should be good if she wants it," the headwoman says decisively, jitters a little in her chair and forces her leg to stop bouncing with a visible effort of will then grins as A'son speaks again. "Torture or extreme pleasure. One or the other," she quips back. "Some people just can't get enough."

"Ain't no way yer near's bad as me Ma," Mikandros asserts with utmost conviction to A'son final comment. Jumping to conclusions, or she really is just that scary. After a several moments of thought, he says to Milani, "Prob'ly jus' has her back up, wants t'make a point as how she's not at any Weyr or Hold's beck 'n call." Leaning back in his chair, the lad is looking slightly easier as the manner between Milani and A'son seems to be relaxing.

"Oh really? Lets see." A'son makes a lurching motion. One that makes it look like he's going to really dive out of his chair and onto the floor by Mikandros' feet. It's at the last second that he stops himself, hand going to steady himself on the table. When he pulls up, the broad grin from earlier is in place. "Glad you're feeling better." He tells her genuinely, straightening and leaning back.

Milani giggles as A'son goes a-lurching, hand lifting to cover her mouth. She has to peel it off though, to nod at Mikandros, eyes alight. "Ahh, well then you know if there's any way we can make her feel more comfortable about that, it's an invitation, not a command," she says seriously. That broad grin on the bronzerider's face brings a sweet, warm smile to the headwoman's features. "Thank you," she tells him sincerely. "Being stuck in the infirmary is always a drag."

Mikandros's reaction is immediate, standing up abruptly at A'son's lurch. One hand drops to catch his chair before it topples over backwards, his body turning into the motion of swinging it back into place so he can step away from the table. Nevermind that the bronzer was only joking, judging by that broad grin on the older man's face. Settling his hands on the chair back, he quirks a bemused smile back across the table and a shrug. Looking down at Milani, the smile grows warmer, "Prob'ly not until she meets ye, t'tell ye true, will ye be able t'put her at her ease. She's... well. She's got her ideas in her head an' they ain't like t'leave there without her seein' proof with her own eyes." Which is as close as he'll get to calling his former caravan leader paranoid and insecure.

The boy's reaction gets his grin to grow and then he's laughing. "Ha! Still got it in me." A'son leans back in his chair, watching Mikandros with amusement as he gets himself together. The warm smile on Milani's face is met with a faltering of his smile. "Well, uh. No problem. Good to know that you're not dying or anything. Even if it was a drag."

Mikandros' rising surprises Millie a little, but then she's focusing on what he's saying. "Sure, be happy to meet with her and ... maybe a meet with the Weyrwoman or the Weyrleader to set her at her ease," the headwoman continues. A'son's shift of expression brings about a little blink and Millie looks down at the table, then shakes her head vigorously. "No ... no dying," she says with a weak little laugh. "We've ... had enough of that." Fingers drum on the tabletop.

Mikandros apparently doesn't mind being laughed at. He knows when he's being a mite on the wherry-brained side, and can accept it with good humour. But apparently he's not going to stick around, as he leans down to pick up his abandoned book. There's a pause, halfway down, and there's something almost like dismay that slides behind his eyes. "That... actually prob'ly ain't th'best idea, miss Milani. Meetin' the Weyrwoman, that is." Fingers curl around the book and he straightens up, only to dip down again as he bows towards them both. "If ye'll please excuse me? Should be gettin' back t'work. Was a pleasure t'see ye, miss Milani. Nice t'meet ye, A'son."

"Ah, nice to meet you..." A'son trails off. Wait, he didn't get his name! A look is shot to Milani. "Young man!" He shakes his head in defeat and he drops his elbows onto the table. "This is why I can't be involved in public relations." There's probably some Awkward silence once that pleasent third wheel is gone. Once its gone on for a bit, he'll say, "So. Not a good idea to meet the Weyrwoman? That doesn't sound fantastic."

"Mmm," Milani says lips pressing together, maybe faintly amused even at that assessment about the Weyrwoman. "Just you know, if she needs some authority behind the meeting, beyond mine," the headwoman explains. "But can just be me to start," she says with a nod and a little wave. "You too, Mik," she replies as the woodworker seems to be heading off and A'son's exclamation and headshake draw her gaze back his way as she provides the name. "Mikandros. Idrozti trader and handyman," she tells the bronzerider in a quiet tone. As Mik departs she retires behind her glass for the duration of Awkward Silence 6000. "You know how Tiriana is."

"Mikandros. There's a lot of people coming here with long, complicated names. What happened to short, easy to pronounce names? Like in my day? There was none of this long name nonsense." A'son picks up his mug and uses it to float again. "Tiriana? I have no idea what you're talking about. She's a pleasent, intelligent young woman. The rising star of High Reaches. She'll likely lead us to great things." His tone is doleful while he watches Milani over the rim.

Grinning, Milani lifts her shoulders a little. "He says he likes to go by Mik, but then, so does T'mic. Mik and Mic," she says with a hint of humor and lifts up her glass, drains the last of it, eyes meeting his briefly. Over rim to over rim. "Mmm. And pigs might fly out of you know where, but we'll all try, right?" There's a wry little look to go along with that.

