Logs:Graduates Exiled
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| RL Date: 28 September, 2012 |
| Who: Azaylia, Brieli, I'kris, Iolene, K'del, Lujayn, Mirinda, N'rov, Quinlys |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr, Monaco Weyr, Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: The graduation party for the weyrlings from Ysavaeth and Cadejoth's clutch is cut short when too many visiting queens sets Rielsath to flight. |
| Where: Living Cavern, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 1, Month 12, Turn 29 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Oriane/Mentions |
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| Living Cavern, High Reaches Weyr Stalactites hang high above this enormous cavern like a jagged chandelier or an inversion of the Spires themselves, but shadows cling to them instead of light. Below lie great tables arranged in rows, each large enough to serve a fighting wing, while in the nooks and alcoves around the cavern's edge sit more sensibly-sized tables, from six- and eight-seaters down to intimate spots for just a couple of diners. The only really open space is around the kitchen entrance, smelling of food and rarely quiet, and by the nearby serving tables with their long buffet of the day's offerings. Tapestries on the smooth walls -- some faded and others newly woven -- only slightly mute the sea of sound when a meal is in full swing, but they add cheerfulness augmented by the glowlight from wall sconces and the centerpieces of each table. Still, shadows always creep along the ceiling and into the mouths of the exits -- the myriad small hallways at one end of the cavern and, at the other, the twisting tunnel to the bowl near an array of coathooks and and hatracks -- and late at night, when the glows are allowed to dim, the chamber can seem very dark indeed. There's been a heaviness, a quiet tension, about the weyr all morning - it's been enough to incite bad moods and grumpiness in some, and dull but persistent headaches in others. Even so, it's subtle enough that it weren't for the upcoming graduation festivities - usually enough to make the general mood happier - it might not be noticeable at all. But there's the hint of snow in the air, a storm likely to hit later in the afternoon, and no doubt that explains a lot. Now, mid-afternoon, the festivities are beginning. The 'caverns have been decked out for the event, with most of the chairs and tables packed up around the sides, leaving plenty of room for people to mingle and even dance, with enough seating for people to take turns to eat from the long buffet tables. The invitations sent out across Pern have borne some fruit: there are representatives from a number of weyrs present, though none of the Weyrleaders have come in person. For younger riders, after all, it's an excellent excuse to party... and to enjoy someone else's fancy food and booze. There are even a handful of Junior Weyrwomen in attendance, most notably Mirinda of Monaco - but then, her queen did produce one of the graduates. At least it isn't snowing yet... though there's been snow earlier in the seven, and that means there's plenty of it being tracked into the caverns now, grey and brown and ugly. K'del attempts gamely to step around the muck as he makes his way in, formally attired in his black leathers and baby blue shirt, knot perfectly positioned upon his shoulder. Iolene's on his arm, and there's Lujayn, looking as though she's one of the ones with a headache, hovering in a corner out of the way. "Reckon we'll get the formalities out of the way," K'del muses, probably as much to himself as to anyone else. "And then we can... just enjoy ourselves." There's no knot on Brieli's shoulder, but there's no real shoulder to her silvery-grey strapless gown, so she might be forgiven. With the bite of winter in the air, she made even the short trip to the caverns with a shawl, but it was discarded as soon as she'd warmed up, tossed over a chair along the walls. She looks to have only been here a short time, with a barely-touched glass in one hand, but the newly-graduated goldrider has been quick enough to find Mirinda for what appears to be a casual chat. Is she getting her niceties out of the way early, or does it mean something else? Who knows, but if anyone's paying attention, Brieli doesn't seem bothered. Azaylia's own tension has manifested itself in clumsy stutters and nervous fasting throughout the day. It has little to do with the more subtle mood of the rest of the weyr, though Hraedhyth has not been so oblivious. The gold is on high alert and far more intense than some might expect, possibly a result of her riders anxiety. Now, the young woman's infamous appetite can be stifled no longer, and she has her plate