Logs:Fort Hatching 2010
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| RL Date: 22 July, 2010 |
| Who: Cirse, K'del, Teris |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: K'del and Teris attend Fort's hatching. Afterwards, they pay their respects to Cirse. |
| Where: Galleries, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 12, Month 4, Turn 23 (Interval 10) |
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| Galleries, Fort Weyr The entrance to the sands and galleries alike is little more than an archway and a section of flat stone before it dissolves into the sands proper. Although it's warm here, it's not nearly as hot as the sands themselves are. To the right is a broad pathway leading to the stands, with a set of stairs leading up one side all the way to the upper tiers. Also visible from here is an odd engraving on the wall -- an etching that details the rotation of the Red Star. Lined along the right-hand side of the hatching cavern are the galleries, the seats carved from the stone wall and stacked backward to allow observers the best view possible of the golden sands. Those at the bottom are protected from wayward dragonets by a railing, while dignitaries from outside the Weyr -- Lord Holders, other Weyrleaders, Craftmasters and their ilk -- have a specially designated spectator's box at the topmost row. There are three separate flights of stairs leading into the galleries, with one near the entrance, another set in the middle, and a flight at the northernmost end. When there are eggs on the Sands, type +list/eggs to see the whole clutch or +view/egg <#> to see an individual egg. From the sands, Molten Fury Egg simmers. It's just a gentle motion back and forth, enough to mark the sands with a wider trough where the curve of the shell rests. Restless, it seems to be on to other things than just baking, lonely maybe? With the others already cracked and missing their occupants. From the sands, First out of the shell is a willow green, hatched from the Get Their Attention Egg in the blink of an eye. With speed and swiftness to match her hatching, she rights herself from her tangle and darts off to inspect the white-clad young people before her. Her Impression is not so quick and she takes the time to gaze thoughtfully at each boy and girl, while in the meantime the Need A Distraction Egg produces limbs and a tail before the rest of the shell is shaken from a ocean blue body. He finds his rider before his sister, stumbling into a young woman, Rylee from the Weyr's lower caverns. From the sands, Mellayne is not leading the group of candidates streaming out to the sands. No way. That's for someone else to do, thankyouverymuch. She's definitely not the last of the white-robes out the passageway, however. Leave *that* to someone else, too. "Shells, shells, didn't half remember what this was like," she can be heard muttering as she moves forward, stumbles the tiniest bit, bows to sire and dam and straightens up. She's not green around the gills... yet. Yet. Forget the nervous wringing of hands. Dressed to the nines - as is, of course, appropriate - High Reaches' Weyrleader arrives with his weyr's newest junior, escorting her without any actual physical contact. "Shame about all that mess out there; their bowl almost looks worse than ours did, after the meteor," K'del tells her, conversationally, as they head towards seats. "Oh-- look, there's the first Impression already. First two, even. Come on, Teris." From the sands, Kenzie appears to be torn between excited and terrified, checking and rechecking her robe before the candidates are ushered out onto the sands. Once out there she blinks around for a moment, everything seeming larger to her now that the time has finally come, but a nudge from another candidate has he quickly bowing to the sire and dam and then moving to join the semi-circle of white just as a green hatches and Impresses in what feels like a second. From the sands, Standing to the side is V'rel, arms folded across his chest, observing carefully along with the other weyrlingmaster's assistants. The first egg to crack sees him standing to attention and then he's moving to conduct the first pair from the sands. From the sands, Slightly paled under the natural darkness of her skin, Edela files out in line with several other girls; the first eggs break so quickly that the swivel of her head tracks it, whiplash fast, along the sands and she inhales sharply, quietly. "Steady on, Layne," she murmurs softly under her breath as she passes by, takes up a place somewhere near Kenzie and glancing once over her shoulder at the sire and dam with a wan smile. From the sands, Firewater Egg shivers in its cradle of sand and stills again for a few moments before it trembles in earnest, ruddy liquid seeming to run thick and fasts down its sides, minute cracks gaping open along its length without parting fully as the hatchling inside pushes hard to free itself. From the sands, Shimmers of Heat Egg doesnt so much rock as shiver, its movement betrayed only by the stir of sand grains at its base. In stops and starts, it seems to wish only to rearrange each speck of sand that touches it, and, once satisfied that each has moved just slightly, it goes still again, only to start up the same routine a few minutes later. B'kaiv hurries up the steps after K'del and Teris, but he veers off to head higher when they look as though they're stopping. He sends a look and a quick smile up toward the ledges before settling into a seat without looking, his attention already on the hatching below. From the sands, "I know it," Layne murmurs Edela-wards as she steps back, ending up not far down the semicircle in a knot of older boys and one or two other girls. Her voice doesn't shake except on the first word, and maybe that's something. "You too, y'know, aye?" Blue eyes lift for a fleeting second, scanning galleries and ledges for... someone. Maybe more than one someone. "They gotta be up there," is the hiss to no one in particular, "wouldn't miss it, that lot." that's soft enough that Edela might very well miss it in the chaos. As in the chaos of those first two hatchlings breaking shell, oooooh. From the sands, Niora's arrival on the sands, between a cluster of other female candidates, is somewhat lacking, nerves making the girl stumble a time or two as she wipes her hands nervously on the fabric of her white robe. Her bow to sire and dam are quick, jerky little bobs from the waist, before she straightens, and glances wide-eyed towards the eggs. "It's different from here." she murmurs. "Haven't seen anything like it." Nevermind having ever been to a Hatching to begin with. Her gaze strays towards those she knows -- Kenzie, who she remembers eating cake with, and Edela. "Good luck," is whispered. And back she looks at the eggs, gulping now and then. From the sands, The Iced Tea Eggs rocks to and fro, to and fro, suddenly falling forward heavily to send a tawny brown dragonet sprawling to the Sands. Dazed, he lies there a moment or two, all splayed limbs and drooping wings, then he's off, barrelling forward with surprising speed to present himself at the feet of a stocky lad who rears back, anticipating a collision, only to tumble forward and wrap arms around his new lifemate. Escorted in such a way, Teris could probably say that she's simply accompanying her Weyrleader or vice versa. "A shame, yes." Her response is somewhat distracted as she scans the crowd briefly, then turns her attention toward the sands as the find their seats. "It always goes so quickly. You'd think I'd be used to that by now but it's always slightly jarring." From