"I guess that makes it easier. Since it's shorter and T'mic lives at Ista, not here." A'son answers. He pushes back, puts the mug down. Then he's just tapping his fingers on his own arms.

"Mm, unless you know them both and you've been friends with one for years. Then it gets a little confusing." Milani goes quiet, watching the lift and drop of his fingers. "We'll get things sorted out eventually. With Tiriana," she tries next. And then quiet.

"Hmm, then maybe it would be." The finger tapping continues. "That's good. Not really much of a concern for me right now though." A'son answers, shrugging his shoulders. "Saw Leova the other day."

"No?" Milani looks up again, right at him for a moment, chews on her lip some then takes a breath, maybe a little uncertain. "How did ... that go?" she asks slowly.

"I gave her some water and I didn't poison it beforehand." A'son answers, seriously. This is an improvement, right? "No, it's not. I'm clean of all that stuff. Intrigue, politics, worries about what's going to happen next. I'm just another face in the crowd, happy to let someone else take care of the problems."

Pained briefly, Millie sucks her lip in, then lets it go. "Was it really that bad, Ays?" she asks quietly then winces visibly, maybe reminding herself not to be so familiar. What he says though draws a level gaze from her. "I ... was thinking more that you'd kind of made friends. Nothing to do with politics."

"Are we talking about the same two subjects? Or have you merged them into one?" A'son asks, eyebrows arcing. "It wasn't bad, but it wasn't fun either. Vrianth wanted to squash me like a pancake. And I was sweaty." The image being painted is probably quite odd.

Milani colors just a little and clears her throat. "The um -- water, remark. About Leova," she says a little flustered and reaches up to rub at her forehead. "And I meant, that T'mic kind of made it sound like you were friends. At Ista. So I was asking about that." Pause. "She did? Hm. She's pretty protective," the headwoman has to concede. "But a really fast flyer. Leova and Vrianth take me flying when I need to kind of ... cut loose and get my mind off of things." A breath. "Squashed and sweaty. Sounds messy." Teasing?

"I was talking about political involvement. Not T'mic." A'son responds, mouth beginning to draw into a line. He watches her demeanor turn to being flustered, "That's just Leova and it was a joke. A bad one. Dry humor." He's still sounding serious, but it's likely just an affect of being nervous. "It was. Hot day. Running."

"Oh ... right I was talking about the names, the uh," her hands lift, cross in the air, to indicate the swap and then they drop and she leans back in her chair, fidgets with a fold in her skirt. "You were really angry at her," Milani says with a shake of her head. "It's not a bad joke, just ... I'm glad it went okay. Even if Vrianth wanted to turn you into a pancake." Beat. "And I'm glad that you're /not/ a pancake. That you're fine." Beat. "Good run?"

"She's not my favorite person, not by a long shot. But," There's a helpless raise of his hands, "Don't need any enemies, either." A'son locks his hand together, wiggling his fingers together while locked in place. "Well, me too. I enjoy being three dimensional as opposed to flat. So thanks." A shrug for the last, "It was a run. You know?"

"Right. Especially not here," Milani says, and looks away out beyond the tables. "Things are complicated enough," she murmurs under her breath and her hand lifts takes up the half empty glass and presses its cooler side to her cheek. When she looks back, there's another light question asked, her eyes curious. "When did you start running? Does it help with your leg?"

"Recently. It sort of does, it gets cramped though. I think my knees are going too." A'son mentions, tapping either one idly. Then it's a tapering off of conversation again. Those legs of his are stretching out and ten he's pulling himself up and to his feet.

A little nod and her eyes are on his face again, something caught between fond and sad in her expression. "Before you know it ... you'll have that cane you're always talking about," Milani says after a moment. "And you'll be getting to that goal of grouchiest old man on Pern." She watches him up, drains the last of her water and rises hastily too.

It's while he's checking his belt and patting down his pockets that she says that. The look he directs at her when he brings his eyes up is sad, tenseness gone. At least for now. One hand stays at his side, hanging loosely. The other rises as if it to make some familiar motion, it lifts halfway and then drops down, useless. "Yeah, I will. I can shake it at all the young men. Flirt shameless with all the girls." They're just repeated, empty words. Ones he's said before.

Milani rests a hand on the tabletop, looking across at him with a smile caught between hopeful and uncertain, maybe even fearful. "Shameless," she adds with a little bob of her head, that's aiming for humorously encouraging, then she's swallowing the sudden lump in her throat and her eyes get too bright. "I should -- see about ..." she gestures vaguely, grabs the empty glass. "Make sure that Alieva --" another useless gesture and she takes a breath, lets out a single laugh and lifts her hand to wave. "I'll see you around, Ays," she says after a deep breath and turns to go.

"Always." A'son answers, not smiling. Her hand goes to the table and so does his. But she grabs the empty glass instead. His mouth opens and then closes along with his eyes. His head drops momentarily before bringing it up, he flexes his fingers and then swipes his cup up. When she says good-bye, he just nods. "Yeah, probably should. Bye, Millie." There's an attempt at smile and he shoves his free hand into his pocket, other hand tightly gripping the mug. He won't make a move to go himself, probably just stand there and watch the exit of the younger woman.