piled high with scrumpteous buffet food. Azaylia takes care not to drop a crumb on her dark blue dress; delightful in it's high waisted fashion, but not too stuffy and proper. It is a party, after all. "Oriane sends her apologies," Mirinda is saying, smiling brightly at High Reaches' newest junior (or one of them; whatever). "She's just caught up with things, today. Do you remember my brother, I'kris?" He Impressed alongside Brieli, but of course, she'd be forgiven for not knowing the young man - seventeen, now, a brownrider, and falling in alongside his sister so he can give Brieli a crooked smile of his own. "We're all jealous," he tells her. "That you get to graduate ahead of us. Three sevens! It feels like forever." "Azaylia," says Quinlys, brightly, and apparently oblivious to that lingering tension; drawing up nearby the goldrider she adds, "You look beautiful. And-- congratulations! It must feel wonderful to have finished. I know it did when I graduated. I'll be out of a job for a while, now, I suppose... but that's fine, really." She's dressed in layers of grey and blue, a strappy little thing that might be better suited to summer. K'del and Iolene weave their way through the crowds, pausing here and there to issues congratulations or formal, but quietly warm, welcomes. There's tension in the Weyrleader's expression, but it would take definite study to pick it out: he's masked it carefully with that even smile. That becomes rather more difficult when a group of riders from Igen converge, apparently desperately eager to talk to Iolene-- enough so that the Weyrwoman and Weyrleader get separated. It seems to bother him... but not nearly as much as it seems to bother a group of older High Reaches riders, known for their traditionalism. Iesaryth hasn't been on high alert, but Hraedhyth's anxiety is enough for her to attempt a general sense of calm, in a damp cool blanket over the Weyr, but there's only so much she can push that on anyone, dragon or human. And as always, Brieli is completely self-possessed and in control of her pleasant demeanor, no matter how she might actually be feeling. She can wave off apologies, telling Mirinda, "I don't doubt she's busy with duties. I appreciate any of you coming at all, though I suppose it's a nice excuse to go for a drink. And of course." With a bright smile for I'kris, it's hard to tell if she's just pretending to remember. Wryly, "I do know the feeling. But I'm sure you'll all survive. I know, easy for me to say." Her dark gaze might flicker Iolene's way, but her expression doesn't change. Azaylia subtly chokes at the sound of her name, chewing politely and swallowing. "Quinlys. Oh, thank you." It could be that she forgot where she was, so wrapped up on trying this fancy looking cut of meat. "Your dress is beautiful. I'm going to miss lessons," Most of them. "Am I allowed to hope that Hraedhyth's babies have you for their Weyrlingmaster in the future?" With subtle inching, the junior is happy to talk with Quinlys so long as she is able to refill her plate, and pluck up a glass of something fruity and festive. I'kris' own dark gaze also flicks in Iolene's direction, but his expression does shift: a tighter line in place of that smile, for all that he lets it sit that way only briefly - only until his sister gives him that oh-so-careful nudge. "Of course we came," he says, hastily, turning back on the charm as best he can. "You're our clutchmate - and Miri would never miss the graduation of one of Zaisavyth's daughters. Our father says you'll always have a place at Monaco." That's the point at which Mirinda interjects again: "But of course, High Reaches is your home. And you're happy here, we hope." Quinlys seems more than happy to follow Azaylia, rather as though now she's found someone to talk to she's going to cling for a while-- or maybe it's because she's casting the occasional dark glance at a brownrider everyone knows she's been half-chasing for a while. Clearly, Azaylia is nicely safe. "You are? Well, you're happy to come in for recaps whenever you like. Actually," she straightens her shoulders, looking pleased. "Meara's confirmed I'm allowed to stay on staff. She even hinted that she'll train me in some of the administrative things as well, so that's exciting." The Igenite fanboys - if that's what they are - disperse only when K'del steps into the group, reminding Iolene in a quiet voice that they really do need to get the formalities complete. It's hard to tell whether the goldrider is pleased or disappointed; in either case, she steps back towards the bronzerider, and they sidle away, on towards the little dais that has been set up at one end of the cavern. After clearing his throat, he says, voice pitched to carry: "If I can have your attention? Please." Not