the sands, Kenzie grins at Edela as she comes close, "I know they tell you it's fast, but this ain't fast. It's Fast." A glance along at Mellayne results in another grin, but fairly quickly her eyes go back to scanning the sands just in case there's a hatchling somwehere with blood on its mind. Niora's whisper receives a "Luck." that's cut rather short as a candidate close by nearly gets bowled over by a brown. Eyes go wide and she blinks over and over before offering a slightly cautious, "Congratulations?" From the sands, Kapow! The Firewater Egg bursts open explosively sending bits of shell flying in every direction. Hot on the heels of those shards, a compact ball of brown comes rolling forth, crashes into another egg and unfolds into an ungainly sprawl of a dragonet. Dazed for a moment or two, the newly hatched whiskey-painted hatchling stares up at the ceiling with an air of profound confusion only to get hit in the head by a piece of shell falling off of the egg he just crashed into. Ow. Shaking it off, the brown rolls hard to one side, shakes his wings and tail out and lets out a defiant bugle. You can't keep a man down! And he bounds forward, only a little unsteadily, to figure out what's shaking in this brand new world he's found himself in. From the sands, >---< Whiskey Painted Rebel Brown >------------------------------------------< Ambered whiskey flows across the hide of this handsome brown dragon, deep golden undertones shimmering through when the light strikes him. There's a cocksure confidence in every line of his wiry form, a devil-may-care light to his expressive eyes, a rebellious tilt to his chin and a bold swagger to his clumsy movements. The tawny shades of his wide forehead and blunt muzzle appear grizzled under his chin as if he's got five o'clock shadow; hints of tobacco speckle outward from there, bleeding into a bruising of russet along his jaws. Cognac dribbles down his neck and across muscled shoulders to drip off lean flanks and pool into the tanned leather of his underbelly where strong, clean limbs dusted with clay, darken to dirt on talons that end in chrome-tipped claws. The faint hint of flames lick soot-smudged wing bones, curling smoke across the tequila-flushed membranes stretching between them; fire's glow seen dulled through drifting haze. As if tattooed, odd markings of gunmetal grey mottle the length of his back shading the base of each ridge all the way to the tip of his elegant tail. >----------------------------------------------------------------------------< From the sands, "Fast as a lightning strike, you ain't lyin'," Layne agrees, but then she's had her head turned by something tawny and oncoming. "Whoa. Where'd he come from, then?" She's not seen the whiskey-shaded second brownling yet - give her a second. Or an eyeblink, whichever. K'del, shucking off his jacket to leave only his long-sleeved blue shirt (and his pants, yes), settles back in his chair, eyes scanning the sands with cheerful thoughtfulness. "Know what you mean," he agrees, in Teris' direction. "It's always kind of frustrating, when it's Cadejoth's, too. Like-- I want to see /everything/, because they're his, but I just can't, and then it's all over. Oh-- and another one." Multiple other ones, but K'del's pointing at the newest brown. "Like his colour." From the sands, Another pair needs collecting and V'rel hoofs it on over, wiping sweat from his brow with his handkerchief, his semi-bald pate gleaming in the lighted cavern. From the sands, Like the mirage it seems, Shimmers of Heat Egg slowly fades away, dissolving into chunks and bits of egg-shell as the hatchling within slowly tears its way out. First comes the blunted nose, followed swiftly by awkwardly placed legs and a lean, low-slung body. Finally managing to slide free of her prison, Sun-Kissed Canopy Green Hatchling pauses on the sands, still but for the constant twist and curl of her goo-stained tail, the rustle of dark wings. Then - slowly, cautiously, she begins to slink, hunting for something as yet undefinable. From the sands, >---< Sun-Kissed Canopy Green >----------------------------------------------< The rich, vibrant hue of grassy green spills from nose to tail-tip, washing over the proud, wedge-shaped head, skimming down spine, over low, squat body, lightening imperceptibly along throat and belly into a pale malachite. Sun-kissed yellow highlights muzzle and high-rising eye ridges, tracing the line between spring-bright back and the paler celadon hue of her underside. Thin, flat ridges skim from head knobs to tail-base, marching along her spine in orderly precision, echoed on either side by rosettes of ecru, haloed by a deeper golden-brown. Her blunted wings, springing gaily from her shoulders, billow often upwards, fern-hued sails suspended between spars of a richer, deeper hunter green, like a verdant shading canopy. Her limbs, short and slightly rounded, jut from her low form at odd angles, angling outwards; perpendicular to her body rather than parallel. Long, elegant toes curve gracefully from short feet, tipped by creamy, blunted talons. Her generous tail, quickly thinning to attenuated delicacy, moves endlessly in curls and twitches, never quite still. >----------------------------------------------------------------------------< From the sands, Molten Fury Egg simmers. It's just a gentle rocking motion back and forth, enough to mark the sands with a wider trough where the curve of the shell rests. Restless, it seems to be on to other things than just baking. Maybe it's lonely? With some of the others already cracked and missing their occupants, perhaps it can feel the emptiness around it. From the sands, Edela does some stand-searching of her own, though wide brown eyes stray up to the dragons lining the cavern to settle briefly on a smallish blue. A smile curling her lips, the Istan turns and offers just as softly, firm in her surety: "Luck, all." Cracking eggs beg her attention, though, gaze lingering on that whiskeyed brown before back to her fellow candidates, brightening eagerly in unspoken excitement. From the sands, Niora flinches, close enough to that charging brown that she too is reacting, surprise registering in her gaze long enough to realize the boy she'd expected to be hit, has Impressed instead. "Hey, good going," she calls out, nervously scuffling her feet back and forth before the second brown hatchling is spotted. "He's ... brown." Well, that's an understatement. Indecision wars for a moment, and Niora chooses the prudent path, bolting a little closer to the safety of the other candidates. "Fast," she agrees with Mellayne, trying to worm her way as close to the others girls' sides as possible, only to be caught by a glimpse of green. "Brown and green," she muses, tilting her head to try and get a better peek. From the sands, There's been next to no movement from the Sublimations Transformation Egg so far, just the occasional teasing shiver. Now, however, it becomes a hive of activity and shatters tip to base, sending fragments showering down around it. A small, richly-hued bronze slumps in the wake of gaining freedom and shakes out honey-drenched wings. He's not slow about making his choice and soon slips off to meet a one-time healer apprentice at the edge of the candidate group. Still searching, the willow green trips over her sibling's egg-shards and lets out a thin wail. "He looks as though he'll be handsome," allows Teris, thoughtful for a moment and then glancing sideways at K'del. "Do they feel like yours at all?" she asks him as though the thought has just occurred to her. "When they're Cadejoth's?" She doesn't wait