The look on his face and that word halt the headwoman's half-taken step and she looks back over her shoulder at him. Her own attempt at a smile is more successful, if a little weak, lopsided, though there's a softer something in too-bright eyes. "Always," she echoes very quietly, then turns back around to cross to the dish bin, leaves the glass there. She gets another couple of steps away towards the caverns exit when she does an about face, looking all kinds of sheepish. "Clipboard," she notes as she reaches for that, left lying on the chair beside her when she sat down earlier. "Lost without it!" trying for her usual energetic chipperness.

It's from the kitchen that Persie appears with an oversized muffin in her hands taking up the majority of her attention. She's picking the nice crispy top off of it and eating as she wanders out into the living cavern, her head tipping this way and then that way with the appearance of some sort of inner dialog, as if there is much to consider abour this muffin. When she glances up, it's Milani she sees and she gives the headwoman a crumbly wave. She doesn't seem to note the back of A'son long enough to recognize it.

A'son goes to grab the clipboard before she gets to it. If he can, he'll hand it over. "Yeah, bet your whole life is on this thing. Huh?" The smile is gone. The question polite. However it goes, if hands it to her or she just beats him to it, he'll take a step back. The too bright eyes are noticed and he breaks the gaze, maybe a poor attempt at giving Milani some sort of space. With Persie behind him, he doesn't notice her entrance for now. Oblivious to her internal dialog about the muffin.

"Thank you," Milani says sincerely, taking the clipboard from A'son. "Oh yeah, definitely, you know, my brain, right here." She tap taps at the surface of the topmost hide on the clipboard. Chipper, chipper, chipper. And yet the awkward hangs around like a bad habit. With Persie coming up behind A'son, Millie can't help but spot the greenrider when she looks up again and she smiles warmly at her. "Hi there, Persie."

"Hey," Persie returns with her fingers at her lips to both brush the crumbs away and shield any others from flying out of her mouth, since there's muffin in there too. "How are thi--." She looks at A'son with her eyes a little wider, and then back at Milani. "--ings?" There wasn't an odd pause in the middle of that word. Not at all. She puts on a bright smile for both of them. "Hi."

"...and tell him I expect to be paid tomorrow, or I'll start breaking his fingers." Who else but N'thei would think it appropriate to enter the living cavern on such a prophesy, parting company with a Glacier bluerider who looks dubious but goes trotting off nonetheless. Still dressed halfway for riding, coat slung off busily while he crosses the cavern like he's got somewhere worth being (which he probably doesn't), only changes his direction because-- maybe, just maybe, he actually did have some purpose; "Millie." One finger beckons, no thought given to the fact that she's actually in the middle of something.

Clipboard released from his temporary posession, he shoves that hand back into his pocket. The mug is still in the other hand, he drinks from it. "Should take better care of it." He tells her, a nervous rearanging of his arms taking place. Persie? The utterance of her name seems to summon an almost involuntary smile as he turns around. When he sees the greenrider, his eyebrows lift and the smile is still there. "Nice muffin." He looks ready to say more, but he breaks it off. Turning instead to that other familiar voice, N'thei. If the other man bothers to greet him in anyway, he'll nod his head. You know, in a guy way.

"Good, good," Milani says to Persie quickly and something about the way A'son smiles at the greenrider makes her fingers tighten on her clipboard. But that suspicious brightness in her eyes fades as quickly as her name spoken by the former Weyrleader as the headwoman turns in his direction. "Yes, N'thei?" turning about she summons that chipper smile again and folds the clipboard in front of her chest, arms crossed over it. Finger-beckoning draws her away by a step or two.

"Good," Persie answers Milani with a nod, looking she doesn't really intend to hang around and take up the headwoman's valuable time. She will, however, linger long enough to return A'son's smile with her own pulling impishly to one side. "Thanks." But then the smile is dead gone and it's returns is a breathless one. Milani moves away and the greenrider steps toward A'son. "Want some?" she asks, readily breaking the muffin in two. It takes all of her attention and a very serious expression to break that muffin.

Food. Whitchek is still in that age range where the adolescent male homo sapiens must consume roughly twice its body weight per day in order to continue to function, and his trajectory upon entering the living cavern is precisely in that direction. He nods in that sort of vaguely-greeting way to those he passes, even the total strangers, but gives a wide berth to the one talking about breaking fingers for obvious reasons. His only goal is a plate, and once that's in hand, enough dinner to feed a small army.

N'thei can't start making a habit of going around greeting everyone like he's a decent human being, though he does kind of glance in A'son's direction, in Persie's direction, acknowledging their existences anyway. Disapprovingly, mind you, but that's probably just because he always looks pissed about something. What he actually says to the Headwoman is of no interest for the rest of the cavern, so he keeps it on the down-low, a quiet few words. Then; "And quit holding that clipboard like it's a damn shield. Bothers me." So do boys stealing obscene amounts of food, so says the glance that chases Whitchek.

Milani moves away to N'thei and A'son watches her only briefly. Persie's there, offering some much needed relief to the situation. "Sure, do you need help?" He asks, looking at her curiously as she uses all that effort to pull it apart. It's perhaps not a serious question, since his lips pull up into a small smile. Whitchek's passing by his noted with a glance and he affords him a nod, despite being a stranger. The possibly disapproving glance from N'thei goes entirely unnoticed, since as how he's not looking at him.

