Logs:Party at Farideh's
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| RL Date: 30 January, 2016 |
| Who: Farideh, Jocelyn, Lys, N'klas, Pia, Quinlys, Silva, T'gar, V'ret, Aidavanth, Roszadyth, Evyth |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Farideh hosts a party. |
| Where: Farideh's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 18, Month 12, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
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| Oh, snow! White and cold and leaves a mess. It's no wonder that the weyrwoman's weyr is warm and toasty, and mats have been set down near the entryway to provide places to stomp off the worst of it. Colorful fabric and streamers drip from the walls, leaving no surface uncovered; even the recently replaced furniture has been draped in soft-to-the-touch cloth. Wafting through the air, before one steps into the tunnel leading into the goldrider's weyr, is delectable scents of food and drinks, and they're quite a sight to see, arranged on the tables for easy access. In the corner by the hearth, two harpers are warming up, lost in their murmured discourse. And Farideh, she's lounging comfortably on one of her 'c'-shaped couches, feet tucked under her layered blue skirts, as her assistants and the weyrlings mill around her; notably, there's a wineglass in hand and a supremely polite smile on her face -- and one would not come without the other, presumably. Pia has been here for hours, flitting about helping with this bit of setup and that; driving Farideh's assistants mad, naturally, with that bubbly effervescence that has been dialled up a couple of notches in excitement. Now, though, she's changed into her gather best-- a sky blue gown that would be better suited to a sultry Istan night than a High Reaches winter-- and done her hair, and all-but-skips as she skirts through the crowd in search of a drink. "Isn't it lovely?" she says, to no one in particular. "Just perfect." How can you tell that the weyrlings are now betweening freely? Among other things, the fact that V'ret's looking considerably more tan than he even did around midsummer. Though it's less bronzed than sunburned over his nose and ears, a fact that doesn't seem to disrupt his smile. And neither does the fact that he's arrived alone. A temporary situation, perhaps. Since he's headed in the direction of drinks himself, he's content with reassuring Pia: "It's absolutely lovely." Having the shortest commute to the acting weyrwoman's weyr, it's perhaps unsurprising that Jocelyn's one of the first to arrive, wrapped in a coat just thick enough for the walk over from her own ledge. For someone who's likely visited Farideh in the past, her gaze lingers overly long on the furnishings once she's removed her outerwear to smooth self-consciously at her fitted, button-down shirt and dark slacks, lips pursing consideringly before she reluctantly edges into the growing gathering. Her hellos are polite enough, if brief as she moves past peers, acquires a glass of something from one of the tables, chin lifting once she's near enough to her fellow goldrider to give her a proper greeting. "Farideh. You've outdone yourself, " she says evenly, of the tables, the decor, the ambiance. "Thank you for having us." Pia beams at V'ret, the full force of her bright smile delivered in his direction as she reaches the table where the drinks have been set up. Her tipple of choice for the evening is simply one, the easiest thing on offer if one doesn't want to drink straight liquor; she pours it without paying much attention. "I worried that maybe it was a little over the top, but then I thought... well, why not? It's a party. And since the weyrwoman has been so kind as to host us all... I'd hate for us to accidentally ruin her things. So: fabric." T'gar is totally here. He's not really making a presence of himself at the moment, having entered into the party sometime ago with a few of the male clutchmates that equally don't rock the boat and make a nuisance of themselves. Having found their drinks, There's chatting to be had with the bronze weyrling catching the eyes and nodding at those that should meet it in greeting as he drinks. "Me?" Both wineglass and hazel eyes are lifted, one to Farideh's lips and the other to the weyrling goldrider. "I hardly did a thing. Pia and Lys arranged it all, per their instructions. You can thank them for the success," she says, nodding her head towards Pia and V'ret. "You're welcome at any rate. It's not as though High Reaches has any celebrations of late, and with the snow-- we could all use a boost." Her smile looks genuine enough, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes. "How has your day been? Better, I hope, now." Now that the responsibilities are shucked and the fun, the drinking and merriment, can begin. V'ret, of course, is clearly responsible for any of his girlfriend's successes in life! Okay, that's probably not what was meant. Even so, perhaps that's why it's worth heaping praise on Pia, now, in Lys' absence: "It's all very... exuberant." It takes him a few moments to settle on what word is really appropriate. "And why not? It seems like we're reaching the point that a bit of exuberance is warranted. All the work has to have a few rewards, doesn't it?" Straight liquor is more to his taste, but he still raises the glass as though it's fancier than it is, perfectly worth the designation. Jocelyn studies the younger goldrider in the wake of her reply, and the line of her jaw stiffens a fraction as she permits herself a tight, little smile. "No, we haven't, " she agrees for the weyr's recent lack of celebratory gatherings, polite. Of her day: "It was fine, productive enough." As she's no doubt aware. "Better now that it's over? Of course." It's almost spoken too easily, as is what follows: "I'll be sure to thank Pia, too - and Lys." Pale eyes turn toward the outer room at large, a glance landing on one of the greenriders in question and her current conversation partner. "Excuse me." And just like that, she's stepping away to better skirt a couple of people and head gradually in Pia's direction, chin dipping into a short nod for T'gar as she espies him with a group nearby. Pia, amused: "That's usually the word people use when they're describing something I've had a hand in." Self-aware enough not to be bothered by this, the greenrider just grins. "But yes. Yes, exactly. In another few months we'll all be full dragonriders, and-- well, the rest of our lives will be waiting for us. I'm excited. I suppose we'll have more parties when that happens, and one for turnover in another five weeks, and... at least it keeps the snow from being utterly depressing. Except I mostly like the snow, too." Her own glass is raised; cheers! T'gar sends a grin Jocelyn's way for her nod as he drinks, the others in his group lost