for an answer before crossing one leg over the other and casting her gaze out toward the sands again, attention caught and following the small bronze. From the sands, Mellayne glances away, upward again, away again. "You too," she agrees, though if she's aiming it at Kenzie, at Edela, or at everyone in general isn't quite clear. Her gaze strays upward again, lights for a second in a mirror of Edela's on a tiny green, and then her attention's snagged by the sands once more. "... Whoa," she repeats, but this time it's a few shades closer to a squeak, "that one looks a bit like Mum's!" It's the green, with her malachite hints, that she's goggling at. "Bet she's havin' a Gather day, with that one hatched. Just bet she is." From the sands, Whiskey Painted Rebel Brown bounds forward toward a passing clutchsibling crooning a greeting, then ducks around behind an unhatched egg to check out the shadow it casts on the sands. A little bump into that egg is ignored, that whiskey-painted head held up in a 'didn't do it' manner. From the sands, Kenzie counts dragons, most likely not intending for it to be overheard even by her closests companions but speaking aloud nonetheless. "Brown, green, bronze." A nod, then another glance around the other eggs. "Brown, green, bronze." All still present and correct. Check the eggs, check the galleries. "Brown, green... Oh." Another quiet, "Congrats." is called along the line. From the sands, Sheer determination has finally resulted in a hole large enough to work one slimy foot through, the Molten Fury Egg bulging grotesquely in places where the shell has cracked without the inner membrane tearing. Without fanfare, without any spectacular showering of shell shards, a Shrouded by Stardust Blue /peels/ his way free of his ovoid prison, slithering out through the ever-growing hole to sprawl across the sand. He spares little attention for the empty casing behind, his interest quite promptly engaged by the wide-bright-noisy world he's discovered. From the sands, >---< Shrouded by Stardust Blue >--------------------------------------------< Long bones and lean muscles combine to give this hatchling a sharp, streamlined appearance, a sleek promise that is only hinted at in his scrawny frame. He isn't much to look at, just-hatched, his hide so swirled with an amalgamate of blues it's hard to discern what is him and what is egg-goo. Deepest midnight is there, and dusk's indigo, and wisps of a pale blue like a haze across the sky. His head is a narrow wedge, barely swelling from muzzle to headknobs, though jawbones jut out and down in strong curves promising better proportion once he's put on some weight. His wings seem more stubs than proper lengths, back-swept and held so tight to his frame they seem melded to him, but set well back on narrow shoulders. His tail, too, is nearly an afterthought, peppered with flecks of sand and sable across a broad spade. >----------------------------------------------------------------------------< K'del shuffles uncomfortably, having yet to find a decent location for his now-discarded jacket-- it hangs over his lap, probably far too warm. But his attention, at least, is utterly focused on the hatching. "Sort of? Like, I feel a lot of proud, and I feel /his/ ownership of them, though that's probably the wrong word. Feels good, though." Briefly, his gaze slides back towards his companion, somehow hesitant; it rushes on back to the sands after a moment, though, and he adds, "Oh-- that blue is /lovely/." From the sands, "Bronze, there!" Hushed in her exclamation, Edela jabs an index finger in his direction, just in case anyone missed it: then that willow green earns a wince for her wail, a hard swallow. "Someone gonna grab that girl?" But not Ed; instead, she twists her shoulders and slides a pace back into the rough semi-circle of bodies. "Ohh, and that /blue/," comes the running commentary. "Pretty little green," B'kaiv mutters to nobody as he leans forward with his elbows on his knees. He doesn't notice - or maybe just doesn't comment on - the bronze, but joins K'del in the general approval for the newly hatched blue. "Nice." From the sands, A curvy meadow green breaks her way free from the When Primal Forces Collide Egg, giving a little shake of each of her paws to try and rid them of goo and sand that clings. Unsuccessful, she snorts in obvious distaste and stalks off towards the nearest group of candidates, disregarding one, then another, to decide on Daphna, one of the last to be Searched. She's not going any further though and Daphna has to go to her, promising, "We'll get you cleaned up after you've eaten, Valesketh." From the sands, The Whiskey Painted Rebel brown bats one more time at a piece of fallen shard, watches it coast away and smack into the side of an unhatched egg then gives a little shrug of his wings as if he meant to do that. A flick of his tail precedes forward movement as he suddenly latches onto something very interesting. The focus of his eyes turns keen, shading deeply blue and he prowls forward with what can only be called swagger in his steps to approach a dark-skinned candidate with cork-screw hair and lets out a deep-throated thrum of satisfaction. Yeah baby, she's the one. From the sands, Niora's nearly missed that bronze hatchling, concerned as she is with looking out for where the green and brown are headed. Besides, a bronze's not for her, although she does give a jaunty sort of wave at the newly impressed bronze weyrling -- and very nearly topples to the sand as her foot slips. Windmilling arms, and a startled "Whoops." are the order of the moment. "At least I can't drop nothing out here," she gives a rueful smile to any of the other Candidates. "Hey, blue now too. How many are left?" Daphna's impression gets a sudden smile. "Oh, 'nother green." Poor cotholder girl is being a little overwhelmed now. From the sands, Sun-Kissed Canopy Green slinks, belly to the Sands, whirling eyes flickering to and fro as slowly shapes resolve themselves in her newborn mind - eggs, hatchlings, and Candidates. Tail twitching restlessly, she picks her way carefully from the remains of her egg, pausing every so often to sniff thoughtfully at the air. As the pressure on her belly increases, so does her gait, and the tiny green hatchling wanders further from her point of origin, winding through eggs and people alike, stalking something she can just barely sense. From the sands, One of the candidates, Athan, shouts unnecessarily loudly to his neighbour, trying to make himself heard over the noise of eggs cracking and dragonets creeling. It's as if his voice prompts the hatching of the Battle of the Elements Egg, a storm-coloured blue marching forth to select him without giving any of his fellows a second glance. "...Yes, Jabreth, I can whisper as well as shout," A'han murmurs sheepishly. From the sands, Shrouded by Stardust Blue Shrouded by Stardust Blue is not one to beat around the bush, nope. He leaves those empty shell shards behind without a backwards look in favor of those white-robedthings over there. There's one in particular he's got his eye on and it is towards them that he makes tracks for, drawn that way as if by a gravitational pull. While his movements this soon out of the shell could not be considered graceful by any means, it certainly is determined, for he wavers neither right nor left in the course of his progress - which is at an awkward gallumping run. "I wanted t' keep that one," Isandre grumps, of the new bronze Impressee - sniffing, she turns away from him, instead allowing her gaze to flicker over hatchlings and Candidates alike. Eventually, though, she