quite arching fine brows - but they twitch nonetheless - Brieli seems to register that shift in the brownrider's expression, but doesn't remark on it, doesn't even seem to file it away for later. After a sip from her wineglass, "I'll have to be sure to return the favor in three sevens, then. And I appreciate that - well, both. I'm still not looking forward to the winter, but I do feel I'm in the right place." She'd add more, but K'del is looking for attention, and she might need to actually do something, so she murmurs some apologies and promises to catch up with the Monacoans before they leave before moving off, glancing around the crowd. Azaylia preforms the careful balancing act of carrying her drink, while exposing enough palm to rapidly clap her fingers against it. While holding a cookie in her mouth. Yay, Quinlys! Before she can pull the baked good free and continue with her congratulations, K'del is demanding the floor. With a happy smile for the bluerider, she points in the Weyrleader's direction and remains quiet. There is still some subtle sipping and polite nibbling as he speaks. Quinlys, seeming pleased, nudges Azaylia too to indicate Brieli across the room, rather as though she's encouraging the goldriders to seek each other out, though her words, kept quiet in deference to the Weyrleader are pretty even: "Don't feel like you need to stick with me, Azaylia." Meanwhile, Mirinda's hand tightens on her brother's upper-arm as Brieli moves away, and the look on her face speaks volumes. In a hissed whisper: "Watch yourself, Kris. You don't have to be Father 2.0. Just be yourself." Not that she gives him time to reply before stalking away towards another group of Monacoans, evidently intending to watch the proceedings from within their number. Up on the dais, K'del hesitates before continuing, carefully adjusting the ring on his finger, and the cufflinks on his shirt. "Never seems to make sense to make these things too formal," he begins. "So I won't keep you long, promise. Mostly-- just want to congratulate High Reaches' newest riders. They've worked hard for thirteen months now - can you believe it's really been that long? - and we're delighted to welcome them into the wings. Weyrlings-- new riders-- you'll all be tapped into your wing in the next few days. If you're not tapped immediately, it's not that no one wants you... we just want to give you a vacation." Off in her corner, not managing to do a terribly good show of hostessing, Lujayn rubs at her brow uncomfortably. She doesn't even really seem to be watching K'del: she's watching Mirinda. The other newly graduated goldrider might be looking for her counterpart, for all Brieli tries to pause long enough to hear the quality, if not the content of Mirinda's whisper to her brother. It's not an easy thing, especially now that she's meant to pay attention to the Weyrleader. K'del gets the sort of perfect polite attention that betrays little more than a mild impatience or restlessness, from the way her gaze shifts - Igenites, traditionalists, the dais... eventually Azaylia and Quinlys with a tip of her glass and a flash of a smile. With her appetite momentarily satiated, so it seems Azaylia's not quite as flighty as she has been for the majority of the day. It could be that, with K'del finally making things official, there's nothing more to worry her. Right? She's quick in giving Quinlys a one armed hug, likely in thanks as well as farewell. She's just going to sneak on through the crowd, stopping to stand by Brieli's elbow to belatedly return the smile, though her eyes are quick to return to the Weyrleader. It's not that newly-arrived N'rov marches through the crowd, nor that he waits his turn, but merely that he takes advantage: an opening here where an even younger bronzerider's gone off to fetch a drink for some lucky girl, another there where someone's got a privy to visit, yet another where someone's just standing stock still to listen and making enough of an island in the stream of people that he can slip on by. It's also not that he's frowning, but his polite smile's just a little too polished, and even Vhaeryth's greeting is easy to lose in the mass of visitors. In any case, his aim's much like Azaylia's, only not with intent to give /Quinlys/ a hug of any variety. Quinlys gives Azaylia a squeeze in return, the shuffles backwards towards one of the further walls, where she can watch out of the way; this is not, after all, her party. K'del, meanwhile, is not quite finished with the speachifying yet. He's had a lot of practice with this kind of thing - lots of graduated clutches during his tenure as Weyrleader - but public speaking has never been his really strong point. "Anyway, the whole point is: congratulations. You're full riders now, and some