and engaged in whatever current topic that has they're attention. Something they touch upon even grabs his attention for the moment. "Of course," Farideh accedes, with a smug little smile tugging up the corners of her lips; oddly enough her eyes briefly look a little sad, despite the curve of her mouth. She watches the other woman go, and then turns to set her elbow on the table of the couch and take a more focused view of the harpers who are, now, playing a lively set that fills the room with sound. Zoas and Avra (the goldrider's assistants) scurry around the room, replenishing dishes and pouring drinks, and despite it all, look quite pleased to be involved and helping. "Last winter, it seemed like the cold was just interminable. It was all about keeping busy and hoping for the time to pass. For more than just the one reason, of course--waiting on spring, waiting on dragons." V'ret offers a wry smile for that. "Now, it's all more broken up. There are more nice things. It's easy to get a break from the cold. It hardly seems like it's time for Turnover. It's easier to like the snow when it's not the only option, I think," he tells Pia. Is it getting old, the apologetic reach of daughter to mother with a tangle of discomfort for the state of relations between their riders lately? Aidavanth is frustrated by this sensation of being a middle person, so caught between her rider and the dragon with whom she's had only the warmest relationship since she hatched - who happens to be Farideh's. There's no voice given to the feelings, but they're there on the surface of her consciousness - where, despite her growth, she floats forward an image that's no doubt pulled from Jocelyn's point of view: Snow, Roszadyth, and a days-old, tiny orange-gold brushing noses with her for the first time. At some length, ruefully: « I'm afraid I'm too big to play in the snow now as I did before. » But looking at it from up here? That's nice, too. (To Roszadyth from Aidavanth) Quinlys, by rights, probably shouldn't be here. But... well. They're still her weyrlings. At least she has the grace to stick around the edges, skirting away from weyrlings and finding herself standing just behind Farideh at that couch. "Regretting your generosity?" she wonders. Also, "I promise, I won't stay long. I just wanted to stick my nose in and see." "I think Lui has found something wrong with every place we've visited," says Pia, with an exaggerated sigh. "But I keep trying to find places she might like-- there has to be somewhere that isn't 'the deep ocean' or 'our weyr.' But you're right: having the freedom to travel makes all the difference. Have you been anywhere delightful?" With her cheek cradled against her fist, expression wistful as she listens to the harpers play their first set, Farideh slants the weyrlingmaster a look, one eyebrow lifting. "I wouldn't say that in so many words, but I do wonder how long it will take to clean up and if-- any of them will make it out without injury or incident. They're quite--" Her lips press together and then she makes a face at Quinlys. "How are you doing? Stay as long as you like. I'm sure it will keep them from causing much trouble, anyway. They're more scared of you than me." "Some of us like the snow, " says Jocelyn V'ret-ward by way of announcing her presence once she's near enough to insert herself neatly next to Pia at the table, setting her glass down briefly to arrange herself a tiny plate of something to munch on between conservative sips of the bubbly beverage she's chosen. "But I can't deny that a break is sometimes welcome." On occasion. Still, her demeanor softens slightly once her attention turns to Luishaeth's. "You did a - festive job, " she tells her briefly during a break in conversation, scooping up her food and drink after; interrupting must not be her intention, since she casts a glance toward an empty spot of wall and begins moving in that direction - where, no doubt, it'd be easier to simply observe the others at large. Old, frustrated. Roszadyth doesn't find herself anyplace new and it's almost as comforting as it is unfortunate a place to be. She's high above, looking down, lounging in all her graceful goldliness on someone's ledge; socializing with her compatriots, as it were. That doesn't stop her warm and assuring presence from returning Aidavanth's greeting, even as the frame of their mother-daughter bond starts to blur at the edges. « Why are you sorry for that? Now we may fly together wherever we please, » and she does sound pleased about that. Snow, mountains, flat land, heat; wherever they should want to go, they can. (To Aidavanth from Roszadyth) "Young," suggests Quinlys as a word to finish Farideh's sentence, though her smirk suggests she's aware that it's not that simple: that Farideh herself is younger than a not-insignificant number of the assembled weyrlings. "I'm fine," she adds, then. "Good. No longer losing my lunch on a regular basis. Ready to get this lot into the wings so I don't have to worry about them at all-- then they can be scared of someone else instead." "Young," the also young woman laughs. "I was going to say thirsty. I'm glad I thought to have my collection put away. I think they would finish it all before the night was through." Farideh studies the bluerider carefully, nodding once-- twice-- and sighs. "It's soon, isn't it? It seems like we just searched them all, and they're about to be actual contributing members of the wings. Any guesses on who goes where? I haven't been listening to the ripples." "Went down to Ista, had a very nice day at the beach," V'ret offers up to Pia, which explains the sunburn. That intrusion gets him giving Jocelyn a terribly puzzled look. "That's... fine? You can like whatever you like. All I said was that last winter felt long." But the gold weyrling is already moving on, and that seems a relief. Or at least it lets the puzzlement pass as quickly as it arrived. Pia's bright smile is turned accordingly on to Jocelyn, her clearly genuine pleasure radiant within it. "Thank you," she says, cheerfully. "I hope you enjoy yourself, Jocelyn!" She seems less inclined to comment on the snow, or anyone's opinion on it, except that as her dark gaze slides back towards V'ret afterwards she says, "It was just a comment, you know. I don't think she meant anything by it. Anyway, I liked Ista, too, but Lui said it was too hot and the water was too clear; silly thing." It's amazing how even with dragons fully grown there are some needs (like oiling a trouble spot) that takes precedence over showing up at a delightful party on time, particularly when some amount of preparation has gone into her appearance. Lys thusly arrives in a green dress too short for the weather, terminating at her knees, but is supplemented by sheer white stockings that do a little to diminish the tan on her legs. Her hair has been