Apparently carven long ago out of the rock itself, this fairly large tunnel-cave is warm, heated by the ovens of the kitchen cavern that rests close alongside, right through the stone. A pair of large oak tables are set here, chairs snug up against them and padded for comfort. The tables often have bowls of fruits, meatrolls, and other 'snack'-style foods resting on them for quick consumption by busy Weyrwomen. Tapestries adorn the walls and serve in some cases as curtains for the openings to the ground weyrs that dot the southern wall of the tunnel. A wide tunnel leads down, narrowing slightly, to the living cavern, while at the opposite end of the dragonlength room is another tunnel, glowlit, that turns a corner and vanishes. It's often a site of activity, for it leads in a slow spiral up to the tunnels that connect the higher weyrs to one another. There is, in deference to those weyrwomen with firelizards, a perch in one corner so they can get rid of the little beasties when desired.

Stomp, stomp, stomp. Footfalls sound as O'kano appears from the tunnel which leads to the upper weyrs, apparently including his own. Deinha is noticed after a moment and the weyrling pauses -- hesitates -- before offering over a curt nod by way of greeting. "I don't suppose there's any klah down here?" he queries hopefully. "Because it's all gone on my floor and I can't sleep and Jharzeth's making too much noise so that even if I wanted to sleep right now I couldn't." He's on a quest.

Deinha is just stepping from behind a curtain, glance going first down the tunnel towards the living cavern, then to the other tunnel. The expression on her face is something of mild consternation. Stomping, however, captures her attention, replacing the slight frown with first curiosity, then a smile, then a blush, then another, less even, smile. "O..O'kano. Hi. Ah...no." Recovering from whatever had her temporarily flustered, the girl -- well, young woman, really -- shakes her head. "There isn't. And I don't have any supplies for it in my weyr yet, either." A pause, as she considers something, then an offer: "But I'm headed where there should be some? I was actually on my way to .. ah, the Taverns." This last is a bit breathy and rushed; she continues quickly, "Not so much to drink, though, as to answer this... well, it doesn't matter." She waves one hand. "Anyway, that's where I'm going. Want to come along?" She sounds a bit over-eager, though it's hard to tell.

O'kano appears less than pleased at the news that there isn't any of the desired liquid to be found; he peers around just to be certain, uttering a small sigh as Deinha's words hold true and no pitchers are spied. "Maybe there's some on the upper levels," he begins dubiously, throwing a glance back towards the way he came. A side of his mouth quirks -- a smile? A smirk? -- as he cautiously questions, "Why'd you want to go to a tavern, anyways? That's where drunk weyr-people are. Like that one bronzerider." The Weyrleader? Good, Puo. "I...I don't think I'd want to go there. No. No, thanks." He can even been semi-polite, if he really tries. "Do you think the caverns have klah?" He grimaces faintly, muttering, "Of course, with my luck, one of those nasty little weyr-kids who run around've put something in the pots that's liable to disagree with me."

Deinha starts to open her mouth and explain, then pauses. As O'kano continues speaking, she purses her lips and waits. Finally: "Klah? Oh, I suppose they might. If that's where you want to go. And you're sure. But sometimes the brats do that, yes." Dismissive. Another faint pause, then a light, "Sure you won't change your mind about the tavern? Not everyone there is drunk, probably, and they've got to have good klah there." To let people stay up, drinking, longer. "I'm headed there, you see, because ... well, someone told me to go there." She frowns. "Wait, that's not quite right. Let me try again: I got a message from Chutzpah saying to go there. And he's being awful, and I can't tell where on Pern he got that message from, much less from whom." The frown fades a bit as she comments, "It's legible enough that the person must have been fairly educated, but still... what kind of person just sends a note like that: no name, no explanation?" The frown is back, and emotion in blue eyes is becoming clearer: worry?

"Well...maybe they've got good klah." Puo hesitates once, then again, fingers idly smoothing down the creases of his tunic as he considers. "But what if they put stuff in it?" He rolls his eyes at his own words, then, commenting dryly, "I suppose it can't be any worse than whatever the regular stuff's got in it by now." The bronzerider skips to the next, and most likely safer, topic with an edge to his tone that's akin to relief; his decision regarding caverns or tavern can be put off that much longer. "Note? You'd better not go if you don't know who sent it," O'kano advises. "I bet it's someone who's drunk three too many wineskins and has decided to...kidnap the youngest weyrwoman or something."

