Difference between revisions of "Logs:Lunchtime Ruckus"

Living Cavern, High Reaches Weyr

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.

Lunch smells waft through the populated living cavern, as well as those of the residents crowding it to stack plates-- a usual endeavor for the Weyr's afternoon-- speckled just here and there with changes. In the warm sun before the evening's chill, some have taken their meals to the outdoors, preferring to sap up what they can. Those less used to the already declining temperatures prefer the indoors, despite that it's slightly more crowded what with the slow filter on candidates; today, there are a handful of new, but not white-knotted faces, gathered together in line like a tour group. Women of varying ages, chattering low, and one very uncomfortable looking adolescent boy. Across the alley of cavern, at the nearest table, a wing of riders take their lunch together. Elbowing, stage-whispering, and friendly jostles accompany constant looks at the females.

Escape from the laundry! Hooray! Damaris is looking a little worn down when she makes her way into the cavern, a ghost of a shadow beneath her eyes. Yaaawn, into an elbow. This whole working hard thing, she's really not used to it. She promptly moves over to collect herself a plate of food, her eyes dancing around from table to table as she takes all the faces in, to find a likely spot where she can squirrel herself away to eat and hopefully not be drug off to work again. On the bright side, this is food she just gets to eat, doesn't have to prepare, and doesn't have to clean up after. So the meal is likely to be enjoyed quite a bit more.

With warm bodies and even warmer food filling the cavern, Azaylia is able to cope with just her usual clothes and a baby blue scarf. When is she ever not wearing it these days? There's a subconscious, though bright smile set on the young woman's face as she weaves through the cavern towards the food. A tray, meant to serve several people at once with ease has three plates placed atop it, each with generous helpings. The line of unfamiliar faces get a glance as she passes them by, smile still worn and unintentionally welcoming before she finds a seat. Damaris is glanced at, perhaps given a nod of preemptive apology for what she's about to witness; Azaylia feeding.

"One of those for me, sweetheart?" heckles a-- half-confused-- male voice as Azaylia passes by with what cannot be a single serving. He's promptly told to "shove it" by his fellow next to him before they get themselves into line. Of the riders still eyeing the caverns, a brown-haired youth swerves above the shoulders of his taller teammates to try and catch Damaris' eye in what he may wish is a subtle fashion, but about which he is entirely wrong. The empty seat he forces his friend to give up causes her to roll her eyes and move off to plop down next to Azaylia instead, her nose nearly inside the entire depth of the bowl she's eating out of.

Starting to head in Azaylia's direction, Damaris is caught by the not-subtle attention-grabbing fellow. She pauses briefly and then shrugs her shoulders, turning instead to head that way and slide down into the newly vacated seat. "Thanks," she says. "I think." A little impish smile, and she's glancing to his knot to try and puzzle out his wing. The candidate's smile is friendly enough, though it's twinged with a little touch of something tired. "I am so glad to be off of my feet," she says.

"Uhm. No?" Is the squeak Azaylia offers to the boy, confident steps instantly dissolving into a self-conscious shuffle. It'll slow her progress to a table, but she gets there eventually. Damaris is given the confused glance of an abandoned canine, though the young woman may not realize her own expression as she sits down. Food is a marvelous distraction, pulling the first plate closer as the candidate begins to shovel large (somewhat polite) forkfuls into her mouth. The woman next to her earns a glance, but hard work makes for a hearty appetite, seeming to recover from her heckler induced fright from earlier.

Victory lights up the brown-haired young man's face; he isn't handsome, but the smile has a charm to it. "Can be tough in the caverns at feeding time," he laments, giving his noted knot a tap of several fingers, "R'yin, of blue Unnerth. I think I've seen you around a bit, candidate." Infused with some sort of meaning, as yet undetermined. He seems to have finished his food a while ago, so awkwardly has none to look at but hers.