Listening, the initial words purse Milani's lips and she gives the clipboard another little squeeze. "It's protection against your lecherous gaze," she claims airily though there's a thread of teasing in her voice. What he says downlow though, actually draws a slight frown and another press of her lips together. "Thank you, for letting me know," is what she says audibly though. "How's the new career-path coming along?" And for a moment there's Whitcheck sliding into view and she nods towards him. "And have you met Whitchek? He's our new resident realist. Doesn't believe in stories."

Resident what? Whitchek is focused on this whole food business. Sustenance. Necessary for life. All that. He's carrying the plate back towards an empty seat when he catches his own name and hardly anything else. "What? I what?" He stops beside the headwoman and picks a piece of bread off his plate and starts dragging it through some gravy. He at least gets that this is supposed to be an introduction, so he adds, "Hi," to the others.

"Um..." Considering that not only is A'son mostly joking, but the work of breaking a muffin should hardly need assistence, it makes very little sense for Persie to give it any thought. But apparently she does, even as her fingers work to separate the muffin into halves. "Did I interrupt something?" she asks him quietly, letting her glance slip over toward Milani and N'thei. That gaze also flicks abruptly toward Whitchek as his name is mentioned. "Ahah," Persie remarks voicelessly, to herself it seems.

N'thei's lecherous gaze could use some refining, 'cause this one? This one might be more aptly called 'do you actually believe you're funny?' All the more answer he's got for his career path are laced fingers, popped knuckles. "Whitchek?" Pairing the name to the boy, arms crossing with the jacket laid into the bend of one elbow, he gives the kid a dubious once-over. "The hell kind of name is Whitchek, son," he demands-asks right over the top of that 'hi.'

Seeing as how the other two are off several feet away, involved in some sort of conversation, A'son doesn't seem to think another thought about moving in a little closer to Persie. He hesitates before answering her question, "No, not really." He watches her muffin breaking technique, only glancing up when Whitchek's name is announcced. The demand of the other bronzerider does provoke a soft snicker. "What've you been doing today?"

That look of N'thei's is duly ignored, though the clipboard does get tucked safely under her arm. "Whitchek, this is N'thei, N'thei ..." she lets the rest trail right on off with a sideways grin and a little shake of her head. "How're you doing?" she says pleasantly to the lad. "And if you're hungry after all of that, the casserole is supposed to be really good", the headwoman notes helpfully. Over her shoulder, briefly, a little look towards A'son and Persie and then it's back to paying attention to the two right near her.

Persie inches toward A'son, and to the side a bit, so that he can be more between her and everyone else. "Everything is fine? With you?" she asks him quietly, finally handing him not one but both halves of the muffin. "I'm okay," she answers. "I think that guy is on my list. You know, the new people list, people to welcome." She looks that way again, but just for a beat.

"Hell kind of a person asks a question like that?" counters Whitchek. Maybe it's the hunger. Driven mad by the presence of food without having actually gotten to eat yet. He casts an eye back towards the buffet. "Casserole? Really?" He stuffs the bread into his mouth and chews with great deliberation. "Sorry. I should sit down first. My mother would be ashamed. I just haven't had a bite since lunchtime." He says it like that's been half a lifetime. In at least a surface nod to good manners, he sets the plate down on the nearest table.

N'thei does not have the most mobile features, no, but the very slight way he rocks back at Whitchek's answer, the way the one brow climbs speaks volumes; the answer, see, would be 'the kind of person that's got fifty pounds and five inches on Whitchek.' A second passes, a look toward Milani, a look toward A'son-- hell, a look toward Persie, even. Everyone actually heard that, correct? And it's a bemused, "Come again?" Another remark that might be meant for him alone follows, but Milani's probably the only one near enough to get the brunt of it.

N'thei mutters to Milani, "... a... sixteen... fucking... I..."

"I'm good. Just, talked with Milani before you got here. Casual, awkward. You know." As if Persie should have some inexplicable understanding of the exact situation that just occured. As the greenrider inches closer, he does the same, invading her personal space quite thoroughly. Then she's handing him all those muffin pieces. When she mentions that Whitchek might be on her person to meet list, he looks up. This lets him catch on to the exchange between bronzerider and new resident. A sharp glance goes towards N'thei and quickly he's offering the other an escape, "Hey, kid. Come on over here, Persie here wants to say hello."

"Really, the casserole," Milani says brightly to Whitchek and shoots N'thei a sidelong look. "You enjoy that meal there, Whitchek," she says determinedly. "I don't really think it's got anything to do with that," she says for that cuss-laden muttering of N'thei's. Her eyes lift beyond to A'son and she smiles just a little, nodding. "A'son's right though, Persie's one of our welcomers," she notes for the young man's benefit.

It's hard to tell if that makes Whitchek gulp, since he's taken another bite and swallowing is, well, sort of required at that point before answering. The madness is evidently fading by the moment, though there's still enough of that teenage invincibility left to keep him from fleeing outright. He looks N'thei up and down. An excuse is exactly what he needs, and some unseen force provides one. Well, unseen until Milani points A'son and Persie out. "Right. Right. Nice to meet you," he says extremely hastily to N'thei, and snags the plate and ducks around the table in the direction of the welcomer.

