Fort Weyr - Roc Wing Lounge
As soon as one enters the Roc Lounge, the sight of the broad banner of Roc Wing draws the eye, a talon above Fort Weyr's crest, in striking black and browns. It hangs above an enormous hearth, which provides warmth and light, even in the coldest months, keeping the room cozy and adding a faint woodsy scent to the air. The walls are decorated with various tapestries and keepsakes from all across Pern, with a large, detailed map of the planet dominating one wall. Opposite it is a painted mural depicting Roc dragons, laden with cargo, flying in formation above a picturesque landscape. Another wall is taken up entirely by shelving, containing books, hides, and various trinkets.
Behind a tapestry of the weyr bowl is a dumbwaiter with a bell that rings whenever a tray is delivered. A sturdy desk is tucked nearby in a corner, with a computer for those who chose to work, while various nooks with newly-installed electric bulbs provide steady light. There are glowbaskets as well, hanging from hooks on the ceiling, iluminating the rugs in Fort's colors that have been set out on the stone floor. The furniture in the room consists of comfortable chairs and couches, arranged in several small groupings, with low tables placed conveniently for drinks and plates of food.

Outdoors may be hot and humid, but inside the Weyr it is cool and comfortable. Ahh, the wonders of stone! Comfortably lit, the Roc Wing Lounge is deserted at the moment as most of the Wingriders are on duty at this time of day. No fire is lit in the hearth, but the lights have been left on to welcome any who come by. The computer is there and waiting on its lonely little desk for Yhri to discover and use. She will have a few minutes to do so, before Wingleader N'hon will grace the lounge with his presence. Ahh, nothing like peace and quiet while one works! Or does this make it a little strange and awkward?

Yhri climbs up the staircase and makes her way into Roc's lounge with the grace of a feline. As she enters the much cooler room she pulls a band out of her pocket and gathers up her curly hair, binding it into a top-knot sort of runnertail. She makes her way over to the computer then, enjoying the silence for the moment as she slides out the chair and takes a seat in front of the machine, starting to pull up some diagnostic tools and configure them. She's humming to herself, some modern ditty.

In steps the Wingleader to disrupt that silence and peace but not right off. N'hon is not a rider to make a grand entrance and he slips in with quiet steps. The bronzerider is middle aged and narrow framed, with equally narrow and sharp features. His light wheat colour hair has been swept back and is kept neatly groomed at shoulder length. Even his clothes look immaculate, as if he prides himself very much on personal image. Stepping up behind Yhri while she works, he will wait for a lull in the modern ditty she's humming before clearing his throat. "You must be Wingrider Yhri? Brown Cikitsakath's?" Not looking the least bit apologetic if he's startled her, he will simply extend his hand out with a bare smile curving his lips. It does not quite reach his eyes. "I'm Wingleader N'hon." Obviously.

G'valt, a rather casual brownrider strolls into the Roc lounge, pulling off his gloves and shoving them into his pocket. "Shards," the man grumps, going to the slightly untidy sideboard to pour himself a shot of scotch, tossing it back before sloshing another into the glass. "Some people don't know proper packing from a hole in the ground. Got another broken thing today, N'hon. Not my fault," he swears, "the woman let that vase rattle around in the container like a cube in a glass." Then he notices Yhri, and gives her a slightly suspicious glance.

Yhri doesn't startle, exactly, but there is a slight tensing of her frame, especially around the shoulders as she is interrupted by surprise. In sucks a breath and out is goes, her shoulders relaxing as she twists in place. "That's right," she acknowledges, taking his hand and giving it a firm, proper shake. "Just returning from assignment to Landing, heard there might be a problem with Roc's computer." Her head tilts to indicate the machine she's sitting at. "I believe Cikitsakath informed you I would be by?" G'valt gets a sidelong glance, a spark in her eyes as she tries to determine whether or not she should bristle at the fellow brownrider.

