Caverns
A massive cavern in its own right, this one has been skillfully adapted for human habitation. The high ceilings have been painted a light, soft ivory, as have walls hung with numerous tapestries that provide brilliant color and insulation from the stone. The floor has been left in its natural state, pale pink granite speckled through with glittering mica and dark flecks of basalt. The stone is carefully leveled but kept sufficiently rough to avoid slips.
The cavern itself is loosely divided into areas, each one set up to be suitable for some segment of the Weyr's population. The most frequently occupied area is the one near the Kitchens, where tables of varying sizes provide a place to sit down and eat or chat and a buffet of consumables is almost always kept stocked. It's plain that on most days, this area wouldn't accommodate anywhere near the full population of the Weyr, instead feeding people in shifts as they come off duty. On occasions when a formal meal is laid out, tables are borrowed from all the other areas.
There's also a big fireplace set into the western wall, several comfortable chairs nearby providing haunts for elderly residents or riders who like a good view of all that happens. Rugs cover the floor in strategic spots, all of them abstract or geometric in design and most in the softly neutral colors of undyed wool.
Exits lead off in all directions, the largest an archway to the northeast that leads outside. Near it there's an alcove with hooks for coats and shelves for muddy boots. A tunnel to the east goes to the infirmary, and a set of stairs just a little south of that lead up to the offices and administration area. To the south, a long and sloping tunnel leads down to the hot springs. The kitchen is off to the southwest, while the residents' quarters are reached by tunnels going west, deeper into the cliff.
It was time. He'd fought against it for so long; too long, one might argue, turns of the sad sort of pining one normally endures only in romance novels. Careful glances, given when least expected. Chance meetings, only for him to have to turn away, for the emotion was too much. Deep desire, never once forgotten, instead written plainly upon the features of his face should they pass in the halls. But it was time. "You aren't going to eat that." R'hyn pauses in the lift of a sandwich to end all sandwiches, a huge monstrosity comprised of at least four kinds of meats, an unhealthy glaze of a sloppy sauce or maybe gravy, topped with fried tubers, held together only, one imagines, by congealed cheese. Blue-grey eyes meet those of the young girls sitting across from them, basking in their twin horrified glances, gaze locking dead on to each of them before he raises it again towards his mouth. "UGH." "EW." "I CAN'T WATCH." And maybe it's just an excuse to ditch dear old dad, but the girls seize the hand of their younger brother, wheeling away out of the caverns (and probably bumping into everyone they pass) as the bronzerider rudely laughs and shouts after them to be home by sundown. Him? He's going to pick up a knife and fork and daintily cut the hideous thing like a particularly bizarre bubbly.
While mere children might not know the glory of The Sandwich, Rhodelia knows. She worked in the Wherry long enough to hear many a drunk sing songs of it's mystic powers and witness a few tragic downfalls on the path to greatness as well. Her eyes are filled with wonder, not horror, that the assistant takes her paler imitation of a sandwich and crosses over to take up one of the seats the kids just vacated. "My marks are on the sandwich!" For winning the battle of course. It looks like a fighter as some of that sauce tries to slop away. But when the bronzerider picks up the knife and fork, she frowns. "Scaredy cat."
One might call it love at first sight. Did R'hyn expect to have to deal with covetous looks on his first outing? He'd better strap in and hold on for the ride now that it's here. Here is Stefyr, not being a creep at all, as he gazes with the besotted look that probably passed the bronzerider's own face more than once when tempted by the same prize. The younger blond man's plate is clutched to his chest, as if he might use it's flat expanse to contain his throbbing heart from beating right out of his chest. It would rather put a damper on the deliciousness if it escaped. He doesn't even notice when he's bumped by a child, he just rocks on his toes. If anything is going to fell him, it's the sandwich held by R'hyn, not the child. His mouth is probably watering because his Adam's apple bobs as he steps up next to Rhodelia, keeping a respectable distance from where his former savior sits. Will he be his savior again? It's with a tone of something more than interest and something less than awe that he asks, "Where did you get that?" He might take another version of the same, even if he has been known to take people's monstrous sandwiches before. He glances down to the woman, his eyes pleading. Maybe she knows and will tell him, if R'hyn will not. Someone take pity on the puppy, the look is so real.