allows her eyes to slide back to the once-healer, and she permits herself the slightest congradulatory grin. "Ah well," she sighs. "Dragons." That says it all. From the sands, "Bronze, where?" Somebody missed it. Blink. Layne follows Edela's pointing finger and, just a touch late, catches the breeze. "Oh, there. Not bad--ooh, no idea what that one's after." This is of the willow-shaded little green and her wail. "Doubt it's me, though y'never know. Oooooh, hang on--" One arm's held out in an attempt to support, or at least, catch, the wobbly Niora. From the sands, Kenzie's eyes fix on the blue when he hatches, a long drawn out "Oooh." her only comment. For a moment the others are forgotten, this one stealing all her attention as he explores. It's only as the whisky-brown approaches the line that she snaps out of her staring and remembers to get ready to run if necessary as he gets closer. It's a breath of relief that she lets out as he Impresses and leaves her intact to wish a bright, "Congratulations!" From the sands, A beat, a hesitation, Edela clasping a hand to the back of her neck and her eyes locking downward, tongue rasping across her lips. She manages all in a gasp, "Zraith!" Then a laugh: raucous and delighted. "Ed'll do, yeah." She stumbles forward to meet the brown, runs a hand along his head gently. She does manage a breathless: "Yeah. Thanks," over one shoulder before she begins to move away with the whiskey-soaked brown. From the sands, V'rel spots another impression and makes his way over to Edela and her energetic brown quickly. "Handsome fella there," he says cheerfully. "Why don't you two come this way and we'll get you squared away with some food?" From the sands, Sat relatively close to its sire, the Times Damage Egg tumbles onto its side and rolls a short way away from Dargonath, fragments falling away to reveal a pale, angular bronze that cries sharp protest of his undignified release into the world. A tall boy from Boll takes a few steps forward, undecided about offering assistance, but then the dragonet makes the decision for him and raises his eyes to meet his, claiming him. "Izaith!" the cry goes out. From the sands, Niora is look of gratitude is sent at Layne. "Thank you," she lets out her breath, finally managing to get her feet under her. "Gotta focus," she gulps air again, fingers dropping back down to the fabric of her robe to dampen it further. "Another blue." She's going to get a crick in her heck looking around like this. It's then that she hears Edela's voice, and she blinks, looking towards the girl. A brown? "Oh!" her hands flutter in a cheerful clap. "Way to go!" From the sands, Sun-Kissed Canopy Green Hatchling slowly slinks to a halt, her body hugged low to the Sands as she achieves absolute stillness save for the flick and twist of her tail. Silent and focused, there's no movement from her for the duration of a few breaths, then her head tilts barely perceptibly and she's up and moving all at once, taking swift steps until she's padding along as fast as she can convince her young limbs to move. She slows only once she's located the one that she's looking for, to reach a neat, deliberate stop at the feet of a girl with twilight-blue eyes. "Aw, -shells-," mutters Kai, a little - well, a lot - louder than tact and manners would indicate, when Edela Impresses. He half-stands but a small chorus of "Sit down!" and "Out of the way!" sink the greenrider back into his chair. There's a scowl on his face now, though, where there wasn't before. From the sands, Mellayne doesn't drop her arm until Niora has both feet under her. "Better y'fall on me than on your rear," the older girl says, "no probl--uh-oh." Forget the words she's using, Layne's turning a /grin/ on Edela. "Nice one, congratulations. Zraith, I kinda like that." Teris studies the blue when K'del's words draw her attention toward him and she nods in agreement. "Very." The rest requires a small bit of thought before she can admit, "Iskiveth is so possessive of her things. I'd be worried that she wouldn't want to share at all." Or would have been, perhaps, judging by the way Teris offers the comment. She certainly doesn't look at K'del, instead watching the newest impressions. From the sands, V'rel returns to the sands after leading Edela and Zraith away and he's mopping at his head again when he comes back, clearly having a little trouble with the head on the sands and all the huffing back and forth. From the sands, The Oh Thats Cold Egg splits down the middle, revealing a long green tail that dashes against the side of the Watery Grave Egg mere moments after its hatching disturbs it. One peridot-dappled body falls to the Sands, followed by another larger and darker one. Settled companionably together, it seems that they might stay that way, but then the larger of the two nudges at her sister and shakes herself off, bumbling over to a youth from Peyton. The other soon follows, claiming a dark-haired girl, creel softening to croon. Their still undecided sister slinks past them both, her path becoming increasingly erratic. From the sands, Kenzie watches as Edela heads off, turning back to survey the sands with what can only be called a pleased smile - it's clear she approves of that paticular Impression. Once again the blue catches her eye, coming ever closer, but it's a green she has to pay attention to first. A green heading... over there. Another sigh of relief, no running needed, and another bright, "Congrats." From the sands, All speed and enthusiasm and tumbling feet, the Shrouded by Stardust Blue races, eager to find his match, taking no notice of those he leaves in the dust of his passage. Then - there! In a spray of gold and cream, he sets the brakes, skidding to a halt before a Candidate with pale ginger curls, showering her ankles in sand as he comes to a stop inches from her white-clad form, muzzle already lifted as he seeks her eyes. K'del opens his mouth, as if he's going to try and say something. Something consoling? Encouraging? Something else? It's impossible to tell, and anyway, the moment really does only last a moment, and then it's gone, and he's back to perusing the sands with intensity. He admits, after a moment, "Always kind of prefer hatchings where I know some of the candidates, you know? Can watch out for them and hope for their success." From the sands, Niora laughs softly, nodding. "I don't think it'd do me good to land on my rear. Hot sand, right?" Hot indeed, and likely uncomfortable. It's only when her arm is free, is she able to dab again at her robe, hands clenching into the fabric as she suddenly goes still, very very still indeed, and glances down, realizing what is sitting there, stopped so deliberately at her feet. "Oh!" the sound is something of a gasp, her hands, clumsy fingers and all, extending downwards to caress the dragonet's muzzle. "Rai... Raikarith?" she says the name aloud, this a triumphant cry now. "Yes, yes, we shall get you fed." And hopefully, she won't drop the bowl. "This way." And off they go, wherever the assistant weyrlingmaster shall lead. Eyes flickering to B'kaiv, Isandre permits herself the faintest of smirks - just a faint curving of her lips, but she doesn't goad the greenrider, instead focusing on the activity below. "Is it always so fast?" she wonders quietly, tilting her head to the side in quiet amusement. "Canna understand th' excitement, when it's such a blur." Of course, she's never been down there - so. From the sands, "Uh--whaaaa--" Layne may have started to say 'uh-oh' again, may very well have been about to comment on that erratic little willow green, but then, well. Then. then