Deinha rolls her eyes as well. But, she also doesn't look at Puo as she does so -- thereby hiding the gesture. Her gaze quickly skitters back at the advice, though, head tilting to the side as she looks at her bronzeriding companion. "Really?" A bit dry, that. "I rather doubt anyone would care to kidnap the youngest -- I'm still powerless, right?" There's an edge in her own voice near the end, and it's denying her calm. She *is* nervous. "Still, wouldn't you just think that's all the more reason you should come with me?" Her smile is, perhaps, overly sweet. "You being, after all, rider of bronze, son of a Lord Holder, and, well, a man." She amends that, "Young man. Wouldn't it be the honorable thing to do? Make sure I'm not attacked?"

"You'd know better than I," O'kano shoots back. "I don't know what goldriders can do any differently than any other rider." Besides the fact that their dragons clutch all the others. But that's not his point. "Well..." he fudges and fidgets, eventually stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets. "Well, /fine/." But don't get the idea that he's happy about his role as the bodyguard; indeed, there's a flicker of that ever-ready frown touching upon his countenance. "You're right." Puo's pride has finally led to his unwilling consent to be dragged into unsavory situations such as that tavern, and he's beginning to realize it: hence, the frown.

She grins suddenly, "Of course, it's probably just some scheme of Aewen's. Or maybe just an absent-minded invite -- the person could have just *forgotten* to leave his or her name. Think of it as a mystery, O'kano. Let yourself loose." Just be ready if she screams. Anyway, Dei's smiling, vaguely amused, certainly reassured, and apparently rather content with herself and Pern as we know it. Oblivious, or, more likely, ignoring Puo's frown.

O'kano's frown doesn't disappear as he utters a dramatic sigh. "We'll see soon enough, hmm?" Resignation resonates in both voice and demeanor as Puo digests the other's words. Aewen. Goodie. "Come on. We wouldn't want to miss this mysterious letter-writer, would we?" One'd think he'd almost preferred the idea of an attacker -- but there's little enough time to ponder his mood, for Puo trudges off in the down-hill direction, heading for one of the tunnels.

Glows shine bright in holders on every wall, lightening this deep, half-finished cavern to near-daylight glow. Weyrfolk of every kind mingle here to laugh and talk, drinking to their hearts' content of the fairly wide stock. The owner of the tavern, Malkin, serves out drinks, handing over mugs of klah, ale (a tavern specialty), wines imported from Benden, Tillek, and other places, as well as a number of far more exotic, special-mix drinks either exclusive to the Lizard or garnered from outside sources. Food's available too, in huge quantities: meatrolls, stew, bread, sandwiches, and just about everything else. Even firelizards, as namesakes of the tavern, aren't chased off, and often a well-behaved one receives a tidbit of fresh herdbeast or wherry.

Deinha doesn't comment as they head to the Lizard .. she just walks, half-smile lingering on her lips. "Well... here goes nothing," is her brief comment before she strides into the tavern. And if she's sticking fairly close to O'kano as she scans the small crowd, it can be ignored, right? "I guess.. we just wait, now." Her gaze abruptly returns to the bronzerider, "Or get your klah, actually. C'mon, nobody looks that drunken and scary to me."

Upon entering, O'kano pauses briefly to peer about. "You see...whoever it is?" he inquires briskly, standing with arms akimbo as he visually hunts out the sender of the mysterious letter. "What about that fellow over there?" A hand leaves his hip, momentarily, to point out a slumped man at one of the tables who's faced in the opposite direction. "He could've sent it. And he certainly looks drunk to me." Nevertheless, he emits a long-suffering sigh and heads for a table. "I want klah," he tells one of the weyr residents who's employed at the tavern, scowling fiercely. "Plain klah. Nothing in it. Got it?"