done up in a fancy up-do and cosmetics kiss her face, though not heavily. Her hurried movement through the space takes her very nearly into Jocelyn as she moves toward that lonely wall. "Joce," is bright and accompanied by a smile, while those beyond get taken in by that smiling greeting, too. Experiences, the younger gold has grown to understand, never quite happen the same way again. But the promise of new ones? She can get behind that. « We can, » she agrees then, equally pleased. And maybe they should travel somewhere together now that they can, if they can wrangle it. But for now, she's withdrawing with wishes for a pleasant evening; she has socializing of her own to return to in the bowl. (To Roszadyth from Aidavanth) Quinlys' laugh carries-- loud enough that some of those who might not have realised she was here may well be in the know now. "Thirsty. That, too. But, mmm. Soon. Less than two months for the older lot, a few sevens more than that for yours. I've a few thoughts; I think some of the wingleaders do, too, but I'm not sure how much is decided, yet. And then you'll have Jocelyn to help all the time... and Irianke back, too, I hope." She's distracted, but only briefly, by that green weyrling; her eyes roll. At least, for now, no damage is done. « As you wish it, » Roszadyth avows, warmth still imbuing the cultured notes of her mind voice, and it's that sense of sunniness that lingers long after the queen has returned to her own business; a gentle, but penetrating reminder of her affections. (To Aidavanth from Roszadyth) V'ret's expression turns briefly sour again. "It would be just a comment from anybody else. She says I'm wrong the way other people say hello." But his attention is distracted by this noisy business, moving to shift a bit in the opposite direction, like mere proximity to this might make it reflect poorly on him. "I'm not precisely sure how water can be too clear." Smiles, once more. "Too hot, I can give some credit to. I wouldn't want to have to do a hard day's work in that climate." Lingering on his drink - or seeming to be wanting it to last as long as possible - T'gar eyes the one green weyrling when the weyrlingmaster and Farideh catches his attention. His attention lingers on one more than the other, but his study takes those weyrlings closest to him. "How time flies," Farideh murmurs into her glass, and summarily takes a long drink that might suggest she, too, is quite thirsty. "I'm hoping Irianke comes back before both classes graduate, but I haven't heard anything to the contrary yet." She seems thoughtful about that, and becomes quickly distracted by the greenrider by the drinks table. "I suppose I was wrong. Not scared enough of you, or me, to hold in their antics," she sighs, her smile freezing when her gaze briefly catches T'gar's, on them; irritation flashes in her eyes before she returns them to Quinlys. "Weyrlings." "Lys, " and Jocelyn almost looks startled, features warming considerably as she quickly minces to balance her plate down on the nearest surface. Her goal must have been to free up a hand so that she can brush it briefly over a small part of the blonde's hair, a careless motion that's probably meant to displace what snow might have lingered there from the outdoors. "You had something on you, just there, " she says brusquely, but her eyes tell a different story as they slowly go up-and-down the length of that dress. "Surely you're a little cold in that?" But she smiles back - at least until that other greenrider gets a little too noisy over there, and a disapproving look gets sent in that direction. "It's a defence mechanism. She does it to everyone," is Pia's summation of Jocelyn, made with a toss of her head that-- once upon a time-- would have sent hair flying, and now just shifts around a few short strands. Of that weyrling, she makes no comment. "She wants the water to be murky," she continues, with a wrinkle of her nose. Full of things that hide and ick. Seaweed, too. I'd hate to wear riding leathers at Ista, anyway. Or anything formal." Quinlys' gaze follows Farideh's, and interest in the other topics of conversation briefly diminishes. "Something wrong with that weyrling in particular?" she wonders, idly. She, after all, aims a nod in T'gar's direction, though nothing more (unless one counts the faint lift of her eyebrows). "Thanks," from Lys to Jocelyn with very little change in her smile rolls right into, "I am, but I never got a proper winter gather dress. I have a thick cloak that goes with it, but Evy got oil on it as I was heading out and--" The explanation spill, tone just a little annoyed, but not truly vexed (can anyone really end up mad at Evyth?). "I'm just glad I made it before it ended. You look nice," she offers to the goldrider. "Have I missed much?" She looks beyond the goldrider, finding V'ret and Pia not too far distant. "Pia," she calls, "It looks great!" If V'ret looks, there's a big smile for him, of course. "Murky water does not seem to make for much of a swimming spot, that's for sure. Zoth isn't much for just hanging around on the beach, but he's not above hunting even when he's not hungry." V'ret has been a long time about finally getting him to stop doing that even in the feeding grounds, so perhaps trips to remote places still suit both of them. It takes a few moments for him to get around to looking back in Jocelyn's direction--catching Lys' voice is a better catalyst. "Ah! There you are. I was starting to wonder." It's unfortunate that humans, themselves, lack telepathy. As it is, Aidavanth has to take a moment between pleasant conversations in the bowl to turn her focus directly onto her sister to convey more than what Jocelyn's words alone will likely accomplish. « Jocelyn says that if Lys isn't already going home with Zoth's tonight, you are both welcome to come with us. » (To Evyth from Aidavanth) T'gar does catch that look from Farideh, and the nod from Quinlys before he excuses himself from his group. Aiming their way, he only pauses to top off his glass once more - nodding to Pia and V'ret along his way - and nods his greeting to Farideh and Quinlys with an easy, "Nice party." Jocelyn makes a face. "We'll have to fix that, " she says decisively - although whether that's of finding Lys proper winter formal attire or helping with the oil stain isn't exactly clear. For the compliment, there's an easy, "Thanks. It was either this, " a blue shirt that might be familiar to the greenrider, "or something too formal." But then V'ret's looking in their direction, and the goldrider's head tilts in his. "I'm sure he'd rather talk with you than Pia. I'll see you - later, I hope." "I think Lui just prefers to stay home, but at least she doesn't hate the maps," says Pia, with a (relatively) contented sigh. But-- there's Lys, and the green weyrling turns to grin at the other, rising