of you are even Junior Weyrwomen. It's a party, so... go, enjoy yourselves." And don't notice the way he gives Iolene a wary, almost confused glance as he steps away from the dais, waving the room's occupants free to enjoy themselves. It's a good thing that Brieli's paying attention to where all these people from different Weyrs are, despite the speechifying and the expressions of appreciation and so forth that she needs to make when mentioned - because that makes it much easier for her to notice N'rov making his way through the crowd. She tries to be subtle about her wave, but there's nothing subtle in her smile for the bronzerider. But she still must ask Azaylia, in an undertone, "Do... Do they look odd tonight?" A nod for the Weyrleaders. Pardon Azaylia, as she looks terribly sheepish when the Weyrleader's speech includes waiting to be tapped. Who would figure her to be the proactive one for a change? After he's done, she looks tempted to step forward and catch both of the 'leaders, only to pause at the glance towards Iolene. Brieli has her head snapping to the side, eyes wide, "You know I- I wouldn't have thought so, but..." An uncertain yes is her answer, naturally soft voice aiding in keeping it just between them. When N'rov reaches them, he'll be given a shy but genuinely friendly smile, subtly hiding behind Brieli a bit as she does. /Enjoy themselves/. N'rov's got a hint of a smirk to go with his under the breath, "Yes sir." Maybe the shuffler can hear him along her way, or whoever that is that's all but breathing down his neck... but a few sideslipped strides later and he eases around in a path that should take him behind Brieli, except that area's now /occupied/. He gives Azaylia a dry smile of his own, surely appreciative of her maneuvering at the very least, and it's no hardship to settle towards Brieli's other side instead. And to wind his hand around hers if he can, the one that's holding that drink. "Did I miss the speeches?" Oh no, say it's not so! There are lots of dragons out in the bowl, of course - and a few more arriving now, late, but not too late (hopefully). The Telgar contingent includes not Teris, formerly one of High Reaches' own juniors, but the younger Junior, Prinavi. They wing down to the bowl together, announcing themselves as one-- and a sudden, untraceable shift begins. That tension that's been hanging around all day? It's sharper, now, almost more concrete - a definite weight. The fact that the other goldrider is actually agreeing with her makes Brieli's brows draw together as she shifts her attention from the dais to Azaylia. With a purse of her lips, "I think some of those riders were asking her about..." And she'd finish, but there's something that makes her pause, look up and around warily. That dissolves a little as N'rov appears, and she gives him a smirk - likely for being more interested in her drink than her hand, but she offers it up anyway. Sidling in closer to him, "It looks like you did. But... I doubt you missed everything." Her tone is full of dark humor - something's going on. Amidst her group of Monacoans, Mirinda bites her lip, seeking out High Reaches' Weyrleaders through the crowd - she seems confused. So do her companions. Actually, so does K'del, across the room, talking quietly to Iolene who has her back to the room. Hreadhyth's fires have threatened to scorch those she touches this day, though by no fault of her own. She is jovial because her rider is, but the young queen is also careless, distracted. It's obvious even as she rubs shoulders with the elite (often quite literally) as well as the less metallic visitors, and the dragons of her weyr. As the tension mounts, it only serves to fuel her flames. The ocean's rise and fall is strong today, draped over High Reaches like a particularly damp blanket, an attempt at calm. Iesaryth is distracted today, even for her preternaturally quick and nimble mind - the fish are /swarming/. But when there's the sense and reminder of the bronze near, she has a rush of warmth for him, /grateful/ for even his presence. And when there's that sharpening and weight, there's a darkness that falls - and she betrays deep concern that echoes with her rider's. (Iesaryth to Vhaeryth) Asking her about..? Azaylia is leaning forward, anxious to hear Brieli's thoughts. But then- N'rov. "Oh, yes." She answers while straightening up, using both hands to hold her drink. Perhaps she's worried he'll try and steal hers, too? "It was a very nice speech. Short, but s-sweet." Stuttering as if shocked, she turns widened eyes to her friend with a silent question. She feels it too, right? N'rov'll kiss the one and then take the other, winding his spare arm proprietarily around his girl's waist as long as she's doing all that sidling, though it's