Persie does seem to understand 'casual and awkward', or at least she nods quickly and brushes the crumbs off her hands. But when A'son calls out to Whitchek and draws all that attention, the greenrider's eyes get wide. "I didn't mean I had to meet him right away," Persie tells A'son through her teeth. She is, smiling though, when she peeks around the bronzerider, using him as something of a shield as she waves to Whitchek. "Hi."

Convinced; "Beg to differ," with Milani. Not much more volume than the mutter for that, either. Looked up-and-down, N'thei's still got the lifted brow at the end, yes? Then Whitchek's taking up with the welcome-wagon, and N'thei opens his fingers vaguely in A'son's general, muffin-eating direction to say with fraternal tolerance, "Ever de-fusing things, brother. No wonder you fight like a damn girl." Because beating up teenage boys in the living cavern is exactly the way to get to be tough. They're all sort of scattered-- A'son and Persie over there, Whitchek approaching them, N'thei and Milani sort of standing around in roughly the same general vicinity.

Again: "Mm," Milani seems to accept the difference of opinion with relative ease. The further comment from N'thei towards A'son though sees her giving her clipboard a little heft upwards. "I have to deal with this though. I'll see you later, N'thei," she says with a little smile for the very tall bronzerider. There's a little peek around and she nods as she sees Whitcheck re-settling, then the headwoman turns a little wiggle of fingers to head out.

Vaan comes in his hair still dripping after being washed. He walks up to the buffet table and puts some rolls and some roast wherry on a plate. He see's a group of people he starts walking up to them and notices Whitchek. He gives a wave to whitchek. " How are you this evening Whitchek." He looks at the group of people." Good evening." He gives them a polite smile.

"It's the story of my life." A'son calls back to him, lips quirking into something of a smile. Of course, Persie is then saying things to him through her teeth. He winces apologetically, "He was going to get his ass beat." The bronzerider mutters back, dropping his head down so he can say it in her ear. Juggling the muffin halves in one hand, he drops his other to touch Persie reassuringly. On the lower back. It's brief and then he's putting the baked good in his mouth. Holding the other up to her. "Mmm?"

It's theoretically possible that Whitchek could hold his own. It's also probably better that it remain a theory. It's a good thing A'son keeps his volume down, because another comment in that direction would end up making this an issue of honor for a nineteen-Turn-old... which would be a very bad thing. "Hey," he says to Vaan with a nod to the familiar face, and then he gives a tentative smile to Persie, as though afraid that actually smiling at her full-on might send her running. "'Lo there." This time, he keeps the plate in hand, eating from it between greetings; it might not be safe, left on a table all alone. This living cavern is an unexpectedly dangerous place.

Persie lifts her cheek as A'son murmurs in her ear, his words brightening her smile. "Well, that's very sweet of you," she answers with a laugh. Her teeth do find her lip, though, when she glances toward the source of that beating from which the boy's been saved. She's just about to turn her attention wholly to Whitchek when instead A'son offer the muffin back. She hesitates and just breaks a little piece off to pop into her mouth. Her hand is over her lips as she tries to chew quickly enough to say, "Hi. I'm Persie." Wait, wait just one more second, almost done chewing... -Then- she offers him that hand and a great big sheepish grin.

"Likely. Seems to happen that way," is N'thei's farewell to Milani, a hard-to-gauge look following her on her clipboarding way. "Sad story, that. Best I put you out of your misery, neh?" he answer back to A'son, something... something about the three of holding his attention a spare moment before he turns toward the much-frequented buffet table. Because people don't tend to just wander up and say good-evening to him, he takes it as green that Vaan is talking to someone else, goes on about the brief business of deciding there's nothing out here worth eating.

Vaan he takes a seat at the table putting the plate on the table. He gives A'son and the other's around the table a grin. " I'm Vaan. I hope you don't mind me asking you all of you are?" He sticks a roll in his mouth. He finishes the roll. He gives a small laugh " Whitchek why are you still holding your plate?"

Whitchek shakes the offered hand with slightly too much gusto, the sort of solid squeeze not usually offered to girls--or women a decade his senior either. "Nice to meet you," he says. As opposed to the meeting of some other people, is unspoken. He keeps shooting little glances back at N'thei, keeping an eye on just where he is. The young man's shoulders hunch a little over his plate, although it's looking emptier by the moment, more than is warranted by the number of bites he seems to be taking. Maybe teenage boys have figured out how to consume by osmosis, now. He looks down at it suspiciously and then over at Vaan. "Well, guy's gotta eat." Explaining would require recognizing certain instinctive drives vis a vis food and the presence of nearby predators.

A'son looks down now at the two big pieces of muffin that are in his possession. One he bit into, the other, Persie broke a chunk off. He quickly devours the rest of it. "Sorry, like being alive." He calls back over as N'thei is walking off to the tables. Something about the way the greenrider introduces herself results in another strange, large smile from him. When Vaan approaches, he gives the young man a small wave of his hand. "Evening. And, take a seat if you want?" The bronzerider tells him, giving the table he's not sitting at a glance.