Beside Azaylia, the wingrider continues to ambiguously shovel food into her mouth from as close as she can get it. When the bowl drops with a loud clunk on the table, she runs a jacketed arm under her nose-- catching her mouth, too, for double-purposed cleaning: handy!-- and rolls ravished eyes on Azaylia's portions, deemed remarkably closer than the line she knows is forming at the buffet. The large fork portions are noted second, and the white knot on Azaylia third. "Oh, hey, candidate," she jerks her chin up to indicate who she means, as if there could be anyone else. "Give a rider a meatbun."

"Nice to meet you, R'yin," Damaris replies easily, her attention shifting some away from him and her plate of food so that she can keep an eye on Azaylia and her conversation partner. Hmm. "I'm Damaris. You've probably seen me around; I've been here for a few years. Used to work in the kitchens." Given he's eying her plate, it's nudged over in his direction, like go ahead help yourself. She's only picking at it, after all. Picking some bit of something up to nibble on.

From an outside perspective, it may look as though Azaylia and the wingrider are racing, what with such fevered eating from both. She remains oblivious of the rider's eyes on her plate, sopping up the last of some gravy with bread and popping it into her mouth. She leans back with a sigh, happy at the slight dent made in her appetite. Her hands move to switch for more food, suddenly frozen with both platters hovering at the demand. "U..uhm." The candidate glances towards the rider, placing a full plate in front of her as a hand points at one of her meatbuns. "O...okay?" What is she going to say, no?

R'yin's hand pops up, startled; no, he didn't want her food. Now that his pinned gaze has been brought to his attention, he tries to look around the caverns naturally-- again, wishful thinking, R'yin. "Yeah, that's, uh. That's right. Damaris. How come you didn't Stand before, Damaris?" Across from them, one of R'yin's wingmates, slowly shaking his head at the proceedings, has his gaze shade over with haziness. If it looks like he's staring incredibly hard at Damaris' shoulder, it's a trick; he looks past. A slow blink recovers him and he turns his hand languidly over his shoulder, across it-- finally catching on the line of unfamiliar women bundled together at the food, sniffing like it might seem poisoned.

An echo of a wolfish grin creases the woman rider's face, leaving her with the impression of a smirk without her features fully devoting. After all, no trick has been done, just common class courtesy. Reaching wide, calloused hands over Azaylia's plate, she perfunctorily picks up one meatbun, then another within the spare fingers, then a length of vegetable that she reels her hand in to pop into her mouth, then returns to swipe her finger through the gravy, leaving behind a indent in the soupy consistency.

"Because I wasn't searched before," Damaris explains lightly, taking a few more nibbles on her food. "Excuse me, sorry," she says abruptly, and she's abandoning both the bluerider and her food, grabbing a meatroll to take with her as she pads over in the direction of Az and the woman who is stealing her food. She slides up, sets her free hand gently on Az's shoulder. "Hey, sweetheart," she greets lazily, eyes on the foodthief. She might be a candidate, but there is absolutely nothing insecure or nervous about the confidence in her bearing. "Hey, what wing are you in? I'm sorry, I don't recognize - I'm still learning - but I know you're not in Glacier." Eyes go pointedly to the woman's knot, then lift back to her face.

Azaylia offers a weak smile in response to that almost-smirk, already beginning to shrink into her shoulders. "Y-you're welcome." Not an attempt to be a smartass, but a genuine sentiment. That was after the first bun. But then there's another stolen, and a vegetable. All of which the candidate is more than happy to sacrifice, but that ivory trail through her gravy has the young woman's face falling. There won't be any resistance given should the rider just take the plate, hands creeping from the table into her lap to worry at her skirts. Squeak! Suddenly, a Damaris. "O-oh. H-hey..." Words slipping beneath the other candidate's more confident speech.

Against the mournful backdrop of R'yin getting sympathetic pats on his back from his friends, the woman wingrider finds her newly acquired food vastly more interesting than whatever this blonde thing is flapping her mouth about. The face Damaris is eyeing is stuffed with the delicious outer portion of her first meatbun, as her hand turns to get her thumb in her mouth to lick off excess gravy. Maybe she's ignoring the question; maybe she thinks that one broad is ignorantly asking a candidate what wing she's in.