Deinha shakes her head at the question, patiently pointing out that, "'Whoever it is' will have to spot *me*." Following the point, she looks briefly at the slumped figure then shrugs, "I don't know. I suppose it *could* be, but ... I doubt it. I don't *know* him; he shouldn't know me, either." It makes sense to *her*, at any rate. Deinha keeps looking about her -- despite her own claim that she won't recognize the sender -- as she moves to the table, then sits down with a sigh of her own. "I just don't understand why they couldn't have simply *said* who they were..." is her repeated muttering (to herself), as O'kano stops the resident. On hearing the order, though, she turns her head away, trying to hide an all-too-amused smile.

O'kano suspiciously peers after the tavern girl, a scowl set upon his features. "It's got to be bad if there's no name," he states with considerable annoyance. "If I was you, I wouldn't have even come." When his klah arrives he fishes out a eighth piece grudgingly and hands it over as payment. The steaming liquid is eyed with considerable distrust before, belatedly, he queries, "Were you going to have anything while you wait?"

Deinha ignores that advice, again. She was curious. She is curious. In response to the question, she slants Puo a gaze, then murmurs, "I suppose so." A pause, then, deliberately: "Now that we're senior weyrlings, I could even try one of their more exotic alcoholic mixes, couldn't I?" Without allowing any response to that, she lifts one hand to get the same serving girl's attention.

That same young woman ignores the glance, as she's been ignoring glances of that sort and worse for the length of her service here. Instead, she smiles faintly at Deinha, "Yes?" And Deinha, smiling as well, requests "A glass of ... redfruit juice, please." The woman nods and steps away to fetch the drink. Deinha grins at O'kano and supplies, "Of course, that doesn't mean I will. Not the right occasion, after all." Once again her eyes search the tavern -- seeking, no doubt, a wave or other signal that she's been spotted. Absently, she asks, "Is the klah any worse than elsewhere?"

O'kano considers, hesitates, then informs, "It's drinkable." He's reluctant to give out any compliments and doesn't quite answer the question, but the klah must be good enough for him or else he'd probably be making the fact that it wasn't optimum known quite loudly. He takes a small sip and watches the woman leave before he curiously queries, "What do you think's the right sort of an occasion, then?"

Deinha's smile returns. "Oh, that's easy. Celebrations. Social dinners. Handfastings." The frown wavers, faintly, before she continues: "Promotions. Perhaps even our graduation..." She's teasing a bit with the last one, eyes sparkling as she prods O'kano, "What about you? Don't you ever drink? I'd think the son of a Lord Holder" (she says the title just a tad bit mockingly, but with a widening of smile meant to indicate she's not intending to offend) "would have plenty of occasions where drink was common." A tilt of her head as she acknowledges, "Not the exotic mixes, mind you. But a good glass of Benden -- red or white, depending." The arrival of her drink brings Deinha's eyes away from fellow weyrling, momentarily, as she accepts the glass and absently hands over an appropriate fraction of a mark. Then, blue-eyed gaze is back, curious. "So what's your story?"

Puo carefully chooses his words, punctuating the brief lapse between question and answer with another drink of his klah. "Wine isn't bad," he admits. "Neither's drinking. It's just...people who drink all the time. For no reason. And then stagger around and all." From his tone and expression, it's clear that O'kano considers most weyrfolk in this catergory. Nothing's said about occasions such as the weyrling graduation -- it's safer that way. Eyebrows quirk a bit as he echoes, "Story?"

Deinha nods, immediately. She agrees. Well, about those people being bad -- not about stereotyping weyrfolk as such. Amusement tones her clarification at the last, though, "They don't say that at Boll -- 'what's your story'?" Time for her own lifting of brows, "I was just referring back to the earlier question, what keeps you from drinking?" She nods, "Which you answered quite well enough. There *isn't* any reason to drink to excess." Excluding, perhaps, proddiness, which she prefers not to discuss. "Of course..." Deinha plays with her own drink, tilting it to the side a little to watch the liquid move. "If you'd like to tell me another story, I'd be glad to hear it. Especially as it seems my mystery writer isn't here yet..." That said, she looks up from the glass to ask another question: "Did your parents ever talk about getting you handfasted to some suitable woman, for the sake of the hold?" Yes, it seems rather abrupt. She probably has her reasons, though, but who's to say?