R'hyn does not pause in his fervent cutting of The Sandwich, but his motions do slow, eyes flicking up to catch on Rhodelia's features as the woman takes one of the seats his children just vacated. "That," he says as he completes sawing the thing in half, knife-tip finding plate, his weight shifted forward on it as he leans towards her with a playful squint of his eyes, "is a safe bet." His fork pokes the air between them with gurl-u-rite punctuation, leaning back with a low laugh and a roll of his shoulders for the insult. "Listen, it's either that or practically make out with it, and nobody wants to see that. Well. Nobody in this room, anyways." His gaze takes in her much more modest fare, glancing from hers to his before adding, "Kettle." And that's when it happens. The seas part, the skies rise, and there stands Stefyr, a man after his own heart (or at the very least, his own sandwich), wearing a look so like his own that R'hyn can, for a moment, but nod in solemn acknowledgment. Yes. Yes it is exactly as beautiful and majestic as it seems. But alas, poor pupper child, the tidings he bears are both glad and painful as he says, "I made it, right over there, but they just announced they're out of the gravy." AND IS IT EVEN WORTH IT THEN? IS IT?! His expression says it's not, but, savior that he … art? Arth? Whatever. Suffice to say, he pushes the second half of the heap towards the edge of his plate for Stefyr to take, if he dares. "Prepare to be a changed man."
Stark contrast that sandwich of Rhodelia's, more suited to tea time then coming face to face with the sandwich-to-end-all-sandwiches. Even so, she'll daintily pick up one of the fluffy white triangles with cream and green stuff filling and take a nibble. Ladylike-ness doesn't last long as she starts snickering as soon as he mentions making out with sandwiches. "That'd probably be the highlight of some of the aunties sevenday." And it's the middle of the living caverns. The aunties are always watching. Stefyr's arrival is met with a hey-what's-up head nod and before she can actually get out THE SECRET OF SANDWICH, R'hyn's bestowing some of it on to the younger man. But she can definitely help out too as she leans closer to whisper, elbows on the table like her momma never taught her manners. "If you sweet talk the right kitchen worker, they might save you some gravy for next time."
R'hyn might be kicking a puppy in front of Stefyr (or Stefyr-the-puppy, for that matter), so heartbroken and pained is his expression at the news. But then the bronzerider proves himself ten times the savior he was carrying the big blond bodily from depths of the dark forest and the reverence dawns in Fyr's face. There is exactly one quarter heartbeat between the time the half Sandwich is pushed toward him and the time that Stefyr is sitting down next to R'hyn, picking it up with both hands and proceeding to basically make out with it whether or not anyone wants to see that. Probably, no one needed to hear the whimper of appreciation that escapes the young man, forever changed, and only able to express his eternal gratitude through the look he throws R'hyn over the top of the Sandwich. Let it not be said, though, that the young man doesn't look out for those who've looked out for him, because he offers it in both hands across the table to Rhodelia, "You have to try this," is emphatic praise and demand in one. Surely her advice about the gravy must be filed away somewhere because that's important.
"Probably, and I've fans enough after the Teacup Incident," R'hyn notes with a particularly twitchy glance towards the hearth and the cluster of aunties settled thereabouts. He turns away before he can see one of them wave a hanky at him, but he's turned a rather fabulous shade of red nevertheless. "So if it's all the same to you… I'll…" He'll just let Stefyr wear that crown, expressed by his face if not his words as the young man wastes no time in chowing down, initial blink-blink surprise replaced with a lip purse of respect and understanding. One hand raises into a fist, a 'shells yeah' gesture if ever there was one. "Sounds like you've sweet-talked your way into more than one midnight snack, then," R'hyn drawls, pegging Rhody with an accusing look even as he bites a chunk of sandwich off his fork. "What else've you pinched besides a poor drunken man's cookies, hm?" His eyes slide sideways as Stefyr offers up that sandwich, and it's all R'hyn can do to keep from choking on his bite, coughing fried tubers from somewhere around his LUNGS, by the sounds of it, around huffs of laughter. "Well go on then," he manages after a brief struggle, "how can you say no with that presentation?" ONE DOESN'T JUST SAY NO TO SIMBA-SANDWICH.
It's a rare moment that doubt besets Rhodelia's face, but when Stefyr is pushing his half-sandwich over towards her she stares at the plate, then at her own tiny triangle. Which one to choooooose??? But inspiration strikes as she just reaches over and dunks the fancy white bread in some of the gravy glop that managed to get on the plate, and raising the now sauce-dunked piece up in a toast. "Cheers." She'll nibble on that for a moment while she thinks of what she's pilfered. "Depends on how drunk the last folks to wander out of the Wherry were. Sometimes we'd get someone to roast some wherry legs. Or marshmallows. Or… we'd pile as much as we could on two slices of bread and if we were lucky, the kitchen staff hide some goodies away where we could find them." Pro-tip, kitchen workers can be bribed in booze too.
