Oops! [Rii]

[RavenSong]

{desc=Mengir/T'yandon}It was dinnertime, and Mengir had gotten server duty for her "breakfast" shift. The Wher Candidate was dressed in something new, clothing that Candidatemaster Nimara had offered her to replace heavily-patched garb she'd worn out but hadn't discarded. She dodged artfully in and out of spaces between people at their tables, carrying away empty communal dishes and replacing them with new ones. The ever-present flits were shooed off as some, such as a black marked with lightning on his wings, decided to try and steal meat from one of the trays. Her own flit, who had chosen a bright shade of orange paint to roll in and hide her spots that day, sought to keep any thieves away thanks to Mengir's worry that one would upset her tray.

Unfortunately, Mengir's focus on flits above meant she missed obstacles below. She completely missed the presence of a discarded cleaning rag in her path as she carried the full tray of hot, gravy-covered meat to a table. With a dismayed cry, she fell forward, the tray falling straight into a man's lap.

Specifically, a Bronzerider. Who happened to be a Wingleader. Wide blue eyes fixed on T'yandon's knots, Mengir pressed her fingers to her lips. She didn't see how much of the meat had been wasted, or how much ended up on T'yandon's clothing, just his knots.

She paled visibly, eyes watering up as laughter erupted around them. Were spectators laughing at her ineptitude, or his misfortune? She couldn't tell, and it was just as upsetting.

"I-I-I," she stammered, looking frightened. "S-S-Sorry, so sorry, I d-d-d-didn't m-mean to, I d-didn't. I-I s-swear." She looked around, trying to find something to offer the man before her so he could clean up, quickly stepping out of striking range. The poor young woman trembled visibly. Ooooops!

[Rii]

T’yandon was frequently late to meals, a habit he sometimes endeavored to break and sometimes just resigned himself to because in all of his Turns, he’d never been particularly good about stopping work to eat or sleep. Sometimes, like tonight, Ietermath intervened, prodding and coaxing his partner to leave the work for a little while and take a break for some food, because it would still be there when he got back. Don’t be a drag, T’yandon! At least go to the meal when other people will still be there!

His dragon. Champion of social activity. I don’t want to ‘hang out’, Ietermath. You know that.

I know. But you did say you needed to interact more, since you’re a Wingleader now!

Trapped by his own words. Alright, you win. So off he’d gone, filling his plate and sitting at the end of a table where he could watch something of the hustle and bustle around him. Evening, with those involved with the whers starting their days while the rest finished theirs, was a busy time. Watching the comings and goings around him, he almost missed the approach of the young woman looking to replenish one of the platters of meat. He didn’t catch what exactly she tripped on, but that someone had stumbled and gone down he caught from the corner of his eye, and started to turn and push himself away.

Alas, not quickly enough. A few slices of meat and a slosh of gravy splattered across the leg of his soft hide trousers, hot enough that he grimaced. Still, it wasn’t that bad. If it was too hot, no one would be able to eat it, after all! T’yandon drew up his mostly-empty plate and neatly picked up one, two pieces of meat from his thigh to set on the edge of it, then two more from the bench next to him. The laughter he largely ignored, because it wasn’t worth the attention it would take to acknowledge it. If it was at him for getting doused, he could bear with that. But to mock the girl for the accident was just cruel.

He became very shortly aware that the young woman was stammering apologies and… was she cringing from him? His brows furrowed, his light blue gaze thoughtful; he’d never thought of himself as particularly threatening. “It is fine. It was an accident. Accidents happen,” he offered her in a calm tone. Reaching in a pocket, he found a handkerchief, wiping gravy off of himself before depositing the soiled cloth next to his plate. Then he pushed his seat back and rose.

He viewed her from his full, not astoundingly impressive height with an expression of slight consternation. Really, it wasn’t that much of a problem, was it? An honest, unintentional mistake. Did she think he was going to discipline her for it? “Are you alright? What did you trip over?” He crouched then, flipping the serving platter back face-up to help the woman clean up the mess.

[RavenSong]

Mengir watched T'yandon intently, eyes round with genuine fear as he cleaned himself up.

The second he stood, she was done. The laughter had faded as people realized the young woman was actually terrified. Several likely thought she was just a drudge, with how she behaved. However, the laughter died off completely as she let out a fearful cry, her hands going up to shield her from harm as she skittered back another step. Sure, he'd said he'd forgiven her, but had he truly? She didn't know him. She didn't know if he was actually going to stay his hand until he crouched down and started picking up the mess.

A Bronzerider. -Cleaning-. Horrified and embarrassed, Mengir moved closer and hastily started picking things up.

"A r-r-rag," she whispered, flinching briefly before she forced herself not to. This is a Weyr. He's a dragonrider. You're safe here, she reminded herself. He isn't Atulus. "I-I-I mean it, Wingleader, I d-d-didn't mean for th-that to happen, I d-didn't see the rag b-because I was trying to s-stop firelizards from stealing food, and S-Spotface was helping..." Mengir's orange-painted pink scurried around under the table, helping out. Even in infancy, she was helpful to Mengir, aware as she was of the young woman's feelings. Still, Spotface couldn't help but stuff her face with a piece of meat. It was too big and got stuck halfway, causing panic. Mengir grabbed the flit and took the meat out of her mouth, sighing. "You should not do that," she murmured to the pink, her stammer gone as she addressed the female creature. "Stealing is bad, Spotface. We'll get in so much trouble for it." Hands shaking, she went back to cleaning up, not looking at T'yandon. Did she dare say anything else? Spotface looked at Mengir, then at T'yandon, then at Mengir. She tilted her head to one side, then the other, then waddled over and offered her half-chewed meat to the Bronzerider with an inquisitive chirp. Mengir stayed silent, her face crimson.