Persie doesn't seem to mind the extra gusto in that shake; she goes right along with it, exagerating the motion of her arm, maybe there was even a bounce of her knees just at the end there. "So... you're new?" she asks Whitchek. "If you're the guy on my list, you're supposed to be new. Or rather, if you're new, then you're supposed to be a guy my list. I don't know if it necessarily works..." Pause for her to follow Whitchek's glance toward N'thei. "...The other way." She keeps herself rather close to A'son's side even now and Vaan gets a smile and a little twiddling wave.

Relax, kids. N'thei's busy realizing there's nothing out here he wants to eat, which necessitates that he looks around for someone to blame about this. As the headwoman's gone wandering off... he's on his way along to the kitchen, and of course has to stop at the end of the relevant table, knuckles thumping the corner of it. "What, don't even merit an invite to social hour?" To accuse A'son or Persie, take your pick, he gives the both of them a look. "Quit the twitchy looks, son, doesn't sell 'stands up to the big dogs' so well," is what's likely to be his parting remark, put toward Whitchek. Paternal advice, that.

Vaan looks at his plate his rolls makeing a mouth and nose and his roast wherry two eye's. He gives his food a small smile at the food face and turns to look at persie as she waves at him. He look's at A'son " Wait I have met you before it was on my first day here. it was in snowasis. how have you been?" He takes a bite out of one of the rolls that makes the face. He looks at Whitchek " How have you been Whitchek." gives persie a small wave back.

"Wouldn't have accepted it anyway." A'son replies, glancing at N'thei when he rapping his knuckles along on the table. "Figured you'd invite yourself." Smile turns smirk as he watches the other rider. The rattling on of Persie's words are almost entirely missed and he mostly just keeps himself near to her. Absently he holds up that muffin from before, offering it out. Vaan is speaking to him again and he grins, "Yeah, you have. I've been good. Your name is Va-" He searches for it. Such a simple name. Then he finds it, "Vaan?"

"Been through a couple changes of socks since I got here," Whitchek tells Persie, "but not so many as to be settled in, so I guess that's me." He pauses. "What exactly is this list for?" Visions of all those Holder tales, perhaps. The stuff that once in human history would have been reserved for fabled Satanists, but now unfortunately there aren't any of them, so somebody has to be accused of wanton behavior. "I'm fi--" he starts to answer Vaan. The word was probably "fine". But then, there's N'thei. Whitchek doesn't quite flinch. Well, okay, he does, but just a teensy one. Very small, anyway. Hardly noticeable. Hopefully not noticeable. He does manage to set down the plate, very gently. "Now, you look here," he says, and the little bit of rural accent that was always there suddenly gets very audible. "You look here. You're just like every other oversized malcontent on Pern. I don't know who died and made you--" Beat. "--whoever it is you think you are," he finishes the sentence lamely. It worked in Holds. It really did. "I don't know that. But whatever you're trying to pull, it's not gonna work."

"There are muffins," Persie says to N'thei. "Just out of the oven." She lifts a forefinger toward the kitchens and then, with a twitch in her rather wide-eyed expression, toward the piece of muffin that A'son holds out. As if N'thei would eat that. Her eyes rest on him for just a moment longer before she turns a fresh smile to Whitcheck. "The list is of new people. So that I know who to be on the look out for so I can be... welcoming. So welcome!" But then Whitchek goes off and there's only a beat of Persie looking flabberghasted before she just looks... mad. "Hey--" She all but barks it at the kid and looks very much like she might like to have other remonstrances for him, but she's not very practiced at this sort of thing.

N'thei doesn't argue the point with A'son specifically, just twitters his fingers a little dismissively and points out, "Would have liked the opportunity to say no." But he's got a purpose, informing someone about the state of the buffet table. Ah, but you-look-here, and he does, turns, back to the arms folded, even leans forward a little like he's hanging from every last one of Whitchek's words. Mention should be made of the fact that, originally he actually seemed to be enjoying the start of the kid's tirade, but then it's 'who died and made you...' "Let's take a walk, you and me." With every intention of collaring his new friend and 'helping' him out of his chair and on to his feet.

It's at Persie's side that A'son had been staying, letting the greenrider hide out next to him. He was happy with that. Then Whitchek is opening his mouth again and N'thei is getting ready to use his hands again. That muffin that he's got? He practically shoves it on Persie. The older of the two bronzerider's is then decidely stepping in between N'thei and the new kid in town. Getting in the bigger man's path is probably not his best move, but obviously one he seems used to. De-fusing as always. "Look brother, it's going to be you and me taking a walk. And I really don't need you to beat me to a pulp again. So how about you leave off the dumb country kid?"

Vaan looks at A'son and nods his mouth still full of roll. He shallows the roll " yes my name is Vaan. It's good to hear you're doing well. He turns and looks at Persie. " Then I should be on that list. I am pretty new to the weyr and what do you mean by welcoming? Should not everyone be welcoming". He looks at the muffin. " Are you going to eat they or can I have it"? he stuffs some wherry in his mouth and tries to smile kindly at them but ends looking goofy.