up on her toes so that she can wave and call, "We did a good job!" To V'ret, then: "You should go say hi to your girlfriend. A proper hi." "With that one? They're all quite insufferable except for a few," Farideh says, honesty bolstered by the glass of wine she finishes off after those words. "That one in particular likes to meddle in things he has no business meddling in, like other people's personal affairs. It's a shame." She gives Quinlys one of her not-amused smiles and holds out her glass for a refill, and it is fairly quickly. "Wha--" Her mouth opens and she gets the start of a word out, before T'gar is there. "Hello," she says, sweet as pie. That greenrider laughs loud enough to be heard over the other party goers, and her attempt to climb on one of the tables is stopped by another greenrider. Pouting ensues, and more drinking, because why not? It's all on the Weyr's tab. Quinlys neither confirms nor denies the insufferability of weyrlings at large; she laughs, instead, resting one hand upon the shallow curve of her belly as she does so. She's interrupted from whatever thought she might have offered in reply: T'gar's abruptly there, and her own smile turns smug. "Such a shame. Hello, T'gar. Are you enjoying Farideh's little shindig? Can I-- oh, shells. Are we going to need to recruit you to get her safely home before she destroys Farideh's furniture?" "And yours too," Lys decides in turn for Jocelyn's attire. "Something feminine but middle ground for when you need it." Yes, she is ensuring more time with the weavers, but there's a cheery smile to go with it, so perhaps she'll avoid sour expressions until the weaver descends upon the goldrider. "I need a drink," she tells Jocelyn, and certainly, it must be true, "but I'll find you again in a while," if the goldrider sticks around long enough. She does move to step around Jocelyn then, to say to Pia, "And our helpers," not above sharing the credit. "Maybe we should plan more parties together," she suggests as she moves to reach for V'ret's hand, "Hi," sounds pretty proper. "Oiling trouble," she relates much more briefly to the bronzerider. "What should I drink?" is a request for a recommendation. Those dropcloths, they're temptation; N'klas, his short hair slicked back, has paused in making the rounds to check under the nearest one. But then he's watching the greenrider, no, the greenriders, laughing in a way that's getting close to a chortle. To Aidavanth, Evyth's regret is real. « She's coming home to me, tonight. We talked it over and couldn't figure out fair way to-- Well, anyway. I made her promise. She'll come back and tell me all about the party. » The green herself sounds sleepy; who wouldn't be after a nice oiling though? "You were just badmouthing me, weren't you?" T'gar levels at Farideh, his tone letting amusement show through the droll voice. That grin turns on Quinlys to say, "It's nice. Not used to parties like this one. I, uhh--" he turns to eye the weyrling in question with a miffed look before he continues on to say, "--if no one else volunteers. As long as she doesn't upchuck on me." "Far be it from me to not take good advice from such an expert coordinator." Which is to say, V'ret was probably going to do this anyway, but at least this gives him a good way to shift his attention from Pia to Lys, for at least long enough to take her hand, give her a kiss on the cheek, all fully party-appropriate levels of affection. "Hi." Properly! "I haven't sampled my way through everything on the table. Yet." "Maybe they'll let us plan our various graduations," suggests Pia, delightedly, except that she's also surprisingly aware of letting Lys and V'ret have their relationship-y moment... and in any case, she needs to step away to inspect the table of food closest to her, and squeal (gleefully) over... something on offer. To Evyth, Aidavanth is understanding, presence gentling for the other's sleepiness. « Of course. We'll see you both soon, » of that, she has little doubt. "Well, would you like to pick your so far favorite for me?" Lys invites V'ret with a warm smile. Her brows lift at Pia's suggestion, looking perhaps a little surprised at the greenrider's step away, murmuring to V'ret, "Do I smell?" Perhaps Lys isn't familiar enough with relationships to realize they need a relationshippy moment here. Whatever need she might leave unanswered seems to take back seat to her need to eye the blond haired bluerider's head. "N'klas?" has to be asked somewhere between uncertain and disapproving, "What did you do to your hair?" The inquiry is made friendly by the exaggeration of her look. "Shindig." Farideh looks positively wounded. "I wasn't doing anything of the sort. Dragons don't lose sleep over the opinions of wherries, T'gar," she returns, tartly, before she, too, turns to stare with ill-concealed curiosity to the greenrider by the drinks. "Isn't that what this whole thing is for? For the weyrlings to enjoy themselves, even if it's too much. I'd prefer she not throw up on my weyr floor, but," she muses aloud, and then lifts eyes to the weyrlingmaster again. "You'd send her home for having fun? With T'gar even?" Nik swivels hastily at his name in that tone, and then he runs a hand over his hair with self-conscious smoothness like he'd be slick too. "Hey, Lys." The teenager wanders over and, still growing though he is, manages not to step on anyone; weyrling classes are evidently good for something. "Happy to see me as always! How's it going? V'ret," gets a grin. "Oh, I'm not saying we'll send her off yet," answers Quinlys, breezily, "but if it gets too much for her. Or for the rest of us. There's always one who wants to take off her clothes and dance on a table, who then falls off, breaks her ankle, and never graduates, leaving her in my care forever." Obviously, this is the natural progression of events: it's almost inevitable. "What did you do to piss off the weyrwoman, T'gar? You might try apologising, since she's being so nice and hosting you regardless." "No more fittings, " Jocelyn says wearily, but waves Lys away with a waggle of fingers. "Go on. We can discuss that another time." Not long after Lys and V'ret exchange greetings, she's quick to drain the majority of what remains in her glass, sparing short sentences here and there to her classmates as she works her way toward the doorway. If she's lucky, her departure will go relatively unnoticed; at any rate, she makes her exit without ceremony some time after, likely having had her fill of small talk and socializing. "She'd be the safest with me out of anybody here," T'gar counters to Farideh, flashing her a toothy smile. "At least I'm still sober enough not to get handsy. You really do care about us, Red. Ma'am," he adds that to Quinlys for her answer to the goldrider. "As for whatever I did to piss off the weyrwoman, I think it's my face. I have