Back at the other table, the man seated across from R'yin pulls to his feet with a newfound purpose of his own, causing the bluerider to throw up his hands in abandonment. Nevermind that he's the one who sent the woman with the wolfish grin-- and appetite-- away. With a sigh and a propped elbow, he begins to pick at Damaris' food while watching his male wingmate stroll his way up to the non-Weyr natives still huddled somewhere up front.

"C'mon," Damaris tells Az, reaching to push the woman's plate over towards the woman with an appetite. "So noted," she says quietly to the rider (and that's definitely a note of a threat in her tone), and then she's reaching to take her fellow candidate's arm and try and tug her up to her feet. "Come sit with me. I'll get you another plate of food."

Azaylia's face seems just a touch more pale at Damaris' coaxing, "I- n-no. That's okay." She reaches out to grasp the last plate, the one not yet pounced upon by the hungry lady rider. "M-maybe I shouldn't be so greedy next time." This is for Damaris' ears only as she is coaxed to stand, following the other candidate to another table. Of course, this is what the young woman takes from such an encounter- that she was asking for it.

No tone of threat makes it to the woman rider's ears-- conveniently-- who's occupied picking apart the final meatbun with a detached air and some loud, contented chewing. She notices the flicker of movement of Azaylia and Damaris leaving, eyes them for a flash of an instant, and then forgets they existed with a tremendous yawn.

Ahead, the meeting of the other male rider and the visitors is more audible as the girls switch tables, getting closer to the rider's spread of a welcoming hand as he finishes in a pleasant tone -- no words picked up in the general din of the living cavern, just the vague notion of his voice. It takes only a tensely vibrating second before the young woman he's speaking to voices her reply much more clearly, "I--... you want me to Stand for the exile queen's clutch? By Faranth's egg, what a terrible thing to ask someone."

"You weren't being greedy," Damaris tells the other candidate with a shake of her head, shuffling her back towards the table with the abandoned bluerider. Herd, herd, herd, right back to the chair she abandoned. "She was overstepping her place. Here, sit. I'll go get you something. This is R'yin." A gesture to the bluerider, and she's ghosting off to go fetch Az another plate of food. Her attention shifts over towards the little scene going on, and her nosewrinkles and she rolls her eyes. She? Does not wait in line for food. With a mixture of an apologetic smile and supreme confidence, she cuts in line to dart in and get a plate with tasty stuff on it.

Azaylia sits there like a good girl, hands folded in her lap and head bowed. "You really don't-" But then Damaris is gone, leaving her with the confusing concept of a rider overstepping their place. Head bowed, she peers through her lashes at R'yin, shy rather than flirtatious before lips part in a squeaked hello. The candidate straightens up as she catches those rather insulting words, shock worn on her face as those widened eyes turn to pinpoint the offender. She's speaking before she can even realize it, "N-nobody's making you." Right? Though the question may not come through in those quiet tones.

Azaylia's isn't the only voice to stir at the vehement words; amongst them, the asker, who puts up his hands but mutters defensively: "Ysavaeth was hatched in High Reaches. It's a compliment to be considered to Stand." Even the stir, though, can't stop those who've been being patient from noticing Damaris' little appearing act, and she's treated to plenty of words on the matter, adding to the slight roar of the room. R'yin's so caught in eyeballing it all that he barely can cope with that his blonde lady reappeared just to plop a different woman next to him. "Uhh..." he greets smartly. "Well..." met? It can be assumed.

"Well, it isn't a compliment to me," the proposed candidiate shoots down, less vicious than her initial reaction but no less passionate. "Don't be naive." She spreads it to the others, shooting slightly nervous challenging looks at anyone watching-- Azaylia, perhaps by chance-- "Nothing good is going to come to letting an exile mother on the Sands. I wouldn't Stand if they were the last dragons on Pern." Now listen here! is the general feeling from another nearby rider, but the Search-rider grabs him by the elbow and steers him back, his own face steely.