she's got a something, a someone in her field of vision, and that unpaired dragonet lay as well be half a world away. "I--oh /shells/, aye. Duresketh, ye... duresketh. I don't believe this." Caught flat-footed again? Why yeeeees. For a long, long second she just stands there, goggling, looking rather silly. Then she gives in and lets out a peel of triumphant laughter that juuuust shades on toward giddy. "Anyone tries t'split us apart, they don't know what they're in for." Forget leaning, Layne ends up on *her* rear now, hugging that ungainly starry blue. "Food, aye. We can do that, too." From the sands, V'rel catches his breath, straightens his shoulders and heads over toward Niora and Layne, smiling at both. "Raikarith did you say? And Duresketh? Lovely," the greenriding assistant remarks and gestures to both. "Just come this way for food. Mind you don't trip," he adds, still cheery and leads the new weyrlings off the sands. From the sands, Forgery At Its Best Egg hatches little by little, shard by shard, allowing a glimpse of juniper blue hide here and then. The dragonet still hasn't worked his way free by the time his willow green sister pads by him, crying piteously. Hungry and exhausted, she sinks to the Sands to rest a moment and it's this pause in her examination of the candidates that leads Leilani to her, who rather unwisely steps over to be sure of the hatchling's health, summoned by her cries. With a squeak of relief, Impression is made and she's bundled into the girl's long arms, her brother's Impression occurring on the heels of hers, to one of the youngest candidates of the group. O'rik just so happens to be a half seat over and a row up from that seat B'kaiv took without looking. Previously leaning forward with elbows on knees and shoulders hunched around his ears, the greenrider's movement causes the old bluerider to rock back with a grunt. Rather more cautious as he resumes his pose, eyes similar in color to that brown who caused the outburst fix on the younger man. "Someth'n wrong with that one?" the older man wonders, even as his gaze wanders away. First to Isandre as she speaks, some small expression tugging upwards at one edge of his mouth, before he's back to watching that young blue make his choice. From the sands, Kenzie looks away from Niora in time to see the blue coming towards the line and there's a moment when she holds her breath as it comes closer. As the spray of sand goes up she takes a step backwards, watching as he goes instead to Mellayne. There's no outward sign of jealousy, in fact she's even quicker with this "Congratulations!" than the others as she goes back to waiting once more. From the sands, Somewhere on the ledges above, there's a /whoop/ of triumph, then a second, and then the jubilant alto bugle of at least one dragon. Yep, they were in the stands after all. Layne only gets to her feet after a dizzy few seconds, and then she's stumbling more than plain walking after V'rel. "Yessir. Food, right, we can do that." Off she goes. From the sands, Patient no longer, the occupant of the Dismal Day Egg pokes a sharp nose through the shell of their prison, and, with a shrug of slim shoulders, bursts free. With a shiver, the steel-blue unfurls his wings and shakes them out, halting midway through the motion as though listening to a distant sound. Wings are flipped closed and off he goes to meet a lanky boy from the kitchens of Fort Hold. With his choice announced by a delighted cry of, "Gralinyth!" it's all over and with only a drop or two of blood spilled. With the din beginning to die down, the Weyrleaders start to step forward, to gather together those left without a lifemate. Teris is silent for a longer span this time, watching as eggs hatch and, yes, people that she doesn't know in the least impress to those newly hatched dragons. "I think I prefer not knowing any of them. Then you don't have to feel sympathetic or anything when they don't impress." Or happy when they do, for that matter. "Where's the fun in that?" K'del shakes his head enthusiastically at Teris' opinion, though it doesn't stop him from smiling. "All gone," he adds, watching the sands, sympathy rife in his expression as he tracks those disappointed candidates with his eyes. "Guess maybe I just can't help feeling for 'em, even if I don't know 'em. Soft, right?" Now, for the first time, he glances around the galleries, as though to check out who else is here. But; "Want to stick around? Or shall we head home?" B'kaiv glances over his shoulder with a scowl, the foul expression easing slightly when he makes O'rik's identification. "She's a sharding Istan," he reports, pointing a finger at the empty patch of sand where Edela - and, to be fair, a few other Candidates - were once standing. "I was hoping she wouldn't Impress, and go back home." From the sands, Cirse's dark eyes follow the scarred girl and her blue too, Peirith's swift-moving gaze taking in the scene as a whole. Without looking at Gralinyth, she says to T'kyn, "Another from the Hold. Good." But then it's time to step forward, not too far, a beckon letting the candidates come to her: "Fort appreciates your standing for Peirith's eggs. If you wish, you may stay here, and try our sands when next a queen rises. And if you wish to return from whence you came, that is your right. In the meantime, you may wash, and eat." Her eyes touch briefly on Kenzie, among the others. From the sands, Kenzie watches the last egg hatch and the steel-blue Impress, hopeful eyes once more going to where the eggs once say and now stands the Weyrleaders. There's a slight slump in her shoulders, but it doesn't last too long - a brave face being put on for all to see, any disappointment pushed down to be dealt with later. As Cirse speaks she only half listens, nodding, but not entirely taking in the words. As the others begin to drift off she takes a deep breath and nods to the Weyrwoman, muttering a quiet, "Thanks." before turning and heading off herself. "Soft, yes," Teris can agree to that without any sort of hesitation. But it is accompanied by a small smile as she tilts her gaze toward him. She might believe it but she's not being mean about it. This time. "Is there anything worth sticking around for?" she wonders, following suit with a brief glance toward the rest of the galleries. From the sands, Offering his elbow to Cirse, T'kyn steps forward as well and issues an invitation to join the festivities in the caverns to all, then he tilts his head toward the exit, meaning to go stand receiving line style to shake hands. K'del, at least, seems perfectly at home with this label he's given himself and had confirmed by Teris. "The usual feast, I imagine," he says, folding his jacket up further in his lap. "Pleasantries to the Weyrleaders, that kind of thing. Our congratulations to Fort for their fine clutch." From the sands, Cirse has a simple nod in reply, continuing to watch the candidates depart. When they're clear, she can take a deep breath and let it more slowly out, as Peirith stretches her great wings behind her. "Be careful," she murmurs before T'kyn catches her attention and she draws herself up again. "Yes, of course." She takes his arm, she does her duty, while meanwhile Peirith makes the rounds of the cavern as though there could be something, or someone, left hiding behind. Pinching the bridge of her nose, Isandre takes note of the end of the Hatching and nods quietly to herself - once. "Well. Back t' the grind with me," she murmurs, pushing herself up and tugging to straighten her sweater before the journeyman carefully makes her way out of the stands. Party, wot? Not she - infirmary-bound is this healer. People, no thank you. "As I said," murmurs Teris, not sounding particularly enthusiastic about these options but nodding her head all the same and rising from her seat. "I suppose there's nothing pressing to return home for just yet." A cluster of their holders are the first to hurry for the Weyrleaders, but Cirse can split her attention over a burly man's shoulder enough to catch Isandre's escape, and turn up her lips in a fortunate-you smile the man can think is meant for him. She confirms, "Yes, we marked your dish with a sign, for the feast. Credit where credit is due." K'del's smile might well be intended to be both encouraging and approving. After all, as he says as he draws himself towards his feet, "It's all good practice. That's a good deal of what your job is going to be, after all: playing hostess, all the political what-- there's the Weyrwoman, now. Come on, we'll go and say hello." He offers Teris his elbow, but whether or not she takes it, he commences the walk towards the cluster already forming around Fort's Weyrleaders. "Ah," O'rik draws out with an understanding nod at B'kaiv's answer. The news doesn't exactly seem to ruffle the older man, but he tries for a symapthetic-ish squint anyway. "Maybe she won't do well with between, eh?" It's an odd thought to be cheerful about. The old rider starts his creaky way to his feet, taking in the forign goldrider's glance before turning eyes to Isandre as she leaves. His tounge wets his lips as he gives a bemused shake of his head for her youthful industry. For his part, he straigtens the hem of his shirt from where it had bunched at his waist and looks back to the nearby greenrider while waiting his turn in descending to the party. "Oh, goody." K'del can probably hear the way Teris says that under her breath but hopefully no one else can. She does take his elbow and as they approach Fort's Weyrleaders, she studies them and their interactions with the other people that have clustered around them. "Yeah, well," Kai sniffs, not quite willing to go that far. "Maybe she'll transfer or something." He should be so lucky. He gets to his feet as well, this time with no yells of protest, scowls down at the clumps of people blocking the way to the exit, and nods at one of the other sets of stairs. "That way's faster? --Chielyth's heading off t' bed," he adds, amused at his lifemate. "You and Jarth gonna be around later?" To a man wearing a high-rank craft knot pushed forward among the holders, Cirse further assures, "Of course, we'll give your son special attention." There isn't even any humor in her voice, just the inkling of a gleam in her eye when she adds, "Like the others. He will be well trained. We have generations of experience, after all." Once she glances up to the higher tiers of the galleries, but then it's back to those waiting to speak with them, off to side from the main aisle so not just the healer can escape. Though it's taking some time for those clumps of departing people to thin, at least some of them should part for those with the even bigger knots on their shoulders such as the High Reaches delegation. No heading off to bed for her! K'del squeezes Teris' arm just faintly - a warning? Encouragement? That some of the crowd parts for them seems to make him at least a little apologeticly awkward, but his expression is one of practiced professionalism all the same; those they pass get a low nod of greeting, but no more, until, finally, they're approaching the Fortian Weyrwoman. Who really /does/ seem to make K'del mildly uncomfortable, despite his game smile. "Our duties to Fort, Weyrwoman. We won't keep you long, but-- a fine clutch. You must be proud." Beat. "Have you met our Junior, Teris?" "There y'go," O'rik smirks cheerfuly along with the scowly greenrider's transfer idea. "Uh," the bluerider looks over towards the indicated stairs, "yea..." A quizical expression wrinkles about his eyes as his voice fades at the mention of the green's bedtime. "Yeah," he finishes after puzzling a moment Shifting his weight to head for the less crowded stairs, Rik keeps his gaze tilted over to B'kaiv. "Up late, or someth'n?" There's something more animated in his voice in the question, hopeful for some sort of story. Teris does not need a warning, thank you very much. Even though she already has her usual smile set right and properly in place, the way people part puts a more genuine note into the expression. "Yes, Weyrwoman," echoes Teris, "a very fine clutch." She sounds like she means it, too, but she leaves it at that for now. B'kaiv only has to push against the crowd for a few feet before he joins the flow heading for the other stairs; once he has, he falls into step beside O'rik, though a row down. "Nah. Well, sorta, for her. She sleeps in th' morning, so she's been up a couple hours more'n usual. Dunno as we got drills t'day, but I figure she better get what sleep she can before T'kyn says nothing." He drops his voice on the Weyrleader's name and looks around guiltily, but no one appears to be in a position to eavesdrop. "Ah, 'Reaches. It is good to see you, and under more formal circumstances, no less. We had heard you were confirmed," Cirse says to K'del with what passes as pleasantness with her, never mind how long ago that was. To Teris, "Good day to you as well. Thank you. We had heard of your..." incident? "Impression. I hope that you will not prove to be kept up all night by your own queen before such an occasion, though I must forgive Peirith much." With that, she proffers her hand to the tall young man. O'rik isn't moving too fast, as in his row he's following behind a nanny who is hauling two talkative young children out by very firm grips on their wrists. "Right," barely makes it out from under his breath as he squints, trying to remember if this quirk of Chielyth's is something that he remembers. The other man's furative glances are met with a snort. "Y'think he would?" T'kyn. "Don't seem right, making you drill while folk're partying." What Cirse says paints the faintest of red tints to K'del's cheeks, though perhaps that could be explained away by the heat of the galleries. Surely. "And you also, Weyrwoman," he says, his tone even despite any discomfort he feels. Her words to Teris result in a drawn-in breath from the Weyrleader, but nothing more: he accepts Cirse's hand, performing a perfunctory courtesy, and then adds, "We can forgive them many things, of course, yes. I suppose they can't help the timing of their progeny." "T'kyn's worse'n T'rev ever were," B'kaiv shrugs. "S'playing ruddy havoc with getting Chielyth t' sleep." An absent-minded scowl at one of those lolly-gagging youths causes him to scamper in front of his nanny to hide, and suddenly she's the one being tugged along. "If R'lis were still in charge... shells, that'd be easy. No drills t'day, and sweeps probably cancelled too." What the other woman starts to say makes Teris stiffen ever so slightly, one thin brow arching just noticeably. But it doesn't keep her from moving past that with ease and back to smiling like she means it. "I think if that's the worst she's going to do from here on, I'll be more than happy to humor her." "Can't they?" Cirse's eyes are dark, opaque. She looks past K'del, and upward, to the smudge of murky gold in the shadows of the cavern's height that must be Peirith, circling before she lands anew upon a ledge this time. Her mouth moves in a small smile, and she steps slightly back again, her fingers spreading to let air between them before her hands rest again at her side. To Teris, "Indeed. I believe my Hattie is in the main cavern overseeing