Stefyr's blue eyes flare just a little wider when Rhodelia doesn't take a bite, but if she wants to miss out on this heap of heaven, that's not really going to hurt his feelings since it means all the more for him. He does briefly give his part-time instructor, full-time bro a look that eloquently expresses that he thinks she's crazy for passing up the opportunity. He doesn't fixate on anything but the sandwich though, after that. He doesn't know about the danger the aunties present, bless him. He was related to all of them back home. Not so, here, and some of them have turned their sharp gazes on him to not miss the sandwich eating show. Sometimes, he has manners, and sometimes he follows a conversation, but apparently he's got neither going on for him right now because his non sequitur question, through a mouthful of Amazing, is to R'hyn, "Where did you learn to make this?" It has to be a skill someone can learn. There's so much hope in the look the young man gives the bronzerider. If this is the only time Stefyr will ever taste this glory, there may be some serious lip-wobbles. As long as his half of the sandwich lasts, he doesn't look like he's budging from the place he has settled beside the gifter of joy and across from the rejector of perfection.
FROM THE DAY R'HYN ARRIVED WITH THIS SANDWICH, AND EATING, OFFERED STEFYR SOMEEEE. RHODELIA GOT BY, WITH SOME TEA SANDWICH LIES, BUT NOW SHE KNOWS — no, I lost it you guys. It could have been good. IT'S THE SANNNNNNNNNNNDWICH OF LIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIFE. AND IT MOOOOOVES US ALLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL. ALL FOUR MEATS AND CHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEESEEEEE. GRAVY STUFF, YOU KNOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWW. No, okay. I'm really posing now. Kind of. It's not getting any better. WAHBOOM. WHAT'S THAT SOUND? Your friendly neighborhood queen, of course, shoving her snout into the caverns and BLOCKING THE WAY OUT AND IN. Well. This way out and — SHUT UP. « MINIONS. WE HAVE HEARD THAT THERE IS… » a pause, a build of bass and drums and giddy, jittery, over-ecstatic, bombastic BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM. « A SANDWICH. I REQUIRE IT. » You know what. You guys are probably better off pretending that you don't see that gross dragon tongue probably eliciting a couple of shrieks from some unfortunately dragon-goo'd passerbys. Ila'den is, though that might be because he VERY CLEARLY has abducted the weyrwoman by way of carrying her through the weyr over his shoulder. "I WILL FEED YOU TO THE HERDBEASTS AND NOBODY WILL KNOW YOU WENT —" DOWN SHE GOES. Abruptly, into a chair, right beside R'hyn. "Eat," Ila'den tells his definitely too old to be told when to eat daughter. Risali glares at him, then glares at R'hyn, then gestures at Ila'den, then back to R'hyn. 'HE'S YOUR WEYRMATE, DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT,' that expression (in tandem with those emphatic gestures) says. It's Ila who, probably already digging himself a very deep hole, GRABS SOME OF R'HYN'S SANDWICH and presses it against Risali's lips. "Eat." GLARE. GLARE. (That's both of them, glaring at each other.) Finally, Risali relents, and takes a bit and — « I REQUIRE MORE OF IT. BRING IT TO ME, MINION. » Give Risali a moment to stare at it as if she's just seeing something AMAZING AND NEW FOR THE FIRST TIME and then… and then she's grabbing the plate, waving to Stefyr and Rhodelia, smacking R'hyn (gently) upside his head, and RUNNING AWAY WITH THE REST OF IT. « AHAHAHAHA. BADASS MINION. » FLEE. Which leaves Ila'den. To sit. And look unrepentant as he lllllllleans onto the table and looks around at the mini-gather. "Did you start a club?" JE'ACCUSE. "Because of a sandwich?" RASP, GRIT, GRUMBLE, GROWL. Allll Ila.