There's a little bit of surprise, really, for the angry words, as Damaris gets away with this sort of thing a great deal. Still, the blonde manages to diffuse the situation without much difficulty at all, and she's soon enough heading back to the table with R'yin and Az at it, setting Az's new plate down for her and turning - without sitting - to watch the building conflict. A little huff of a sigh, and she's shaking her head and just watching, for now.

Azaylia stares down at the two plates in front of her, the one she rescued and the other Damaris has gotten for her. Too bad she's lost her appetite. Oh wait, no she hasn't. R'yin's gotten rid of one walking stomach only to have another brought to his table, the candidate slowly but surely picking up the pace as she eats. Between shoveling food into her mouth and chewing, she's turning her head to watch the insulted not-a-candidate carry on as she is. A murmur, likely for Damaris, "...it's not like Ysavaeth is extra dangerous or mean, or anything."

"Welcome back," R'yin pipes up, attempting to be casual around his enthusiasm at Damaris' return-- guess how that goes. But his teeth gnaw discontentedly into his lower lip as she refuses to sit down, so he adjusts back and forth on his seat, glances sideways at Azaylia's forceful eating habits, then looks over at the commotion-- distilled now that the insulted prospect has been ushered off by her friends. "Don't worry about it," the bluerider tells Damaris, hoping this is the source of her standing, "You know, some people are just... You know." And others have ways with words R'yin may have sweet dreams about.

Trying to force the pleasantries back on his face, the Searchrider gives his angrier friend a reassuring pat on the back and then steers back towards his seat across from R'yin. The friend decides to get himself a breather, nearly charging right into a scrawny blond-haired young man without seeming to see him at all-- a trait the blond uses in abundance when crossing right through the crowded living caverns like a yellow-jacketed ghost. "Now Namayth is blubbering like an idiot, a'course," the Searchrider laments with affectionate bitterness as he drops heavily into his seat, spotting Azaylia late, "Hi-- who's this?"

"People are silly," Damaris tells Azaylia quietly. "They sometimes think they know better than the dragons." She rolls her eyes, and now that the stir seems to have calmed back down, she's turning back to the table and offering R'yin a reassuring sort of smile. "I know," she agrees. An apologetic look is sent towards the Searchrider, lifting her chin. "Sorry you had to deal with that," she says. Friendly enough. "Thanks for trying, though."

R'yin's preferred company is obvious, and rather than hurt feelings Azaylia is in fact relieved. The cold food from before is done away with, Damaris' charity placed atop the newly empty plate as she tries to do away with her impressive appetite once and for all. The Searchrider catches her attention, eyes transferring to the blond he bumps into. Her gaze lingers on the familiar man, shifting as if to stand just as MaybeMisar disappears into the crowd completely. "Namayth?" Echoed around a mouthful of food, Azaylia swallows quickly and ducks her head down in embarrassment. "Poor thing- oh. Uhm." She'll utter her name from beneath a curtain of hair, scooping up another generous forkful.

"Can't say I blame people being wary," the Searchrider confesses to Damaris with a 'what can you do' shrug, "But there's nice ways to go about it, and then there's-- " an eyeball over his shoulder, then he picks up his lunch where he left off, tipping his chin towards Azaylia. "My green, Namayth." Not catching Azaylia's name has him stuffing his tongue into his cheek thoughtfully, like he's uncertain how to proceed when addressing a sheet of hair. He chooses to put food in his mouth to stall.

R'yin, who's out of friends to force out of their seats, continues to make adjustments in his in order to be turned to face Damaris more fully. "Yeah," he says in useful contribution, sweeping his hair smoothly off his forehead, "Yeah. But you gals know better, don't you." He even has the presence of mind to glance over at Azaylia-- and then back to Damaris.

"There's wary and then there's causing a scene," Damaris comments lightly, shrugging her shoulders and then sending an encouraging sort of smile towards R'yin. It's okay, all is well. "Of course we do, or I wouldn't be standing for the clutch." She brings a hand up to brush her hair back from her face, reaching to give Az's shoulder a little reassuring squeeze. Pat. Pat. "I don't think they caught your name, sweetheart."