one of those faces." Farideh makes a hmm sound, eyeing the greenrider one more time. "I suppose-- we'll wait and see how she gets. Someone might get her to eat something and delay the process," and as she says it, she's flagging down Zoas, who bends down to hear whatever the goldrider whispers in her ear. "Your face," she says, unmoved, after the assistant prances off, "is the least of what's not right with you." Without questioning this, V'ret gets Lys the same thing he has, which can't possibly be the world's best whiskey but at least it's drinkable. He never seems to question whether she wouldn't prefer more of a girl drink. "You don't smell," he reassures, although it's not like he's made a thorough check of that fact. N'klas' arrival is regarded with a smile and no sense that this constitutes an interruption. Though there is a slightly chastizing don't-destroy-boys'-egos look at Lys. "Hey. Keeping busy. It's good to have a bit more time to relax, lately. You been up to anything interesting?" "Do you mean to imply that if you weren't sober you'd get, as you put it, 'handsy' with your drunk classmate?" Quinlys, from her position behind the couch, straightens, belly abruptly more on display, and glowers at T'gar-- though whether or not she really means it seriously is more difficult to say. "Plainly I care about all of you, and I especially care about your behaviour." Be warned. "You know me, Nik. It's my civic duty to make sure you know when you've made a mistake," which might have bite if it weren't playful, complete with a grin from Lys. That's the same look that answers V'ret's look for her, though he gets the adds a pretty flutter of her lashes for the bronzerider as she accepts the drink with a, "Thank you," and then he gets a peck on the cheek for his trouble. No one can stop her stride! Not even that assistant with the pastry that's trying to convince Drunk Greenrider to eat and drink water. It's not a part without dancing, and that's just what she does; on top of one of Farideh's chairs, swaying with the music. Both harpers keep playing, even if they exchange amused glances. Hopefully she doesn't fall. And hey you, don't even try looking up her skirt. "Then it's my charming personality," T'gar hazards another guess to why Farideh doesn't like him, in which case he's quick to add to Quinlys, "-which is always on display no matter whether I'm drunk or sober. I'm always on my best behavior. Even when I shouldn't be." That last seems to linger with a look away from Quinlys to the drink that he's now drinking. "Anyway," he continues, clearing his throat, "I trust you ladies are enjoying yourselves apart from chaperoning the likes of us?" he asks them both. "Yeah," N'klas says all casually, but another grin's still lurking around the corners of it all. "Been out, exploring some, you know how it is. Came out in a thunderstorm the other day and bam," fist in hand, smirk at Lys, "right next to us. Hey, was she into it when you got here?" His nod points out the greenrider on the chair. For once, it's Farideh watching the other woman's ire, wineglass held aloft. "I would substitute charming for something else entirely, but fortunately, you've never gotten handsy that I've seen. We can all thank the stars for that." She tries on a small smile for Quinlys, and then lifts her eyebrows at T'gar. "I'm always most at home in my own space, with my own wine, and my own rules. As I was telling Lys and Pia, before, which prompted this get together, it's less likely that I go to gathers now than before and it's a pity. I enjoy them." Quinlys' gaze lingers on T'gar, fixed there as, presumably, she ascertains his truthfulness. She must believe him, because her nod follows soon after, as she says, "See that it stays that way. I'll not have one of the bronzeriders I've trained gain that reputation. Not on my watch." Of the party around them, she's slower to respond, her attention focusing briefly upon the girl on the chair, then on Farideh, then back to T'gar. "We should get you up and dancing, Farideh. That's usually my favourite part of the gather." FASIONABLY LATE, that Silva. She probably spent the last forever trying to get her clothing just right, and is only now deciding that she's just barely pretty enough to show her face. The months have mellowed her a bit, so when she comes in tehre's a faint hint of shy that follows Silva's steps. Even her dress has hints of demure stitched into the scenes. It only falls off one shoulder, and totally falls to her knees. No moving right into a group for Silva, she'll hang off to one side and twist a curl slowly around a finger. V'ret's attention briefly tracks over to That Greenrider, with a slight nose wrinkle, and that causes a bigger wince. Things not to do with a fading sunburn on said nose. "Not supposed to be my job to keep track of people's consumption anymore," he observes with a bit of amusement. "One of the few perks of no longer being a bartender, I have to savor them where I can." He turns back to freshen up his own drink, but he seems to be holding it well enough not to be in danger of any table-dancing anytime soon. Just... relaxed, comfortable, looking pleased with the general state of the world. Once the pouring's done, he puts an arm around Lys, more affectionate than proprietary. Seeking out a look at Lys and Pia, "You don't say," T'gar muses on what Farideh says a bit before nodding. "You should go to gathers still. I like them. Especially when it comes to going with someone to them." Flicking a glance Quinlys' way to catch her study of him, there's a veiled amusement for her answer on bronzeriders before he answers, "I wonder if male blue and greenriders get stuck with the same stigma." Beat. "Farideh should dance," he agrees, even if it isn't exactly Farideh that he's looking at when he says it. "Me, I like the dancing and the food. Definitely the food." "Just got here," Lys answers by way of That Greenrider, only just now starting on her own drink. She leans a little into the arm she finds around her, though her eyes, still slightly wide, are on N'klas. "Right next to you?" The way her eyes then narrow questions whether or not the bluerider is exaggerating or not. "Have you found anywhere I would like yet?" "Quinlys," Farideh says, her voice holding a censorious quality, with a thick layer of amusement, "you know you can't train that out of them. It's inevitable." The stigma, presumably. "You don't think you'll be like the rest of them? We'll see what you're made of come the next goldflight," she tells him, her smile unkind, but then she's waving to the late comer, gesturing her forward with a flick of fingers. "Silva, darling." Darling. "Yeah? Huh," and Nik's looking between the ex-bartender and the girl on the chair and back again with a surprisingly sober nod. His gaze passes from V'ret to Lys as the older weyrling