"Yeah, I guess they say that." O'kano shrugs his shoulders, listening a moment and adds after she mentions the reference, "Oh." The half-empty mug is considered before his glance flickers back to Deinha and he dryly informs, "I don't know any stories." None that he's willing to share, anyways. The final question warrants a surprised expression, but he does answer after a moment. "Once in awhile, yeah. I figured they would eventually -- they'd arranged my older brothers' handfastings. What about you?"

For the expected reciprocation, that last question seems to startle Deinha just slightly. Enough so that she takes a good gulp of her juice before answering -- buying time. Only then does she set the glass down, giving it a brief, but telling, glance that leaves her thoughts rather clear: why, oh why, didn't she get the alcoholic one? "Ah...yes." A faint pause, as if that's all Deinha's going to say, and then her gaze is lifted, clear blue eyes going so far as to *seek out* Puo's, even. "I was getting ready to *be* handfasted when I first came here. To a boy at White Run." She licks her lips, hesitating again.

Deinha, in turn, soon tips her own head to the side -- in acknowledgement: "Yes." Again that single syllable and a pause. "Um.." She does look down now, sliding one finger through a small puddle of condensation already forming around her glass. "That really wasn't ... wasn't the problem, though. We could have just weyrmated once I graduated." Deinha clears her throat, suddenly, before explaining, "He...cheated on me." Another nervous gesture takes over as Deinha shifts in her seat. After a moment of obvious struggle -- with some inner feeling or another -- she finishes, softly enough that it's hard to catch: "I walked in on them."

"Well, why don't you?" O'kano begins to query. He stops quite abruptly, then, as she further explains, gaze sliding from what remains of his drink to Deinha as the glimmers of a frown begin to form -- a concerned frown. "Oh." A pause; the young man hesitates, not quite certain how to respond. "I'm sorry?" Although it's not much, it's sincere, and he hastens to add on to his inadequate phrase. "He obviously wasn't a good sort of person to handfast or weyrmate, then, if he went and slept with someone else." Puo, master of the understated.

Deinha hardly catches the initial question, wrapped up as she is in the telling of her 'sordid little story'. And then, of course, it becomes moot. A quick shake of her head follows the apology: "I appreciate that, I do, but you shouldn't be. Well..not exactly. I'm okay about that now, or mostly okay. Really. It's just..." She sighs, then agrees, "No, no, he wasn't, really. I ... it's not even him I have a problem with, though. It's.." She frets just a moment, then continues, "It's my parents, O'kano. Maybe you'd understand. I .. I can't speak to them, can't *look* at them, hardly," She shuts her eyes even as she speaks, only now truly losing her composure, and her voice drops to a roughened whisper as she admits, "Sometimes, I wish I could just hate them. And then I hate *myself* for thinking such an awful thing." Eyes re-opening, she toys with her glass as she explains, "I grew up happy; my parents saw to that. They've given me everything I need: a warm home, plenty of comforts, love enough. And I even thought they'd picked a nice boy for me -- from a good enough family to suit us, but also nice, and good-looking, and... it just seemed perfect. But then I thought..." She swallows, tears coming to her eyes for the first time -- try as she might to blink them away. "I thought that when they found out what he'd done...why, they'd be furious. Instead, they just..." She shakes her head, then ducks as the tears start to fall. A muffled: "Oh, Faranth, I'm sorry. I can't believe I'm doing this to you. And now, of all times." She lays her head on her arms -- trying to hide the silent tears from the rest of the taverns, at least. Though wouldn't they get a kick out of seeing the new goldrider weeping like a baby.

O'kano doesn't know how to respond, a fact which is fairly obvious from his bewildered expression; he's out of his element and not so sure of what to say when it comes to reassurances. "You...you don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," he eventually offers, worrying his lower lip as he watches on. A brief glance is cast around the room to check if anyone's taken an interest to their talk and even goes so far as to shoot one of his famed glares over to a younger girl who looks just a wee bit too interested in the ongoings. She turns around quick enough, and the bronzerider likewise returns his attention to Deinha. Awkwardly, he reaches out in a thoughtful gesture, intending on patting her shoulder or something equally sympathetic, then changes his mind and withdraws the hand, quickly wrapping fingers around his heat-warmed mug again: his comfort blanket. Curiosity gets the best of him, and out slips another question. "What'd they do?" O'kano nearly looks striken at his audacity, quickly countering the inquiry with a swift apology, Puo-style. "Nevermind. Nevermind that."