[Rii]

The laughter had stopped, but T’yandon didn’t like the reason. This woman was terrified of him. And since she didn’t even know him and he’d done nothing to indicate anger or violence, that meant it was a learned response from someone else. The generally mild-tempered man felt a surge of anger, but he suppressed it. Anger would only scare her more. Instead, he kept to his crouch. “It really is fine,” he reassured her. “No one’s angry at you. Certainly I’m not, at least. My Ietermath would tell you that I trip too, sometimes, when I try to walk and read at the same time.”

“Please, it’s just T’yandon. I don’t stand on titles and ceremony outside of the necessary times. Wing drills and Threadfall, that kind of thing.” Well, there were a few other times, but they weren’t worth mentioning. Especially since he didn’t have the slightest intention of disciplining her, which would be an unfair exertion of his authority. As he listened to her explanation, the corners of his eyes crinkled as if he wanted to smile, but didn’t quite.

“Firelizards can be quite troublesome, or they can be helpful,” he agreed solemnly as he methodically helped gather slices of meat and stacking them back on the plate. “One of my old wingmates from Telgar hates them. If they’re not perfectly behaved? He calls them broken. He is a rather odd man, though.” T’yandon blinked, then gravely accepted the paint-coated firelizard’s offering of half-chewed meat. “That’s too big for you, young lady. Here.” He pulled the slice apart into firelizard-sized bites, offering one to her.

His gaze shifted from the flit to the owner, brows furrowing slightly again. “I do beg your pardon. My manners are not exactly what they should have been; I gave you my name without asking of yours, miss. If I may ask?”

[RavenSong]

Mengir relaxed as T'yandon spoke, assuring her no one was angry, least of all him. Ietermath? His Bronze... Mengir idly wondered what the Bronze looked like.

"I-I-I'm Wher Candidate Mengir... T'yandon... Th-the name my p-parents gave me is M-Mengir," the redhead murmured, still not looking at the Bronzerider. She glanced out of the corner of her eye as T'yandon offered tiny pieces to Spotface. Well, if he was doing it, then it must be okay. "Spotface is m-my only pet," she said quietly, keeping her eyes on her work. "Th-the only issue w-we have is her paint thefts. Sh-she likes t-to go and f-find paint and r-roll in it. Sh-she likes to paint." Spotface sat up and trilled, spreading her wings. Look at her body art! Wasn't she absolutely glorious?! Such a beautiful shade of orange, yes?

Mengir finished the cleanup and hesitated, looking toward the kitchens. Another Candidate, a dual she knew as Davalla, was signalling that their duties were done. The blonde breezed over to where they were and picked up the tray.

"Honestly, Mengir. You could have asked for help carrying this. I would have helped you," she said.

"I-I didn't need help, Davalla," Mengir responded softly. Davalla raised a pale brow, then looked at T'yandon, then smirked.

"Ohh, okay. I see what the plan was. Have fun, Mengir." With a sly smile, Davalla whisked away, leaving the redhead there with a puzzled look on her face.

Then it clicked, and she was utterly crimson again. She sat down on the bench and hid her face in her hands as Spotface just blinked at her. Whaaaat? The flit took a piece of meat from T'yandon's hand and offered it up to Mengir. Here! Food! Food makes things better, right? Right. So did art. Chirping to get Mengir's attention, Spotface went and started rolling around in the small amount of gravy left on the table. Yay pictures!

[Rii]

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Candidate Mengir,” T’yandon told her solemnly. “Do you enjoy what you’ve experienced of the wher program thus far?” He had regrettably little to do with it. Being a wingsecond - well, before - had occupied much of his time. Being a wingleader occupied even more. He didn’t really mind; he preferred to be busy, but he had to admit that it meant his connection to the Weyr’s nocturnal partners was rather inadequate.

He’d have to work on that, somehow.

“Spotface seems quite well-behaved, especially for such a young firelizard. She is a credit to you,” he told the young woman as he fed the paint-covered pet bits of meat. The display of her very orange wings drew a rare, soft chuckle from him. “She is very thorough. Orange everywhere but her head. Very bright,” he told the firelizard. “No eyes could ever miss you.”

The bronzerider was certainly not deaf to the other candidate’s innuendo. His brows rose for a moment, and he sat back on his heels in his crouch, looking at Mengir. The girl seemed absolutely mortified. Either she was embarrassed at being called out, or she was afraid that he’d think that had indeed been her plan, to try and seduce a dragonrider, when it hadn’t been at all. Judging from her behavior thus far tonight, he favored the latter explanation. “Even if it had been your aim, you are a candidate and we would both end up in a great deal of trouble,” he offered gently. “I do not think that was even a little on your mind, though. If it had been, you wouldn’t be quite so upset now.”

Slowly he stood back up, smiling again at Spotface’s efforts to cheer her bonded. “Your pet has the right idea. If your serving duties are finished, you should have your meal before your night’s lessons begin.” His pale blue eyes twinkled. “And you’ll have to wipe the gravy off of her, as well.” Silly firelizard.