not as though /Azaylia's/ apt to try and snag her sole attention. Or... is she? "What, is someone about to jump out of a cake?" Only then he stiffens, glancing briefly down towards the beltknife he can't see from this angle, with its decorative sheath that suits his nearly as decorative clothes. Gray eyes, darker now, check in with the two young weyrwoman while Vhaeryth uneasily shifts upon the station by Iesaryth he's reclaimed all over again, one forepaw reaching out with a curve of claws and then retreating. Iesaryth is calm. She is water, constant only in its shifts, its ability to wear down even rock over time, and the ocean's rise and fall is strong, stronger as the sense of foreboding sharpens. She can press that calm down, on the tension to muffle it, but it only goes so far. And it can't put out Hraedhyth's fires, not now. Vhaeryth doesn't poke his muzzle against hers this time, though there's a jut of his shoulders that bumps more than leans. He looks up, he looks out, ocean and flames each superimposed upon the other amidst the rest of that weight as though each feeds the other. (Vhaeryth to Iesaryth) And then... there it is: a sudden surge of territorialism that might be mistaken as Hraedhyth's, except that it doesn't carry her scent or her touch-- and instead, an intensity of passion and brightness. High on her ledge, segregated from the visitors but watching them with furious disapproval, Rielsath rouses herself, gone from normal sun-in-winter hue to outright glow in the space of minutes. All these visitors? They should leave. Now. That question in Brieli's own gaze, looking Azaylia's way, "I don't know." That's all she has. Still distracted by kisses, even if just to fingers, she's jarred out of her developing paranoia by that, by N'rov's arm about her waist. Smiling up at him, if briefly, apologetically, "I don't think so. But it's a nice thought." Even she'd take that at this point. It's not her custom to hide against him, but there's a little of that in her mein - that is, until that surge of territorialism that widens dark eyes. "Oh, no." Although those fast-heated emotions are hot and heavy amidst High Reaches' dragons (not to mention all those visitors), Cadejoth is a surprising beacon of calm, rattling bones more as a way to get attention than in any sense of concern. « You need to go, » he says. « We need to go. K'del says the foreign queens must have set her off. Go. Now. » (Cadejoth to Hraedhyth and Iesaryth) She's grateful for that too, that leaning and the quiet. That is, until Iesaryth senses Rielsath, and even her normally easy-going nature is roused into alarm. Alarm and /horror/, again with definite sense of Aishani. And if his instinct is to /go/, she is /not/ going to stop him. She has to /go/. (Iesaryth to Vhaeryth) Hraedhyth doesn't scold Vhaeryth so much as she slaps his wrists. Hard. The abuse is dealt without apology, his presence more of a strain on her patience than it has ever been. And suddenly- chaos. Rielsath's surge is answered both mentally and vocally, the young queen challenging her elder with a furious bellow. Fire. It consumes everything, lights her eyes with crimson and burns at her feet, threatening to launch her at the glowing gold. It is a thin chain of flowers which keeps her tethered, but even that is beginning to wilt and blacken. It is not a time for words. Rielsath rouses, oh yes, and her scorn for these visiting interlopers knows no bounds... but it's only those queens who earn her wrath. To the bronzes, to the browns-- to Vhaeryth, a sudden wide-eyed understanding, and a lure, too. Does he have what it takes? Her weyr... but for the right visitor, perhaps she'll share. (Rielsath to Vhaeryth) Even amidst the sudden clamour of the room, K'del's single word cry is audible - and obvious. "Fuck," he says. Azaylia politely turns away at the display of affection, unable to keep her lips from curling even as she sips at her drink. Warm liquid barely touches her tongue before every muscle in her body seizes up, and the glass slips from her fingers to shatter on the ground. "Ohno." She echoes Brieli, eyes turning to find both she and N'rov before she gives a sudden lurch. "OhnoOhno- NO." Far louder than she has ever been, she screws her face in the effort of keeping her dragon grounded. "We need to go." Cadejoth's words are borrowed, the junior unable to focus long enough to form thoughts of her own. A moment later she's turned to plow through the crowd in order to reach her fuming dragon before Hraedhyth does something stupid. Or deadly. Not even Ysavaeth can command Rielsath, now; nor has she time for Hraedhyth (an interloper in her games), nor for Iesaryth (foreign; to be dismissed), or either of the foreign queens. Her challenge is bellowed, a warning shot