Deinha makes some unintelligible sound of understanding at that, still trying to both hide and control this sudden flow of tears. When she finally looks up -- too late to appreciate the glare and just in time to allow only the palest of suspicions of the almost-gesture -- her expression holds lingering sadness, and more than a hint of modesty. Oh dear; what has she done? At the question, her gaze flicks immediately to Puo. And, with a sniff, she shakes her head. "No, you've every right. If I'm going to burst into tears on you, like some pathetic baby, I should at least explain." Amazingly, she even responds to the stricken look by reaching out one of her own hands -- to wave it in dismissal. "I don't mind, really. Goodness knows I've asked worse questions, myself." The hint of a smile that thought conjures quickly fades, though, as she prepares an answer. "They ... told me to forget about it. That ... boys... will be boys, and V-Valien was just doing that. And maybe I should hurry up about it, and forget this silly notion of standing, because... because it really wouldn't do for everyone to *know* about what I'd seen. And certainly not to think that anything was wrong. No," it's temper that colors Deinha's naturally soft voice this time, though the upset tones still reveal plenty of the earlier let-down. "They weren't furious at him, didn't demand his parents force an explanation. Instead, they thought I should just be ..." She spits out the words now, "discreet about it. Like it didn't matter that he was betraying feelings *I* thought we shared. Even..even that it was *my* sharding fault that he was with someone else!" Her hand shakes just a bit as she smooths back a bit of loose hair, calming herself. "As if I should be ashamed, on the one hand, and accepting on the other, instead of feeling hurt. So they took his side. Took society's side. Over their daughter. Over me."

"Well." O'kano takes several minutes to mull over this wealth of information, expression carefully controlled in a rare show of tactfulness and compassion. "I think that this boy -- Valien, is it? -- obviously doesn't have a clue. I mean, if he should be...spending time with any woman, it should've been you." A pause. "Er." That didn't come out exactly how he wanted it to, an embarrassment taints his cheeks a deeper shade of bronze -- hopefully it won't be too noticable under his permenant tan. Puo forges on, moving past his earlier blunder, and adds, "This guy isn't worth your time. And he shouldn't have done what he did. Your parents, too. If I was you, and that'd all happened, I would've...I would've..." He trails off, sentence unfinished. "Well, I don't know what I'd have done. But, that's not the point." His head quickly shakes in the negative fashion as Deinha asks her question, answer vehement. "No. That's not right, and you know it. Sebayeth knows it. Everyone knows it except your sharded parents and his Valien-person." Again, he colors a bit as he reviews his earlier words, making a face at his language. "Er, sorry."

Deinha looks a bit surprised, truly, at the support. And her own cheeks pinken a bit at the declaration, though she nods faintly -- she understood. The declaration receives another quickly surprised look, followed by a slow, steady smile. Only after the last apology does the young woman speak, though. Nevermind the language; she was the first to fowl-mouth it. Blame it on stress. "O'kano...I .. you know what? You can be really sweet, when you try a bit." Deinha doesn't even think to blush as she compliments the bronzeriding son-of-a-Lord-Holder; for her, it's simple truth. "Thank you. I think I need that sometimes -- all of that. Because it does start to get to you, when someone you've trusted all of your life tells you things like that..." She runs a few fingers under her eyes, wiping at the tell-tale signs of her earlier tears. Smile deepening, she adds, lightly, "If you've got anything, any problem, you can unload now, you know. I couldn't mind it, not after you've been so nice." For all that she's half teasing, her next words are as sober as the man slumped in the corner is not: "Really, though, Puo. Thank you. And I would be glad to return the favor, any time."