N'hon returns the gesture for as long as is necessary and proper before he withdraws his hand, only to clasp it with his other one in front of him. He fixes her with a curious and long stare as if studying her and coming to his own personal opinion of the brownrider in those few seconds. He gives a curt nod, "Esimath relayed that request." he says stiffly, though the smile remains fixed there. "And have you discovered anything amiss? Gr'ant seemed to assure me that all our technological components were up to date and in good working order before he handed Roc to me…" His voice drifts as his head turns to the arrival of G'valt and N'hon's expression barely shifts, save to quirk a brow up at the Wingrider and then sighs as though faced with an errant child. "Be as it may, was the package not appropriately marked then? And please tell me you at least covered the necessary procedures?" The hasty knocking back of two shots of scotch are noted with a disapproving frown, even if this IS the lounge.

G'valt arches a brow at Yhri and then smirks a bit at the techcrafter, sipping his scotch as he wanders over to sprawl into a chair near the hearth, booted feet on the table. He glances back at his Wingleader with a little shrug. "It was marked fragile, but marking it does nothing when it's not packed good and tight." There's another shrug as he sips - savors - this shot. "Yeah, sure, I did the paperwork. It's…I'll get it to you." He shrugs and peers over at Yhri. "The computer is working fine, what's the deal?"

Yhri keeps a level gaze with N'hon for a long moment before glancing back at the computer screen to see the progress of her diagnostics. "Sofar it's checking out, and I'm certain Gr'ant was not misleading you, but after the incident with V'drez and the Weavers I thought it best to be extra sure." She turns back to him. "I'll be sure to give you a full report once the diagnostics are completed." She peers at G'valt and decides she doesn't really like this scotch-shooting rider very much. Her tone is one of civility, however. "Nothing necessarily, but all electronics require periodic maintenance to /stay/ in good working order, like like any machine needs to be oiled."

"Perhaps so," N'hon says in a voice that is just a touch cool towards G'valt and when the brownrider washes out on his assurance of a report, the Wingleader fixes him with a hard look. "Now would be preferable, G'valt? Plenty of desk space and I believe there is spare hide and papers, along with writing tools over there." He nods to indicate the far corner. "In fact, you may write it right here," Long fingers tap the corner of the desk beside the one Yhri is working at. "…and deliver it personally. Also, while I'm aware this is the lounge, if you've still work to be done perhaps the refreshments can wait, hmm?" Cue that smile that is not-a-smile. It's almost creepy though it eases a bit as he looks down at Yhri once more. "Ahh, excellent. I'd be rather disappointed if the computers failed now." N'hon frowns then, eyeing the brownrider sharply and the glance darts swiftly to G'valt as well. "So you witnessed V'drez's error? From what little Esimath could pick from Zevusanth, it was an issue with the manifests?"

G'valt snickers, clearing his throat behind his glass. "Lots of things like to be oiled," he says, grin turning into a knowing smirk for N'hon. Eh? Eh? Gulping down the rest of his shot he adjusts his seat on the couch and peers at Yhri. "What happened with V'drez? That kid is an idiot. Sure it's his fault, not the machine's." His eyes fix on N'hon's, and the older brownrider grunts. "I voted for you, kid, don't get sassy with me." Still, he pushes to his feet to heave himself into the indicated chair, grabbing for a paper and stylus to begin his report with neat, precise penmanship. Look, /boss/, I'm /doing/ it. With irritation. But flawlessly.

"Don't worry," Yhri reassures N'hon in reference to the computers. "The designs we were given are very durable in terms of hardware. Usually it's just a matter of software that has the glitches in it." She glances back over her shoulder, checking the progress on the monitor and turns back to answer the Wingleader's other question. "So it would seem. We had a manifest for a Loom, but somehow he ended up with one for a large quantity of cloth. My suspicion is that it was human error rather than technical, but I am surprised that no one at Weaver Hall thought to double check such a big adjustment." She shrugs, as if to say 'not my call' and glances over at G'valt, though the leer is either missed or ignored. "Out of curiosity, G'valt, if you were so sure that you voted for him, why are you giving him sass?" An eyebrow quirks, head tilting as she waits for an answer.