over their bows, and already, a collection of bronzes and browns begin their passage towards the feeding grounds. At that slap, Vhaeryth draws back abruptly against the stone behind him, fast enough for already-dark claws to strike sparks as though singed. The slap, and Iesaryth's horror, and the scorn, and the... /lure/, Rielsath's lure, that tightens N'rov's hand about that glass. It hasn't broken yet, but he rocks back, curly head shaking. Vhaeryth rumbles, low and long and somehow distressed. N'rov hasn't let go of Aishani, yet. Mirinda is running, ahead of Azaylia but only barely, her jet black hair streaming behind her as she manages not to fall in those high-heeled shoes. Outside, Prinavi hasn't even had the opportunity to dismount: her queen is in the air again, shooting away as fast as she can go. But the Monaco riders are staying. So are the Igen riders. With horror - total and complete horror - Brieli straightens away from N'rov, eyes wide on him for a moment too long before, "Azaylia!" As if the other girl might not be aware of Hraedhyth, as if she's not already handling it. But in the moment, it could be taken as just a rallying cry. Pale, she nods to Azaylia, set to follow - but N'rov's still holding onto her. She can't go before looking at him again, seeming torn and completely sick for a moment, before lowly, "Come if you can... But if you can't, wait for me." And she'll rip herself out of his grasp and move. The shock of it has certainly sent ripples through the remaining partiers - especially those not pushed into flight mode by their suddenly aroused dragons. Amongst them, Quinlys for one is already having a grand old time, pouring drinks with a liberal hand and toasting the, "Happy couple to be!" Calm? Who could possibly be calm at a time like this? Hraedhyth refuses Cadejoth's rattling bones, and with every passing moment another floral link in her chain turns to ash. She so wants to answer Rielsath's challenge; to maim, to dominate, to claim the males which now fly over her head in an effort to reach the pens. At the height of her fury, Azaylia arrives to mount her dragon bareback. Nevermind that her dress is ripped in the frenzy, or that she looks ready to be sick all over that tawny hide. What's important that a moment later, the two launch into the air and disappear between. The ocean is rough, the skies dark - Iesaryth isn't Hraedhyth, but a little of that seeps into the waters, warm enough to raise a storm. She's waiting for Shan, but patience is wearing thin - and Rielsath might be edging around getting on her /nerves/. Her nature is a bonus again, if only for her rider's reticence. (Iesaryth to Vhaeryth) N'rov's eyes have widened to show their whites, and he can't /let/ her go, except she is going, and... isn't that where he wants to go anyway? Out to the Bowl. Out to Vhaeryth, if nothing else, and he chases after her as the glass tips and falls and breaks, straining, less heedless than he'd like to be of how they may have added to certain other riders' and residents' entertainment. "Vhaeryth!" Vhaeryth hesitates on the ledge, trembling, claws tight like they could break. Stay, entreats Rielsath, afire with longing - rather as though it were her first flight, all new. It's not to him alone, of course: stay, she entreats, over and over again, demanding attentions of bronzes and browns attempting to leave. Court her. Chase her. Or are they not up to it? Too weak? Too puny? Perhaps foreign dragons are not good enough after all. (Rielsath to Vhaeryth) Iesaryth isn't Hraedhyth, but there's a storm brewing over tropical waters, the clouds gathering. She could wash all this away, if she likes, she could drown Rielsath and her dismissiveness, send her down into the depths. But her rider (usually) has supreme self-control - and that stays the flood until Brieli can dash onto her ledge with an apprehensive glance for Vhaeryth and those claws before she's also messing up her fancy dress by throwing herself at the gold and leaping in the air to disappear, just after the slightly older pair. Ysavaeth is the last of the queens to leave, rather as though she hates to abandon her weyr - even when she must. Cadejoth rises alongside her; they disappear almost in unison. Too weak, asks Rielsath of Vhaeryth (and those others, but never mind them), even as she entreats him to /stay/. Too young, yes, too arrogant, maybe, too weak in his own way beneath a queen's desire, quite possibly... and too alienated from all that had gone before, quite probably. Abruptly he leaps skyward right after Iesaryth, only the bronze doesn't disappear. He flees to the animals that he can kill, that he will kill, to drink and leave N'rov, shuddering, abandoned in his wake. |
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