O'kano lapses into a sheepish silence upon receiving the compliment, finally muttering, "Thanks." As long as it doesn't get around -- it'll ruin the image Puo's spent so much time perfecting. "I wasn't too happy with my own parents when they decided to ship me up here," he remembers in an attempt to relate his own story to Deinha's. "I felt like my father betrayed me, too." Dissimilar as they are, Puo tries neverless. Shoulders then give a shrug that borders on nonchalant, and the bronzerider remarks, "None of my problems compare to that." He does give a faint grin, though, adding, "But I'll remember."

Deinha smiles -- laughs even, if more softly than usual. "Oh, I wouldn't say you're lacking in problems, though. Just ones of a different nature." Her head tilting to the side, she opens her mouth as if to say something, then shuts it again. Instead of speaking -- for once -- she sips at what's left of her juice. Then: "I'm glad we're friends now. That's safe to say, isn't it? I mean, you've taught me to swim and let me .. well .. *metaphorically* cry on your shoulder, and we've talked a little about 'Boll, and.. I like you. You don't really seem to hate me, either." This said with a bit of a grin -- perhaps as she remembers their first meeting or two, or perhaps simply in consideration of the way he treats *most* people.

Rueful, O'kano admits, "I've got my share. So's everybody." The klah mug, empty now, is set aside; the same tavern girl whisks over to sweep it away, carrying it off before he can protest. "Hey! What if I want more?" he calls after her, scowling. "More marks," comes the cheerful reply, which merits another annoyed scowl. Attention then returns to Deinha and he nods quickly and answers at the same pace, almost as if he can get it out of the way as swiftly as possible. "Yeah. Friends." He rolls his eyes expressively, countering, "I don't hate people." Except for Drekyn and R'ken and C'drel and S'ara... "Most people, anyways."

Deinha nods as well, then abruptly looks about the tavern. "You know...given my recent ..ah...display, you'd think whoever was looking for me would've surely noticed. And come over here." She wrinkles her nose, "Perhaps it was all just some kind of practical joke -- just to get me to come here and wait all night for nothing." She wouldn't be avoiding commenting on his last claim, no...

Deinha chuckles, "In that case, I imagine he -- or she! -- has succeeded quite better than intended. Now the question is..should I stay, enjoy the surroundings as much as possible, or scurry back to my weyr and hide." She shrugs, "Or go back to my weyr, and Sebayeth, and simply better spend my time." On second thought, that didn't come out right. With a faintly annoyed expression, Deinha quickly assures, "Not that I haven't..well, actually, I don't know that 'enjoy' is quite the right word for this past time, but ... I have been glad of your company, and I haven't felt my time was wasted. I didn't mean to imply anything against *you*. Just against whoever sent that note." Now she's vaguely worried again, words rushing as she hastens to make up for that careless tongue of hers.

O'kano's almost amused at Deinha's tongue-tied state, the beginnings of a grin creeping onto normally dour expression. "It's okay," he tells her, breezily brushing past the fouled up sentences and half-finished phrases. "I understand." Now that the mysterious letter seems to be solved and found out for a hoax, it doesn't appear that O'kano's in any rush to hurry away and cower under coverlets. But he doesn't make any suggestions, either, awaiting the other's decision patiently from his opposite end of the table.

Deinha smiles back, burying what would be a sigh in her glass as she drains the last bit of translucent amber liquid. Redfruit juice is, again, lamented briefly -- another choice may well have helped, earlier. Anyway, her smile only broadens as *her* glass is whisked away; indeed, she hardly flicks her gaze from O'kano. "I think we could stick around a bit longer. It's not so bad a place, really. You might even try something besides the klah." Eyes sparkling, she waits just long enough before finishing smoothly, "The juice was certainly fresh enough to please most anyone." Yes, the 'most' is a necessity. But, Deinha's not lingering over that; now that she's relaxed again, her typical chattiness returns. Without a worry in her mind, so it would seem, she launches into a story: "So, when I first came here, I went off riding a runner -- not that I was very experienced with those. Guess who I went with..? Cor, would you believe it?! And not only her, but Riko -- remember him from Candidacy?" Yadda, yadda, yadda... Not a bad evening, really, if you ignore the fact that she *cried*. And she's certainly showing no signs of tears, now -- just a general openness that comes with this newly declared friendship. Because that, as Puo will learn soon enough, is Deinha through and through. Just like her chatter: open, honest, inviting, and unassuming.