N'hon just stares impassively at G'valt. Apparently, the bronzerider does not find the implied joke amusing. "V'drez has his faults, but we're not at liberty to discuss them now or accuse him. I'm more than certain that your record is not so spotless either, G'valt." he says cooly, mouth quirking into a tight line. His pale eyes flicker for a moment and the Wingleader lifts his chin up. "Aye, you voted and I am your Wingleader now and the only 'sass' in here has not been from me. I am simply stating the truth. I need that report and the sooner I have it, the quicker issues may be resolved and quicker yet can you ah, relax." N'hon goes on to say and while his voice sounds jovial enough, there is a very subtle undercurrent to it. Tilting his head back down to glance from Yhri to the computer, the bronzerider frowns in thought. "Mhm, I see. If Weavercraft did not question, it may mean that we did have an order placed for it but for another time… No matter. It will be resolved, but I will also see to it that the source of this mix up is found so that it does not happen again." N'hon barely spares G'valt a look once the brownrider sets to writing, though with Yhri's question the Wingleader can't help but smirk. Oh yes, G'valt. Do answer?

G'valt finishes his report and sets the stylus down with a thud. Blowing across the paper, he picks it up and sets it into N'hon's inbox. "There," he says, tossing up a salute and getting to his feet. "Have more deliveries to do sir." After a few shots of scotch? Hmm. He nods to Yhri too, before he's gone.

Yhri takes another glance at the monitor, habitually checking the progress of the task. "I doubt even my record is spotless," the brownrider admits nonchalantly. A couple of mouse clicks navigate the diagnostic in progress, giving the Journeyman a better idea of the status before she turns back to N'hon. "It's certainly possible that someone did place an order for that cloth, though the only use of that much black I can think of is for tablecloths," she admits. "Or maybe curtains." She leans over the back of the chair, pivoting fully around and folding her arms across the top. "I don't think any records were checked before he was sent back with his load, so… This may actually cause more issues." She sighs.

N'hon frowns heavily as G'valt excuses himself after finishing the report and that soon turns into a scowl when the brownrider stalks out. There is a slow inhale of breath, exhaled through his teeth as his jaw clenches and pale eyes narrow. That's what the Wingrider thinks! No doubt N'hon already has Esimath on it that G'valt does not leave the Weyr until the Wingleader can have a few private words with the man. Kid, indeed! "I'd be fearful of a rider with a spotless record." N'hon remarks casually and in a vague amused sort of manner. "I'm uncertain as to why so much cloth has been ordered. Perhaps I will look into that as well." He leans forwards to peer at the computer screen for a moment before straightening again, fingers tugging at the edges of the vest he wears over his tunic, despite the heat outside. "It may. Which means I may be needed to oversee this personally after all. Never a dull day, hmm?" Somehow that also does not quite sound like a joke. "Have you finished with your scan of the computer? I am not needed, I assume, to oversee this?"

Yhri glances back at the computer still purring away at it's self examination. "Nah, I really don't either, but I can get some other work done in the meanwhile," she notes. "Like I said, I'll get a full report into your inbox once it completes." She offers him a smile meant to reassure the bronzerider, who obviously has enough on his plate already. "Let me know if I can be of any other use, of course. Just send message by way of Cikitsakath. I'm sure he'll have no problem relaying it, chatterbox that he is." She grins. "And good luck."

"Excellent!" N'hon replies in a voice that does not rise far beyond flat toned, but it is not cool as it was with G'valt. Which no doubt means the Wingleader is pleased with Yhri's reply and reassurance. Dipping his head in a low, slightly stiff but respectful nod, the bronzerider takes another step back. "I will remember that if we require your assistance again with our computer systems. Your help is appreciated and certainly takes some of the pressure from my shoulders. Now, if you'll excuse me." At the comment of 'good luck', N'hon only smiles that small vague smile of his before taking his leave. Yhri will have the lounge again to herself for now, at least until either her work is completed or more Roc Wingriders come tumbling in from their shifts.