turns away; "Yeah, of course right there," or close enough as makes no difference. "Air smelled funny and everything. Hey, there's Silva," and he waves to her encouragingly before answering Lys, "The last place we were at, I thought you might, but then it was bugs all over," complete with an illustrative scratch at his elbow. "Goldflights are wonderful fun," begins Quinlys, not quite answering either Farideh or T'gar; it's more of a general addition to the conversation. "The losers are always--" But then she breaks off, her hand drifting back to her belly; it's as if she just remembered something, and it's probably more than just the whole pregnancy thing. "Anyway, I'm nonetheless glad Olly is blue so we don't have to chase. I'll leave that up to the rest of you. Hello, Silva." This mention of Silva has V'ret finally noting her arrival. "I'm surprised she wouldn't be first here, but I suppose that's how it goes--fashionably late, my mother would call it." With amusement, there, and more so when he smiles at Lys. "Not that every girl who gets delayed was off prettying herself up half the day." Lest this imply she's so frivolous. Although now there's another implication: "Not that you don't look lovely. That's a very nice dress." Maybe he should just stop digging himself into this particular hole. It would totally be a mistake to ignore those greetings she's getting, even if there's a little bit of doubt on her part for the sincerity of said greetings. Releasing that curl of hair Silva glides forward and stretches and almost-not false smile onto her lips. Choices~ Choices~ Choices~ Farideh's dubious sincerity, or V'ret's obvious snubbing. He gets a seriously dirty look before the bluerider deliberately turns her back and only wiggles her fingers in their direction before joining Farideh and her group. "A nice little party." ARGUMENTS OF SIZE TO THE SIDE. "Well I'm already an asshole," T'gar notes to Farideh with a bland look. "Not sure how much further down I need to go to be the typical bronzerider. That's one down, at least, ma'am." He sounds cheery enough, even. Likely not to the weyrlingmaster since he adds as an aside to Quinlys, "But I know how to turn it off, see. Being so mature and all." Right. Spying that hand to her belly, "You're alright?" Beat. He notes Silva's arrival with a nod in her direction. "There's far more to being a bronzerider than being an asshole." It's the last cryptic statement Farideh makes before Silva joins their little group at the couch. "You haven't even had anything to drink yet, or eat. What will you have? Wine? Beer? Water?" She goes about waving down one of her assistants the traditional way, but on T'gar's question, her eyes settle on Quinlys inquisitively. "Fine, fine, fine," Quinlys says, a little hastily, as her hand drops away from her stomach. (She's still only barely showing, but word has been getting around, of late: the weyrlingmaster is pregnant, and of all people, C'ris is allegedly the father.) "I'm fine. Silva. You look lovely. You aren't going to make a spectacle of yourself the way your classmate is, are you?" The classmate on the chair. That classmate. "So I keep hearing," is from T'gar on Farideh's answer, his gaze still on Quinlys when she answers his query. He nods once to that before he turns to regard Silva as well along with the ladies, passing a look to the weyrling question. "You should try the food," he offers the blueriding clutchmate, nodding. "Best mooch as much as you can. We'll likely never see something this good again for a long time." Beat. "Before graduating," he amends. "Yeah, no," though N'klas' subsequent snicker might imply difficulty visualizing V'ret's playing wingman to begin with. "She went that-a-way," though his glance towards the group carries passing interest; T'gar's surviving there, after all. "I'm going to get a drink, finally." Every step Silva makes is deliberate, even among these known quantities. She's not the queen bee in this group and does ANYONE know how seriously annoying that is? But that's okay. Because there's totally more than one way to make the splash she wants. Mention of their greenriding companion draws of a look of faint disgust. "I'd like to think I have a little more class then that." Judgement greenrider, have it in SPADES from Silva. A flick of her hair over her shoulder before those before her get more of that smile. "Just water, please." "Please. You've seen his hair. Does that look like a young man who needs a wingman?" Which is V'ret's way of saving himself. "But, yes. You should have a drink," to N'klas, "and you should mingle," to Lys, "and I should go find something to put on my nose or I'm going to regret it later. But I'll catch up with you later?" More to his girlfriend for, you know, the obvious reasons. "Of course," could be for N'klas or for V'ret. "What was I thinking." Lys looks genuinely amused by one, the other, or both of the men in her company. With a little lift of her drink to them both as a 'cheers,' she's stepping away, only pausing to say, "I promised I'd go home to Evy after the party, but catch me before you go?" The route home might end up crooked. Her path through the room certainly proves to be, stopping to talk with one or another of the weyrlings she's been known to get along with. Water gets a face from the goldrider, but she's ever the gallant hostess and not long after the request a glass of water is presented to Silva. "I'm really very surprised that no one has suggested raiding my bedroom, or K'del's weyr, or--" Farideh breaks off that sentence and has a gander around the party, and the weyrlings assembled, talking, drinking, schmoozing in a place they otherwise wouldn't. "Perhaps it's still early," she notes, sinking back against the couch cushions to cradle her wine. "Or maybe I've just trained them all well," offers Quinlys, amused, and clearly glad to be talking about something that isn't her wellbeing. "Though we could instruct them to be noisy and raucous on the way out, if you want to bother the weyrleader. If he's even there... I didn't see Cadejoth on my way in. Anyway, there'll be something for turn's end, I'm sure," she adds, to the weyrlings. "Or you can go elsewhere for turn's end, even if the offerings here aren't spectacular." N'klas smirks at V'ret, appreciative-- there are worse ways of saving oneself-- and then he's snickering his way over to the drinks table. Not that he doesn't stop for a plateful of food first, the sort of thing that's easy to near-inhale, but then comes the drink that's definitely not water. Silva rarely drinks even the little that's acceptable, and never socially. She likes to remember what she does, thanks much. If she has any inkling of a chance that N'klas might want to speak to her it'll be completly ignored in favor of her pure attention to the conversation before her. "I'm sure