That fork stills, hovering in the air as Damaris prompts Azaylia to introduce herself a second time. Lifting a hand, she tucks some of her hair behind her ear, "...Azaylia." She says clearly, only after taking a long, subtle inhale to steel her nerves. Content to sit and observe during the exchange, she straightens a bit at R'yin's glance in her direction. "I asked." She confesses with a hint of shame. "I wish a dragon... l-like Namayth, would have asked me." An attempt to console the green which is who-knows how far away.

"You asked?" Just like, R'yin's gaze snaps to Azaylia, sincerely this time, and he scoots a little closer to the timid candidate. "That's great of you-- M'mar, isn't that great?"; "That's really great," M'mar, the Searchrider across from them, grins, his tone more of amused reassuring for the young bluerider, but the part of his grin he makes sure Azaylia sees is as honest. Eyes growing distant then glinting in return, he adds, "She says she still will, if you want her to." Followed by a soft laugh, letting Azaylia in on the not so secret of his dragon's light-headedness.

"Riorde and Sforzath searched me," Damaris admits easily, and then she's tilting her head at Az and lifting an eyebrow. "That's great," she tells the other girl. "I mean, honestly. I would never in a million turns ever have the courage to ask to stand. It's a good clutch to stand for, too. Shows our support for our leadership, and all." Or, well. Some of it. There is laughter, at the words of the dragon offering to search the other candidate. Warm laughter, though.

Oh could those eyes get any wider? Azaylia is a cervine caught in a bright light, hands instantly folding into her lap at the attention from all three. "N-not that great..." Not one to usually argue, she doesn't even manage to sound as if she's really disagreeing. "...thankyou." She gives up, which will surprise no one. Damaris gets a glance and a smile, "Still- a dragon thought you were special. That has to feel... amazing." Namayth's offer has her blinking in surprise, before she's adding her own breathless giggles to the shared laughter. Hands reappear, reaching to finish off the last half of her plate, a bit more at ease as she does.

"No one really knows what the dragons are thinking," M'mar offers, then, grinning through all of their heartening laughter, "Faranth knows I barely think Namayth does at all." He drags a last piece of food around in its sauce before eating, and wiping his hands across his thigh. Around them, they entire table becomes a haze of momentary distraction, before the riders at the end lift up with a clatter of trays. "And we gotta go or we'll be late," M'mar lifts up, swinging his leg over the seat as R'yin reluctantly does the same on his side, bracing his hand on the table edge and giving Damaris, and then, even Azaylia, a last, hesitant glance. "Come find me if you decide about that Search," M'mar nods to Azaylia amiably, meeting R'yin at the edge of the table and slinging his arm around him to walk out together. "Come on, wide eyes," he teases, soft and lost into the living cavern din.

"It was nice meeting you both," Damaris offers up after them, waving a hand and sliding down into one of the now vacant seats. Bright smile, flashed across at Az. "Are you shy, or nervous?" A sweet smile is offered across, to maybe try and take the sting out of the question. "It doesn't feel particularly anything," she says. "But then, I already knew I was special. That it was recognized is not /too/ much of a surprise." There's a light tease, for those words. "It's mostly just overwhelming."

"Mmhm." Comes the muffled agreement with Damaris' farewell, stuffed cheeks turned up in a smile for the retreating riders. Azaylia chews thoughtfully, having finally demolished the remaining food on her plate with one last swallow. "..uhm. Both?" She offers, uncertainty obvious in her quiet voice as she looks towards the other candidate. "I just... try not to bother people." Damaris' confidence is something to admire, "Must be nice. To know you're special." There's a smile there, not quite getting the tease, but rather happy for the teen even as she's gathering up her plates. "S-sorry. I have to finish a few loads of laundry for chores today." Reluctant to leave, Azaylia still stands and turns to drop the dirty dishes off, "Have a good day." The well-wishing is tossed quietly over her shoulder, possibly swallowed by the noise of the cavern.

Well, then. Damaris lifts a hand and gives a little wave, then settles back in her chair and turns her attention to watch those that are remaining in the caverns, apparently content to sit by herself for the time being and just soak it all up.