R'hyn KNOWS, BRO. HE KNOWS. The look Stefyr turns on him is the same one R'hyn shoots right back, wide and alarmed and suddenly not at all sure who Rhody is as a person. As though he ever knew anyways. Listen. Shut up. It doesn't even really matter, because as intense as the expression is, he's equally as enthralled by the end result, eyes twitching back to watch her, rapt, for a reaction and - when none forthcomes, he kills that curious cat with an inquired, "How did that taste?" He slowly works at his own little slice of heaven as she lists, one brow peaking over a slow smile as he says, "Roasting things drunk sounds dangerous. Especially marshmallows. I want to try it. You're good at building bonfires, right?" Because one HOPES Risali wasn't allowed to start a fire. As for the sandwich recipe, "Well, first you" BUT ALAS. INTERRUPTED BY AN EARTH-SHATTERING KABOOM. R'hyn's hands shift to hold onto his plate out of sheer instinct, the space around his eyes tightening as his gaze swings around towards the entrance, fully expecting to see something or someone but not THIS. Not Leirith's tongue flp-flp-flping, the sheer absurdity of it sending him into half-choked laughter all over again. At least it's actually Risali over someone's shoulder this time. R'hyn offers her a patented 'what can you do' shrug to that gesture, a low, "Even he carries me like that, I don't know what you want from me," to go with. There's no protest when Ila'den takes a piece of his sandwich, only squawking out a, "Hey!," when it becomes clear the older bronzer is going to feed it to Risali. "That's mine! She can go get her own damn HEY!" And then she's gone, and you guys, if you thought that you weren't going to get tellanovella level heartbreak out of this situation, you're dead wrong. R'hyn's hands outstretch towards his rapidly disappearing plate, lower lip faintly wibbling as eyes go round and sad. "I did. It's called the 'That was the best sandwich and now it's gone' club. We had hats." It's his napkin. He pulls it off his lap and sets it on Ila's head, the sigh he issues pining and forlorn before slowly dragging his gaze back towards the gathering. "I guess we'll have to find something else to meet about, now. Ideas?"
Rhodelia took a dab, not a bite, because some expectations are meant to be broken, Stefyr, don't look at her like that. But soon enough, she's not really paying much attention to anything but her own sandwich right in front of her face as the all too common drums and bass invade the living caverns. Rhodelia does her best to keep her head down and not make eye contact and pretend to not be the assistant someone might possibly be looking for as she bites her own sandwich. This bridges into the fine art of looking while not looking as bronzerider drags in Weyrwoman and tries to force feed her right at their table. THIS IS A VERY INTERESTING SANDWICH AND NOT AT ALL BECAUSE OF R'HYN-TURNED-STEFYR'S SPECIAL SAUCE. But she wasn't really doing a good job at not paying attention because as Risali runs away with the sandwich, her jaw drops. Apparently she was shipping R'hyn-Wich after all. As he asks for ideas, she'll nudge her own plate with it's three remaining sandwich triangles over. "You can have one of these if you want?" In all their dainty cream-cheese and cucumber glory which is not even in the same league of the wonder he had. Not at all, but it's what she's got.
"I can build fires," is the eager-to-please answer from the puppy. "So long as no one is going to get lit on fire, this time," but that caveat is accompanied by a pointed look to Rhodelia so it's probably not about Risali, this time. Then, Stefyr freezes, mid-bite, when there's Leirith, and then Ila'den and Risali. Then, things go just too fast for him to do more than his eyes to round out. He doesn't move to surrender his half of the sandwich to Leirith. In fact, he doesn't even proceed to chew lest he draw attention to himself and his remaining quarter of sandwich. If he doesn't move, no one will see him, right? He might have zero in the way of self-preservation instincts, but he has completely functioning food-defense instincts. Unfortunately for the young man, he also has honor. So when Risali makes off with the plate and the sandwich upon it, that's his cue to move. He moves slowly, perhaps fearing the still present predator that is Ila'den with his three Gs, but when he does get things where he means to, it's to offer the remaining quarter of the Sandwich back to R'hyn. He's still a little wide-eyed, but if anything that adds to his look of total innocence and naivety. Club? What club? No club here. He's not R'hyn's super fan boy who will do anything for his savior INCLUDING give BACK the Sandwich and there's obviously no evidence to prove otherwise. "Risali mentioned a hate-burning party," he murmurs while looking from the remaining part of the sandwich to the bronzerider looking for ideas, "We could make it a club event," and he quirks a brow and steals a glance at Rhodelia to see if she likes the idea.