If Whitchek were the least bit informed on current events, or politics, or any of that business, if anybody he'd ever known had cared the least bit what went on with all the dragon-y folks up there in the Reaches enough to pay attention, he might realize at this point that he's just stuck his foot in his mouth. He does seem to get a vague sense of his mistake, but not just why it was one. And principle insists that one does not back down from righteous indignance. "I will not," he insists, but his voice cracks at the end there in a way it certainly didn't before. "I will not," he tries again, a little more steady, but he doesn't seem to have any idea what else to say, except to A'son: "Thank you kindly, but I don't need your help nor your opinions as to my upbringing." How to win friends and influence people the Whitchek way.

It's probably good that A'son is so quick to shove that remainder of muffin at Persie, since it looked for a moment like she was ready to jump in between N'thei and Whitchek herself. As it is, the muffin gets tossed on the table even before she realizes that Vaan's asked for it. And she blinks at him, thoroughly distracted as she is by the fight breaking out just feet from his head. "Yeah." That's her unusually brief answer. But with another aghast look when she hears Whitchek's response, she steps in to reach a hand for N'thei's sleeve. "N'thei, please," she begs.

N'thei doesn't even make it to the point of arguing with A'son about the interference before Whitchek's doing it for him, and it's all he needs to do to tilt one palm toward the kid. "Little bastard doesn't want your help, does he. So why don't you." He kind of clasps A'son's shoulder there, real brotherly affection. "Sit down and eat that muffin. And I'll work on the dumb-country-kid's education, neh?" What? Whitchek had some sort of problem with the term of endearment? "Persie. Darling. For your sake, we'll take it outside, how's that." Particularly generous~

"Then start acting like someone brought you up right. And not like someone raised you to live your life in a pumpkin patch." A'son shoots over his shoulder. "In other words, shut up." Wait, is this the guy he's defending? N'thei is then clasping him on the shoulder, informing him to sit down. "Persie, sit down." There's none of the lightness or gentle manner he'd normally use when talking to her. All serious. He's very calmly removing the bigger man's hand from his shoulder. It seems like a completely innocent action, his expression blank and neutral. Until of course, he takes that hard and definitive swing to N'thei's face. Seems he's not interested in waiting to go outside.

Vaan he stares at Persie and started to put the clues together after all he is pretty bright. "You have a list of new people Because there is an egg heavy queen right? It's a search list". He feels pretty proud for guessing the reason for the list. He looks at A'son as he goes to punch N'thei. He pushes his plate toward the middle of the table to have his fist's ready if the fight spills over toward's him. He tries his best to stay calm and he is doing a good job. Looking at the fight he just sits there watching and being careful for a person coming towards him.

For a moment there, Whitchek might have caved. But then there's A'son. This leaves Whitchek a little baffled. One-on-one is a dynamic he instinctively understands. Mano a mano. Sure. Only now he's being insulted from two sides... but one of those people is taking a swing at the other. He can perhaps be forgiven for taking a step back away and sputtering a bit rather than coming up with anything useful to say. Or do. "I should act like I was brought up right? Me?" is all he can manage to ask, staring with an expression that approximates horror. Not that he wouldn't have done it himself, perhaps, given an opportunity, but probably not for a stranger. Okay, well, probably not period.

There's another moment of Persie looking all wide-eyed and tongue-tied when both of the bronzeriders brush her off. And then her expression goes firm as she looks at all these idiots involved. So what does Persie do? She climbs up on top of the table, standing with her sandaled feet in front of Whitchek. She takes his plate, food bits and all, and she heaves it at the floor to smash loudly. Are they all looking at her yet? Because if not, count on her to now begin stamping her foot and making all the plates on the table clatter.

"You stupid c--" C-word. Yes. The beginning of it anyway, since that's as far as N'thei can pronounce before he gets punched in the face. Fortunately, he's not really interested in punching A'son back, so-- in the middle of a bloody nose-- his intent is just to catch the swinging-fist, the forearm to which it's attached and wrench it on around behind A'son's back. His unoccupied hand points a very stern finger at Whitchek, /not/ playing; "You best fucking shut it, boy, or--" Or someone's going to smash a plate, apparently. At least it relaxes his 'could break your arm if it comes to that' pull on A'son's arm and the shoulder it's attached to, so good job.

Vaan makes a very loud sigh when Persie's stomping on the table flips over his plate. " Hey! That was my snack." He frowns at Persie then looks at A'son and N'thei. " Could you all stop fighting look were it's getting you no where. But I losing my snack." He slowly stands up from the table. He looks at N'thei "If you really want to take your anger out hit me." He stands there his hands at his sides. His face is calm but his eyes show that he wants this fight over and done with and he's more then willing to take a lump or two if it will stop the fighting.

Yes, having ones arm wrenched is not a good feeling. A'son makes a strangled noise as he's twisted by N'thei, who can easily overpower him eight times out of ten. Thankfully (or not), he's got another arm. As he's being yanked, he aims to land a solid elbow into his friend's stomach as he basically tries to quickly and forcefully wiggle his arm out of his manly hand grasp. He actually stops moving entirely when a plate comes crashing down to the floor in front of him. "Persie what thet -fuck- are you doing?" He asks, looking up at the greenrider on the table with big, round eyes. He's obviously puzzled. "You too, shut /up/. What the hell is wrong with these fucking kids." The last sentence is a harsh mutter, probably only N'thei can hear.

