Matters of Importance [Open!]

M'avis cut a stately figure as she walked into Final Weyr's dining hall, one hand curled in her other, pausing to survey her surroundings. It felt like a lifetime ago that she was looking into Fort's dining hall, bustling and busy and full of activity. In contrast, it felt like a pall had taken root here, descended upon a place that should play host to laughter and life, where friends would come together for good food and a great time. Don't look so downcast, darling, Ticiath encouraged her bonded from her place outside, tail curling along her hindquarters comfortably. Had I known you were going to sulk and bring your gloomy atmosphere along, I would've kept my suggestion to take your evening meal here to myself.

Though she knew her dragon teased, M'avis snorted aloud softly. But regardless, Ticiath was right; if she wanted others in her Weyr to feel welcome enough to approach, she had to look it, rather than drive them away in being as broody as she usually was. It was earlier today that she realized she couldn't remember her last time taking her meals here, rather than in her quarters or office, staring fruitlessly at maps and tablets until her head hurt. It was also some time since she'd seen dragonriders and wherhandlers other than those in office, who she had frequent reason to engage. If she permitted things to go on as such, it wouldn't be long before Final Weyr wouldn't know they even had a Weyrwoman. So upon Ticiath's suggestion that she come out for her supper and perhaps take some new company, she found she couldn't refuse.

Clearing her throat quietly, M'avis acquired some food and found a table that suited her needs; discreet enough to permit herself some solitude if no one wished to visit, but visible enough that she wasn't hiding...as though her enormous golden queen lounging outside and offering those who walked past friendly regards wasn't announcement enough that she was here. Settling into her seat, she ran a hand through her hair, inwardly glad that there was nothing that required her immediate focus right away, not so much that she could take an evening here. After all, there was little she could recall that was more important than being here, even for a while. A Candidate hoping to ask some questions? A dragonrider or wherhandler looking for reassurance from a Weyr's leader? A wayward soul looking for company? Those things she could do.

But that didn't mean she would be idle. Quietly beginning to eat her meal, M'avis set a tablet before her - a recent inventory, harmless if a passerby happened to see and oddly light reading for her nowadays - and began looking it thoughtfully. But Ticiath didn't seem terribly fond of that. I thought I told you to abandon that blasted thing in your weyr! she scolded. And I chose otherwise, M'avis responded calmly, her face as still as ever, as though she wasn't conversing in her mind to her dragon. I promised I'd keep my work in my office and I intend to honor my word. It's an inventory, Tish; it's to keep my mind busy for a spell, nothing more. Though she audibly grumbled, Ticiath wasn't actually upset, M'avis could sense. Rolling her eyes and smiling inwardly, she went to her reading again, taking her time to enjoy her meal, trying to look as welcoming as she could for those in passing.

Mealtimes were a matter of rote necessity to Plover. Food was fuel first and foremost (and only), and socialization was... never really her forte. Oh, she knew most of her fellows around the Weyr—survival required one to know and rely on anyone around you, didn't it? She might know which of the candidates was strongest, which the most clever, which best at this or that chore, who handled stress well... But if pressed on such things as what colors they preferred, who had a crush on who, or what their favorite meals might be... she was none the wiser.

In short, Plover was not the best nor most eager when it came to casual friendly socialization.

And still, she had to eat to live and have strength for her work. Thus she had to go to the dining hall, and find a place to sit to have said required meal. The hall was bustling as ever, and coming up from the lower caverns and quiet dusty storerooms, it was like being born, she imagined—suddenly quite loud, and full, and noisy. She kept a solid hold on her plate as she scanned the tables for a place to set down... No, not there, those folks were too boisterous. Not there either, that gaggle seemed to only contain one wing's riders. That table might do, everyone seeming a bit lower energy and mild... though it was full at present.

Only by chance did she spy the Senior Weyrwoman sitting in the corner alone, knife in one hand and attention fixed down on, what? Oh, a tablet. Plover would admit to being a mite intimidated by the woman... but it was nine tenths respect, and only a tiny bit of fear. ...Why not? Such a chance wasn't to be wasted, and so the younger woman moved towards the table, nodding her head in a respectful (she hoped, her hands were a bit full for a proper salute or bow) greeting. "Senior Weyrwoman M'avis. Honored to see you here ma'am. Would you mind if I—oh. You're tallying inventory? I've just come from tidying storeroom 4, I can give updated numbers if you like.
@Agenothree