OH LOOK, a hat. Ila'den doesn't protest the deposit of possibly-gross napkins onto his head. He just keeps leaning, watching sandwiches come from all directions for R'hyn. Do not. Make. Meat Jokes. ILAMUSE. ONE OF THOSE IS A CUCUMBER — yes. Yes, okay. I see your point. That's fair. BUT SHUT UP. "So," Ila'den says slowly, as that 'hat' is pulled from atop his head, as his fingers press into the middle, and twist, and keep doing all manner of hand-magic-juju things to it, "what you're telling me is that Risali is going to set Xanadu Weyr on fire, and then you're going to watch as she throws R'hyn into it." Because it's a HATE-BURNING PARTY, RIGHT? And what does Risali hate most in the world, if not R'hyn? (It's a trick question, you guys. The answer is R'HYN.) THERE. PERFECTION. Ila'den has TURNED THE NAPKIN INTO A FLOWER, and he's tucking it behind his ear. AND LISTEN, even if it's one of those REALLY BIG NAPKINS, he's still flowering it behind his ear. Shamelessly. Like he isn't an honest-to-Faranth villain in an eyepatch and dark riding leathers (IN THE MIDDLE OF SUMMER, NO LESS) COME TO LIFE. Or… just come to the caverns. For… why is Ila'den here? "You could meet about her sandwiches," Ila'den tells R'hyn, pointing out Rhodelia's offering.
YES, SHUT UP ILA, R'HYN IS BUSY BEING MOVED OVER HERE, pressing one hand to his chest as not one, but two most noble sacrifices are made on his behalf. "Thank you," he says, grateful gaze switching from Rhodelia to Stefyr, eyes closing to steel himself even as he lays one hand upon the puppy's wrist to encourage him to return what remains of the Great Sandwich of 2722 to his plate. "But what is done cannot be undone. I will simply have to undertake… making the gravy myself." Said with a definitely-reasonable level of passion, as though this is 100% something he should be allowed to undertake and not at all as though it will end with his kitchen in flames. Listen. His fist is clenched into a FIST OF JUSTICE. It can't possibly go wrong. "But as for you-" Rhody! "-I accept." Mostly because the dainty little triangle looks absolutely ridiculous as he plucks it from her plate, considering it for all its finer qualities (and not at all gently teasing by spinning it between his fingers with his pinky finger perked up), staring Ila dead in the eye as he takes a nibble out of the corner. And makes a face. And mouths over it while looking it over again, as though trying to decide if its goodness is just hidden or if it's just not HIS sandwich. "I do generally prefer my weyrfolk unsinged," he agrees without understanding the LOOK, crossing his eyes and putting out his tongue SUPER MATURELY at Ila'den because, "But you're probably right. It was nice knowing you all. Cita gets my couch and my babies. Rhody gets all my snacks, since she apparently likes that kind of thing. You…" R'hyn realizes here that he's never formally met Stefyr, and that's probably some sort of terrible all things considered, and so he shifts his NEW IMPROVED sandwich (and his upwards pinky) to his other hand before offering a shake. "R'hyn, by the way. You can have my secret recipes." SQUINT. RIGHT AT ILA. "You get nothing." Nothing but a smoochy face and a leg-squeeze anyways, affection glittering beneath the playful ire. "It's worth the risk, though. A hate-burning, marshmallow-toasting bonfire it is."
"I know how to stop, drop and roll!" Rhodelia just object mid-chew from her sandwich. SO DAINTY. SUCH MANNERS. And if a girl really wants to watch some parts of the world burn it's really not too surprising that occasional she may also get caught on fire herself. Just a little bit of fire damage, nothing some numbweed didn't solve and lessons learned. And then suddenly she's being bequeaths snacks and that earns a fist bump to the sky. "I'll treasure them to the last crumb." Which is really the most respect one can pay to someone's last will and snack-ament. Ila'den's pointing to her sandwiches get Rhody's attention and she wiggles the plate his way. "You can also have one, if you want." It was one sandwich, but cut into a bunch of tiny pieces. Cause it looked better or something. Tiny cute things just taste better. It's science and also probably some bad science…. "What if you soak all your clothes in water and wear really thick boots and just run through the fire when she throws you in?"