the feast, should you wish to become acquainted. We should invite you for tea. Once you are no longer under your weyrlingmaster's supervision, of course," but her tone is light as though that could be any moment now. Stammering, "Well, always /assumed/ not." K'del's more pink cheeked, now, more awkward, one hand squirming into a little ball-- though not a fist-- behind his back. He's silent, after that, glancing between the two Weyrwoman as he lets them speak; perhaps that's safer for him. "Sorry, mate." Aka - sucks to be you! "Bronzeriders, eh?" is about all else O'rik can think to say, giving a rueful lift of his shoulders. Meanwhile the frightened child has proven very useful in expiditing their pathway to the stairs, and after gaging the flow of traffic Rik steps in and pauses to let the way clear of children below him so there's room for the greenrider coming from the lower tier. His gaze wanders briefly to take in Cirse and the visiting Reachen riders before focusing back on Kai and the stairs he plans to navigate shortly. "Not too early for them t'put the beer out, y'think?" the bluerider wonders more randomly. Usha is an unassuming woman. Average height, average brown hair and eyes. Her bottom half heavier than the rest of her. She dresses in natural flaxen fabrics edged with embroidery, and carries a green woolen sack. Her manner of movement is slow and soft, and by her voice one might not be surprised to find she has a clear singing voice. "Bronzeriders," agrees Kai with a sour snort. The outburst earns him a few curious looks, but people are for the most part more interested in getting out of the galleries and on to the food than following up with eavesdropping. He drops O'rik a nod for the open path and quickly fills it, pressing a little faster than necessary to hustle people along. "Little early, maybe," he judges, casting a knowledgable eye over the crowd. "Probably they got wine out, though." "I'm sure it would be lovely if you did," Teris returns pleasantly, no stammering on her part. Her fearless leader, however, earns a brief sideways glance. "I'll look forward to it," she adds, then, "It's been a pleasure to meet you, Weyrwoman." There, an out for everyone and they can leave Cirse to the rest of the people while they go enjoy the feast. The joys of being a guest. "Always time for beer, somewhere." Said rather dispassionately, the statement is more a worn out old joke than a true mantra. O'rik is content enough to settle, however. "Suppose it's good weather for wine." His good hand has escaped it's pocket, coming up to scratch at his neck and along his jaw before tugging his collar a little looser in responce to the heat of the grounds and the crowds. "You have that place going, yeah?" Speaking of alcohol. "How's that do'n?" Cirse inclines her head. "Then we shall wait for the harpers to drum it," and there, there is the humor as though such graduation would be of such note, as though harpers could possibly be as fast as dragonwings. "Good day." And to the tall young man who isn't quite as young as he used to be, "I apologize. I had not meant to make you uncomfortable, and you are after all our guest." And as though she could have heard O'rik and B'kaiv over such a distance, "There are all manner of drinks as well as dishes, labeled as to our holds' specialties. Please, enjoy," she adds with more finality. Others wait around them, even though there are considerably fewer now. Perhaps some gave up, since there is that food after all, or else mean to buttonhole her later. But as she begins to turn, her glance seeks those making a more active departure, particularly that pair of Fort riders. B'kaiv snorts agreement for the platitude, tired as it may be. "Th' Den, yeah," he agrees, stepping down one step, then another. "Doing a'right. Dunno as I'm gonna be able t' keep it going, though. All th' drilling T'kyn does," he explains before O'rik has to ask. "Morning, afternoon - shells, sometimes twice a day. Ain't hardly no time t' breathe, some nights." "No--" begins K'del, but he gets no further; in the end, he simply bobs his head rapidly in Cirse's direction, murmuring, "Again, our best wishes, Weyrwoman," before, grasping on to Teris' elbow, he begins to lead his junior away. Far away. As soon as possible. Poor K'del. Silly K'del. Something. "Agh, tha'sa shame," O'rik says with actual emotion as he follows the younger man's steps. "Good place. More useful'n that much drill'n, y'ask me." A wry smirk cracks across half of his face, a hint of how much weight he estimates that opinion carries. "Guess a man comes in from another Weyr, gotta make a show'a be'n tough," the bluerider grumbles on, his voice dropped a little lower due to his spotting of Cirse in the thinning crowds. His lined features are pulled into something that could almost be taken for a cordial smile. As K'del leads Teris away, she at least waits until they're out of earshot of the Fortian senior before she can't quite keep a laugh at bay anymore. "She makes you nervous, doesn't she. You really are like a puppy, K'del. It kind of makes me want to pull on your ears and tease you with treats." She sounds entirely too happy. "Ain't like we're ever facing Thread again," the greenrider agrees sourly. "Man wants t' show how tough he is, oughta just throw some punches and have done with. Now he's just throwing his weight around." There's probably another 'bronzeriders' muttered under his breath, but it -is- under his breath and Kai doesn't seem inclined to lift it. Instead it's down another step, then the last, and a path opens to relative freedom. "Good seeing you," he nods to O'rik before dropping another nod at the path. "Gonna go see if there's anything decent t' drink." Whether by luck or using his shoulders, B'kaiv's path remains open, and the greenrider departs the galleries. Perhaps that scar-shaped smile amounts to encouragement after all, for Cirse makes time for only two more greetings before striding into the main aisle towards bluerider and greenrider. But since B'kaiv heads off, rather than insert herself between them, she seeks to match O'rik's stride. "Be my bodyguard?" she requests as though she might be asking what he would like to drink, only much quieter. If there's an amenable arm in reach, she'll take it. K'del shoots Teris a /glare/ at what she says, and his steps turn into something much more akin to a march than a casual walk. "Shut up, Teris," he tells her, under his breath, as though he's terribly aware that someone, anyone, /could/ be in earshot, and that an argument between them might not be considered polite. "She's-- there's a history, that's all. It's a long story, and it doesn't matter. Are we heading to the 'caverns, or not?" That glare is met with, possibly, the most genuine smile Teris has had on since she got to Fort. But the junior bites her lip and tries not to look quite so amused as she protests K'del's marching with a tug at his arm. "It clearly does matter," she counters. "You should tell me." Though her tone suggests later and not right this moment. "It would probably be the proper thing to do, hmm?" O'rik grunts his accord with the greenrider's statements, a little shake of his head thrown in for good measure. "Yeah," Rik also agrees with the goodness of the seeing. He lifts his chin to see B'kaiv off with a final bidding of "Good luck." For himself, he's too slow on his feet to make use of shoulders or opening paths, and besides - the old rider isn't so oblivious that he doesn't notice the Weyrwoman en route to match his stride. Though his elbow is indeed out at an inviting angle due to the way his hand is stuffed in