they'll do something stupid." Who is this Silva? She sounds almost like, responsible. "We should raid Farideh's bedroom," T'gar suggests to Silva, as if the thought had suddenly occured to him. One could still detect the teasing in his voice, however. To Quinlys, "I might check out how turn's end is celebrated here. I think last time I spent a lot of the time sleeping." "Later," V'ret promises Lys, of course he does. He does still have to finish off the contents of his glass, which takes him another few moments. Before making his way out, he wanders past where Farideh is long enough to offer up, "Very generous to let us use your weyr," he offers, but not as a prelude to a conversation; just a parting bit of gratitude before he heads off into the wintery weather to try to track down something in the way of aloe and numbweed to deal with his summery problem. "How about... the only way I'd go investigate someone's bedroom with you, would be if you slipped something into my drink first." Ah, and that sounds more like Silva. That look on her face is full bitch-mode before she turns JUST SLIGTLY to show that she's rejecting T'gar's probably-not-what-he-meant invitation. "I guess it isn't a bad party." "Isn't he?" Farideh might now he Drunk Farideh, from the way she squints one eye like she's thinking about it hard. "I thought he was here. Where would he even go?" She makes a face, retreating back to her wine; sweet, sweet wine, that never talks back to her or tells her what to do. "You won't find anything interesting," she pipes up, of them raiding her room. "We'll probably have another lovely celebration-- the last one I organized was, anyway." Not that she's full of herself or anything, smarmy smarm smarm. "You tell him, Silva," laughs Quinlys, utterly amused. "Sorry, T'gar. Looks like you struck out there. Never mind. But-- yes, Farideh did a good job when she organised it. I'm sure the same will be true this turn. Fari-- you did eat something, I hope, Farideh. Don't drink twice as much as you should just because I'm not, mm?" "See?" T'gar sends to those with him as if picking up a previous conversation, right after Silva's rejection, "It's the face. I wasn't even trying that time." He eyes Silva hard when she turns away. He shakes his head at Quinlys with a press of his lips and since the weyrlingmaster draws his attention to her, he turns now to regard a drinking Farideh. Drink in hand, half the plateful already gone, N'klas ambles over towards the weyrlingmaster, their hostess, and company; he makes for T'gar's side, though, not Silva's. It also takes a little while, as he's not above a detour to encourage the chair-dancer along the way-- "Keep going! You're doing great! Table next?"-- and some up-close watching the harpers while he's at it. When it comes to not bonding with her wingmates, Silva has totally done it. Where she was loud and obnoxious before impression the turns have made her more quiet. Obviously, no less of a bitch, but... not so loud. "Maybe you shouldn't be a total creeper then." Helpful hint murrmered with no real intent for anyone to hear and respond to it. "Is she drunk?" Cuz gross guys. The weyrwoman is totally drunk, though it's hard to see the flush of inebriation in this lighting. "I'm fine. Why can't I drink? I'm the one with all the responsibility. The one that has to keep you all alive. I deserve it," Farideh says, triumphantly, and promptly spills wine on her dress. "Great." And in swoops one of her assistants with a napkin. "Yes, thank you. Go away now-- shoo." There's N'klas to consider, with his golden hair, looking so much like his dad. Hm. Quinlys' gaze slides from one weyrling to the next, and then towards Farideh. At least she seems to approve of Farideh's assistants, her expression grateful as she lifts it towards the poor woman. But what is there to do? "Hello, N'klas. Enjoying yourself?" T'gar must be entertained by Farideh since he's watching her now, but it's a bit short-lived once N'klas arrives. He'll try to reach out to grip the young man's shoulder in a friendly gesture, greeting him with, "Good to see you, man. Now these ladies can bash someone else rather than me. And I'm not a creeper," he adds the last for Silva's sake. "Raiding someone's digs is not a prelude to sex. It's a prelude to theivery. There's a difference." "Because that is somehow so much better?" Total stinkeye there, before Silva turns away from the entire group. She's prettied up for tonight, but something must be under her skin, because she gives quiet farewells and takes herself out of the room with quick enough steps. Enough party for one night. What could she possibly do with all of her pretty on? Still a few inches shorter than his dad, but smiling; Nik walks into this in all innocence, obliviousness even, except for getting out of the poor assistant's way; he's got time for, "You bet, ma'am," and a grin at Quinlys and her belly, and what starts to be another ma'am for Farideh except, shells, his drink's in peril. A little balancing later, "You too, man," that doesn't mean to almost-rhyme. "Why're they bashing you now? I kinda thought that it was thievery." But he slacked out of silver thread consideration for a reason. "Bashing," comes out amused, Farideh's eyes flying to Quinlys to gauge her response to that accusation. "I wasn't aware that's what they called it these days." She rolls her eyes towards the ceiling and then refocuses her stare on N'klas. "What do you want to be when you grow up, N'klas?" is her question, as she resettles into the couch cushions, her wineglass refilled and everything. "Young people these days," quips Quinlys, more amused than anything. She hoists herself into a sitting position, now, positioned upon the back of the couch just a few inches from Farideh; she's made herself at home. "And their crazy lingo. What did you want to steal, T'gar? I am interested." T'gar returns the stinkeye Silva's way, not responding to her barb as she leaves in favor of answering Farideh's "Yeah. Bashing. I haven't even insulted anyone-" the yet can almost be heard "-and already I'm seen as the typical bronzerider." He looks at N'klas as if he would agree with him. To him, "A good casing of a place is a bonding activity where I come from." A brow lifts at Quinlys for her quip, adding to her, "You're not even old, Red-ma'am. I bet you have just as much lingo as us younglings. As for what I wanted to steal," he goes on to say, smiling more now to her, "I know panties is the most common item to steal, but I was hoping for more interesting and unique finds. A chest from Igen. Earrings that match the color of my eyes. I dare to be different. What would you steal from her bedroom?" Because, Farideh's bedroom must have its own topic, evidently. Harder to keep a careful eye on Quinlys-- ever since the news broke, Nik's been treating her like she's