If no one else is going to be visibly impressed by Ila'den's flower magic, Stefyr will be. (He would have been even if everyone else had been, too. It's magic after all.) His eyes are so wide, with wonder. The flower might be the second coming of The Sandwich, or at least, what makes up for the rest of it having been stolen. "How-" he starts to ask, surely of the magic, but then perhaps decides he doesn't want to know; it would ruin it. Still, "Make the gravy," is echoed in awe and a tone that suggests the young man would absolutely be R'hyn's sous chef in the effort, at the peril of burning to death in a raging kitchen fire, not that he has any idea that's even the slightest of possibilities. R'hyn is the savior; he always knows what he's doing. He gets a returned handshake, "Stefyr," is quickly offered in response and he looks down to the remainder of the Sandwich and seems to come to some decision. A- yes, a scornful glance is leveled at Rhodelia's puke poor excuse for sammies (who knew Stefyr could do scorn?) and he pulls his hands back from his plate to lick his fingers clean of gravy. GOOD TO THE LAST DROP. "I have to be somewhere." Does he? Or does he just want to leave the quarter of the Sandwich there so R'hyn will get more than what he's had. Anything else would be wasteful, wouldn't it? Sacrilegious, even, given the advent of the Club. With nary another word, but a couple of nods for Rhodelia (in spite of her sandwich choice), Ila'den (more timidly, but he has magic so maybe he's not so scary?) and R'hyn-the-savior who gets a big smile, off he goes to vanish quickly down one of the hallways.
https://memegenerator.net/img/images/11669255.jpg That's it. That basically sums up the entirety of this pose, you guys, because that is the exactly look that Ila'den is fixing on R'hyn as his weyrmate speaks, and eats sandwiches, and keeps speaking. He's only spared the scrutiny of that stare by Rhodelia addressing him directly, that lone grey eye jumping from Weyrmate to Weyrwoman's assistant and then down, down to enticing tiny slices of cute, cucumbery goodness. "Thank you, little bird," comes husky, raspy, "but I am not hungry." A beat. "For sandwiches." ILA. ILA NO!!!! See, Heryn gave him a leg squeeze, and Ila'den is capturing his weyrmate's wrist in one hand, holding tight as his attention shifts to Stefyr instead. A NOD FOR HIM? QUESTIONS? There's a rumbling of laughter that's short-lived and probably RUDE as he dips his own head in a goodbye and then looks back to his weyrmate. "If I can't get it while you're dead," comes slowly, "then I had better get it while you're alive." LOOK. HE IS NOT COMMENTING ON THE GRAVY BECAUSE HE TRIES TO BE A SUPPORTIVE WEYRMATE AND MAYBE IF HE DOESN'T MENTION IT, R'HYN WILL FORGET HIS ASPIRING AMBITIONS TO BE THE LITERAL DEATH OF HIM AND — "I'm taking this," Ila'den tells Rhodelia, as if he needs her permission to VERY RUDELY stand up and HAUL HIS WERYMATE UP OVER A SHOULDER. Not. Even. The sexy. Carry. "Enjoy your sandwich, little bird," comes last, as he grabs what Stefyr left behind of The Sandwich, bites it between his teeth to hold it, and from around that and the backside of R'hyn, he offers the assistant a salute. AND THEN HE'S GONE. STALKING AWAY WITH STOLEN NOMS AND THE MAN WHO INTENDS TO LEAVE HIM NOTHING AFTER HE'S DEAD. Probably because he will have killed Ila'den first. With his gravy.
R'hyn opens his mouth. And shuts it. And opens it again. And says to Rhodelia, "You know, that just might work. And if I book it real fast away, she won't even be able to catch me." Hmm. This bears thinking on. He falls deeply into it, deeply enough that he misses Stefyr's awe for Ila'den's abilities entirely, blue-grey eyes flicking a confused glance between ex-gardener and ex-weyrleader before doing a double-take and realizing the cloth flower is what has the kid staring. "You're beautiful, husband," Ryn murmurs sotto voce, hand lifting to PATPAT his cheek before completing the exchange of names with Stefyr. "Well met. Once I've perfected it-" and definitely also poisoned his whole household "-you will be the first to know." But for now R'hyn is saluting DEPARTURE and SACRIFICE BOTH, quickly pushing the rest of Rhody's scorned-upon sammie into his face to make way for the PRINCE ALI OF SANDWICHES. Or he would, if not for the looming presence over him, words issued from Ila'den's mouth creeping up his spine with the sort of shudder of a person who knows what's coming for them and isn't going to like it. "Rhody," R'hyn sighs around an oof as he's hauled on high, "never date a tall man." IT WILL BRING YOU NOTHING BUT MISERY, or so says the hum-ho face of a person who wishes he could have at least said sexy carrying out of the scene, but is resigned to take what he can get. At least Ila remembered the sandwich. It's something.
After that display, Rhodelia might be thinking twice before dating any man. It might be safer just to stick with sandwiches. At any rate, sans any additional Leirith incursions, she can probably grab another sandwich before having to be other places and so that's exactly what Rhody's gonna do!