Face the Music [D'ren]

R'nya was personally pleased that his Weyrleader was seated alone that evening. He had no desire to voice his thoughts and feelings about his new wing with the ladies poking their noses in. Not knowing any of the women in question on a personal level, R'nya couldn't say if he was being reasonable or not in his opinion that they might shove their opinion in uncalled for, or if they would let them talk in peace. They were well ranked women, and he had no desire to offend any of them. But he wished to speak to D'ren about what he had made notes of, not the Weyrwoman or her assistants.

The missing Weyrsecond was an added bonus, for the same reason. R'nya was sure that the man would likely be full of many interesting tidbits and ideas, but he was rather eager to prove his worth on his own, and he had more than enough issues with his own wingriders having more experience and opinion than he often called for. It was going to be an interesting battle, getting them into shape. Physically, mentally, emotionally. They were a mess. A rag tag combination of lazy busy bodies and sexual expansionists.

D'ren's question earned a mild look from R'nya, the younger bronzerider considering the offer thoughtfully. Leaning back in his seat silently, R'nya poured himself a glass of wine. He wasn't ignoring the Weyrleader, but rather gathering his thoughts and considering how best to begin the conversation he wished to have with the other bronzerider. "Not a lot," R'nya replied mildly, taking a sip of his drink. That, at least, was fair to say. He didn't consider there was a lot the Weyrleader could do. He was content to get his wing into shape on his own steam, but he was interested in bouncing his thoughts and opinions off the more experienced man. R'nya hadn't run a wing before, and was simply running off his experience as a wingrider prior to the plague.

But damned if that wasn't a decade and a half ago!

"Wing practice was a disaster." He peered over the edge of his wineglass as he spoke, an eyebrow arching slightly in a very vague expression of amusement. Rather than being thrown off by the fact that he'd been given a bunch of lazy, unfit bastards that had no concept of working as a team - R'nya viewed it as a personal challenge. His Weyrleader had decided he was the person to bring these men and women into shape, into line, and prepare them for the task of fighting Thread. And R'nya would be damned if he wouldn't meet his Weyrleader's expectations.

Lowering his glass, R'nya met D'ren's gaze without flinching, his expression still holding a very subtle trace of his amusement. "Some of them will measure up, in time." A few rare ones weren't all that far off, if he were honest but he didn't want to buff up egos in his wing so early on, particularly when he needed them to learn to work together. One man's success was all their success. One's loss, was all their loss. He honestly didn't feel the selfish riders he'd been burdened with had any idea how to work together. They were too busy putting themselves into self-assigned cliques and colourist groupings. They needed to learn the simply fact R'nya had learned: Every colour had their place, and a greenrider's place was not always to be under a heavy handed fist (or other bodily parts).

"A couple I have no hope for." Harsh, perhaps, but some of those riders had done very little to lift his spirits or bring him any faith in their ability to fight thread. They were unfit, untrained, untried and disrespectful. He had no idea if he'd even be able to get them to a level he considered worthy of sitting on a dragon, let alone fighting against Thread. How had half these men even graduated?!