his pocket, it is definately more accident than intention. "Don't know..." if he can be, if he knows how to be, if he's the best choice... the words are left awkwardly hanging before he finishes them up with a somewhat uncertain and appologetic: "Ma'am." Bucking up a bit more, his strides take on a bit more purpose. "C'n try." He'll try another smile, too. "Nice lot, that." His head tips towards the sands. It's an elbow that Cirse doesn't so much accept as co-opt, her hand resting neatly on his inner arm. She looks down, ever so slightly down at O'rik so intently that he could be the most fascinating thing in the universe, or at least be recommending the most marvelous drink available, even if it is still early. "Thank you," she tells him, for compliment or elbow or both. She stays silent for a few steps more before, "Did you see the first hatch?" If others are watching, they aren't whom she's looking at. That he gets a smile for his efforts doesn't seem to especially please K'del, who sighs, grimacing. "Why should I tell you?" he wants to know of the weyrling, as, now somewhat reluctantly, he begins to lead her onwards towards the bowl, and, presumably, the caverns beyond. "All right, we'll make an appearance. Must you always take such pleasure in my discomfort? It's not very becoming." You head out to the bowl. Teris heads downstairs from the galleries. "We don't /have/ to," amends Teris. "I just think it would be the right thing to do." Once they're in the bowl proper, Teris slips away from him a few steps and relinquishes physical contact to cross her arms over her torso. "You should tell me because I want to know. And, yes, I must. What else is there to take pleasure in? How would you have me be to be becoming, hmm? I didn't say anything in front of the Weyrwoman, you'll notice." Not that she really had to. K'del unconsciously echoes that thought, noting, "You hardly needed to." He sounds a little bitter, but it's mostly aimed at himself, not at his companion. His hands seek his pockets, his jacket hung uneasily over his elbow, letting out, after a moment, a little sigh. "Dunno that your logic follows, though. Just because you want to know something doesn't mean you /get/ to. It's not like I expect you to be /nice/ to me, but..." But maybe he'd like it, anyway. He doesn't answer the first of what she's said, but his steps do, slowly, seem to be aiming towards the caverns. They'll do their duty. "How about because you're my friend and I don't understand? I didn't even know you knew her, much less had any particular history with her." Teris eases somewhat but only into her usual chilly demeanor, smile fading, rather than being more openly friendly. "I've tried being nice to you," she points out and, with that, falls silent while they head toward the caverns. K'del is silent as Teris speaks, silent long after she's fallen into silence herself. Maybe that makes his words seem to come out of nowhere, when they do come, when they're a few steps away from the entrance to the caverns. There are more people floating around, now, which is perhaps why he keeps his voice low. "Cadejoth chased Peirith in her first leadership flight, back when I was still a weyrling. It was supposed to be a closed flight. It was the first time he'd ever chased. Wrote to apologise. She told me to visit. It was..." He lets out a long, low breath. "Uncomfortable. She freaks me out." Still. Yes. "Ah," murmurs Teris simply. That seems to be all she's going to say on the matter for several long moments. Then; "At least he didn't win." She shifts closer and reaches to slip her hand back under his elbow if he'll let her. "You're a Weyrleader now, too. And she ought to be just another person with a big knot as far as you're concerned, K'del." That's practically reassuring coming from Teris. K'del glances sidelong in Teris' direction, as though he wants to gauge her reaction, but isn't quite willing to look at her directly. "Yeah," he breaths, perhaps answering multiple points in one go. "Know that. It's just-- dunno. Half the time, I don't even know what she's getting at. She's intimidating. Kind of makes me glad that I have Tiriana, instead of her. Least you know exactly what you're going to get with Tiriana." Beat. Then, laughingly, "So now you know another of my flaws and foibles. Ammunition, right?" "Men like you aren't supposed to show people that you're intimidated by them, though." Yes, Teris did just call K'del a man. Who says she isn't nice to him? "You ought to make her feel the same way that she makes you feel if anything. I kind of liked her, actually." The last admission makes her grin and look at K'del, but then she shakes her head. "I'm not sure how that might be useful to me. But I'll keep it in mind if a It makes K'del laugh; he shakes his head. "Sure. But-- well. I'll get there." He /sounds/ confident about that, but since it's been /how/ many turns, now? Well. It does rather remain to be seen. "Why'd you like her? Because she's so... composed? Remote? Gotta wonder whether she has more feelings than she shows. Be weird, otherwise, right?" He's rambling, and seems aware of it. "Sure you will. Always do." "Because she makes you uncomfortable." That's the first thing Teris says but it might be mostly to rub that particular aspect for just a moment or so longer. "I'm not sure, exactly. But I do hope that she invites me to visit again at some point. It would be interesting to talk to her more privately." Teris sighs as she glances toward the cavern, maybe not quite so on board about this now. "You never had any problem standing up to me." She sounds almost jealous. Just a little tiny bit. K'del makes a face, but it doesn't seem to actually bother him /too/ much. He's more interested in the rest of Teris' answer; eventually, he bobs his head. "Reckon it'd be a good thing, probably. Good for you to get to know other goldriders, see how they operate." His gaze follows hers towards the caverns, but he doesn't remark on it, instead concluding, with a wry note to his tone, "When I met you, I was already Weyrleader, and hadn't just accidentally intruded on your closed flight. It's different. Would you really /want/ me to be subservient and all-- lapdoggy to you?" "No," admits Teris with a wrinkle in the bridge of her nose. "I probably wouldn't have any respect for you at all if you were like that. But you're still too sharding nice. And yet somehow you manage to make me feel awful and insignificant entirely too often. I suppose that ought to count as some sort of talent." Her smile isn't exactly bright but it is a smile and she doesn't seem to be upset at the moment. "Perhaps you can do your pleasantries and I'll head home." K'del lets out a long, low breath as she speaks, looking entirely as though he regrets something, though whether it's something he's said, or just the generalness of it all, it's hard to tell. Sucking another breath back in, he nods, saying, quietly, "I'm sorry, Teris. I don't mean... I'll see you later, okay?" "I'm sorry, too," she offers, though for what exactly is left unclear. Before Teris breaks away, she leans in to press a quick kiss to his cheek, then turns, saying, "Maybe you can even enjoy yourself, hmm?" She leaves it at that. K'del's hand extends after the departing Teris, as though he intends to stop her and say something more. But in the end, he lets it fall back towards his side, standing there in the bowl, watching her until she's gone. It's only then, straightening his shoulders and putting on a more formal expression, that he turns to head into the caverns, into the party. |
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