breakable-- and answer the weyrwoman at the same time; with their weyrlingmaster addressing T'gar-- who gets a sideways glance that doesn't quite get to be a smirk, and a would-be nudge of an elbow-- he turns more fully to the brunette in her fancy dress. "You know what? It's taking a risk, but..." he leans down, "I'm pretty good with being a bluerider." And then he's nodding, never mind that T'gar's talking about panties, pleased. "That's just absurd." Stealing things out of other people's bedroom! Stealing things out of her bedroom! "There's nothing in my bedroom more valuable than anything any of you have in your bedrooms," Farideh dares to say, giving T'gar her best scowl. N'klas-- N'klas, gets his own, scowl. "Nothing else? No ambitions? Not a single one? I find that strange, considering." "Poor T'gar," decides Quinlys, still amused. More amused. And what she'd steal? "I prefer to be invited into people's bedrooms. Why steal things when you can accept gifts?" Again, however, there's the unhappy twist of her expression, however brief, one that she hastily attempts to cover up by focusing more intently upon N'klas: "Give him time. His father didn't do anything more until he was seventeen, right?" "You tell her, Nik," T'gar says, so proud of his friend. To Farideh, "My bedroom doesn't have anything in it," he tells the weyrwoman easily. He's grinning with a silly look on his face even through Quinly's answer until he does catch that quick unhappy look from her. Head tilts a bit as his eyes ask her what he doesn't air aloud. "I do like gifts," he muses on that quietly, "and being invited." Even though Quinlys tries to cover it up, he doesn't look like he's forgetting what he's saw. N'klas is tall enough by now that he's used to crouching to talk to the littler people while they're sitting; it's not like either woman is going to kick him in the teeth or anything-- right?-- or if they do, he'll just have to change his ways. "Pretty sure you have a lot more valuables than mine, ma'am. Sheets. Diaries. Girl things." To Quinlys, "I'm still here, you know," is definitely amused, if also a little tired, but he hasn't yet graduated to a twist. Now he tells Farideh, what with T'gar saying so and all, "I had one, but I left it in my weyr." Too bad! It's one thing for T'gar to get all cheeky, but N'klas-- well. Farideh's eyes narrow on the less tall, younger version of K'del; it does not look good for the bluerider. "I see," she says, disdainfully, completely ignoring talk of panties, and other things. "You're both annoying." Both weyrlings, not weyrlingmaster. "Quinlys," comes with a sharp nod, and then she's pushing up from the couch and staggering to her feet; not so steady and then, steady. Shoulders back, with her dignity in tact (woe), she makes for the ledges and the cold outside. To go where? Who knows. Maybe to go bother K'del in his weyr, or Jocelyn, or pass out on Irianke's vacant couch. "Tha--" Quinlys begins to say something to Farideh, but then trails off, shaking her head. "Now you've upset her," she tells the two remaining weyrlings, only half-serious in her chide. "Don't cause too much trouble, mmm? But if you're going to steal her underwear, steal the good stuff. I'm headed home before I fall asleep on Farideh's couch and someone paints a moustache on me. Be good." "A diary," T'gar picks that word out with a significant look towards N'klas. "I bet that's the most valuable thing in this place." Yes, Farideh is right there, even though now she staggering out. And when Quinlys start to head out as well, there's a sobering nod from him before he answers, "Take care of yourself," as his gaze takes on a slightly unfocused look. "Yes, ma'am," N'klas confirms with rather more cheer, as though Farideh has just set the world back to rights; he stands up and steps back so she can get past, even, though it's not like he makes to help her or anything. Or Quinlys. "Ma'am," for the latter, looking over her face with a lurking grin like he can imagine that mustache right there. It's after they're gone, and T'gar's got that look, that he switches the drink-hand and makes to poke the other weyrling's shoulder. "What're you thinking, man?" Once they're gone, and he's topped off his drink, "Who, me?" T'gar looks N'klas's way quickly. "So you wouldn't want to see what Farideh writes about in her spare time? Admit it. You would." By that time, N'klas has finished off his plate and most of his drink. Now he snickers; "Yeah, all right, you know I would." There's a short pause. "Y'wanna? Because it's not like there aren't harpers," though how much longer are they going to stay after Farideh leaves, really? "and a whole bunch of other people or anything." Nodding earnestly, "It's not like we're going to steal it or anything," T'gar says, as if that would sweeten the pot. "Just, read through, see if anything jumps out at us....unless you really believe she doesn't have any panties to take." This is a serious conversation. N'klas does have a point as he looks about them and finds that many of the weyrlings have already wandered off from the party, raising their chances of getting caught. Shaking his head, "Well, it would have been the best idea," he states after a moment. "Seems a bit empty in here to the point where we might get walked in on." "Right, just read through. That's the ticket." Nik's a little smirky, here. But, "I don't know, man. Panties? Taking panties?" Why wouldn't she have panties? That's not in the bluerider's head anywhere. "And she's the Acting Weyrwoman now. It's like begging to be stuck on the Star Stones ass up in winter, which it is." Laughs, "True," T'gar agrees with a shrug on the panty raiding, "but I almost think it would be worth seeing how pissed off she would get. I wouldn't piss off Quinlys, though." "Yeah, but that's because you got the hots for her," Nik tells him, after a quick look around halfway through (making sure nobody's close to hear). "Even after she got knocked up by another guy." Yeah, T'gar's casting a quick look around too for N'klas's comment before he gives him a jocular shoulder-nudge. "Of course you would figure that out," he seems to not even question it. "I mean, yeah, she got knocked up. Stuff like that happens all the time in a Weyr, right? Doesn't mean she's any less hot." "C'mon, I want another drink," Nik says, heading that way. He keeps their topic vague; "I don't know, man. I mean, the Weyr part, sure, but the rest? By the time we graduate..." and now he just looks confused. "I think it'll all work itself out in the end, one way or another," T'gar is equally vague, following along after N'klas for that drink. He likely needs one himself, and once he has another, he's easy enough to cycle through many a topic - some of them Quinlys' related - for the rest of the evening. |
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