"Hey!" Whitchek seems to only get more horrified as the rest of his dinner ends up destroyed. This is why it needed defending, obviously. Innocent casualty. But it's not enough to keep him from glaring at N'thei. "Or what?" he challenges. "You're going to be even more rude and... and violent? Because you're entitled to be a thug?" He's still playing on principle here. There's a certain glow of moral rectitude about him. Or at least he imagines it's there. "So what's the plan here? Break my face, make yourself feel better? Explain how badly put-upon all you damned dragonwo--riders are up here that the rest of Pern just wouldn't understand how hard it is?" Brain kicks in just in time to keep that from getting worse than it was. Barely.

Now that she's got a bit of attention, Persie doesn't look like she quite knows what to do with it other than stand there on the table and tremble. It takes a second for her words to break out. "You two are fighting each other over this dumb kid. He's just a dumb kid!" No hard feelings, Whitchek. "N'thei, go," she orders him (like that will work) with a swift and straight arm pointing toward the bowl. Vaan gets pointed at too, "Don't you egg them on. And there are no search lists. Dragons search people." She just has to slip that in there, because she did hear his comment. And sadly, A'son doesn't get any orders, because when Whitchek goes mouthing off still, she aims an slap for the poor kid's face, and not a friendly sort, either.

N'thei takes his beating like a man, elbow-in-stomach isn't his favorite thing but he only has the one cough to meet it, one cut-it-out yank in response before all attention's on plate-throwing greenriders. It's all well and good for A'son and N'thei to beat on each other, but the slapping is a little arresting. "What the-- it's all well and good for /her/ to hit people? How's that fair." A shove releases A'son, an indignant one, and he looks justifiably annoyed at being denied the privilege-- nay, the /right/ of punching someone in the face. Swiping his nose with his thumb, aiming to wipe some bloody snot on A'son's sleeve, he starts off to the bowl, forgetting all about the kitchens now.

For a moment, perhaps in the shock and tension, Whitchek's first response to the sudden pain of a slap in the face is exactly how he'd have responded to a similar act of aggression from, say, one of the two who have just been establishing a monopoly on the aggression thing. Which is to say, he comes about a hair's breadth from laying hands on Persie. He realizes just soon enough to stop himself, and then takes several shocked steps backwards. "What--" he starts, and then stops. "I--" he starts... and then stops.

He's a big guy and the indignant shove forces him forward pretty good. A'son's hands land on the table and he manages to brace himself and not fall face forward into whatever food is left there. When he looks up, he catches the sight of Persie slapping Whitchek. "What the /hell/." Is his only response, though he does look over his shoulder to watch N'thei's exit. Hey there's bloody snot on his sleeve! Jerk! But then, "Bye, N'thei! See you tomorrow at poker!" Pushing himself up, he moves his yanked arm around apparently trying to get it properly back in alignment. That subsequent turning to watch N'thei, means he misses Whitchek almost lay his hands on Persie. Which is probably a good thing for the poor kid.

Vaan he looks at Persie " I just finished makeing a face with my food now it's ruined." He seems to miss the food more then he cared about the fighting. " good thing the food tastes so good or I would just go to bed." He looks a her with a frown on his face. Realizeing he should shut up. " well I am new I don't know that much about dragon's I thought there was a list thanks for correcting me." He's trying to stay calm but the frenzyed energy got him eyeling everyone.

"Better," Persie says of Whitchek's stammer; it's much preferable to his mouthing off. And though her face is still remarkably stern, her skinny limbs are visibly shaking. By the time she looks up, N'thei is already heading for the bowl and so the greenrider gets to exhale. She holds a hand out toward A'son to help her down as the anger is already starting to wear off and her shaking makes the prospect of getting off the table a duanting one. "Take me home," she tells him.

N'thei waves a dismissal over his shoulder at A'son-- yes, yes, see him at poker, kiss and make up and all.

Better or not, Whitchek is obviously shaken and can't seem to quite compose another sentence after that. Where he couldn't exactly seem to flee from N'thei even under threat of whatever exactly it was he was being threatened with, this is another story. He takes a few more steps backwards, nearly runs into a table, and then turns to depart at speed for the lower caverns.

He shakes his arm out one more time, then puts both hands out help take Persie off of the table. Whatever A'son's expression was before, now it's just want of absolute regret. He's not even looking at either one of the two teenagers while he takes her hands. Whenever she gets down he's saying, "Yes, I'm sorry..." Then attempts to hug her before leading both of them out to the bowl. Vaan and Whitchek (the guy this whole thing was about) isn't even given a second glance before he leaves.

Vaan stands there realizeing he's alone. He walks up to the buffet table. " Ah now I have to start again!" He just talking to himself. He gets another plate full and sits at a different table and starts to eat again. He mumbles to himself " Wish people didn't spill my food." he starts to make the face again. when he finishes he eats the food after he puts the plate away he walks off towards the caverns.

Persie lets A'son help her down, and trembles through that hug, clinging to him a bit as he starts to draw her away. But unlike A'son, she does look back at the scene, the broken plate and ruined dinners and Whitchek running away. Then she turns her face into A'son shoulder as they head for the bowl.