Logs:The Bollian Invasion
| |
|---|
| |
| RL Date: 30 December, 2011 |
| Who: Ali, Avaryk, Celadion, E'gin, Esten, Gwenell, Hattie, Jivrain, Quinlys, Riorde, T'rev, Taikrin, Val |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr, Southern Boll Hold, Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Lord Boll holds a gather. Some High Reaches riders gatecrash, but at least they're not the ones who get everyone kicked out. Barely. |
| Where: Southern Boll Hold, Fort Area |
| When: Day 22, Month 8, Turn 27 (Interval 10) |
      |
| The gather has been in full swing since early in the moring. Southern Boll Hold has been decked out in bright, welcoming colors in celebration of it's new Lord's confirmation. Lord Jivrain, for all that he might present a taciturn appearance towards Fort Weyr, is extremely generous towards his Holders: the midday feast is bountiful, and the fruity wines that Boll produces flows freely. There are tents pitched everwhere to provide shade for a nap after lunch, and it's only now, by mid-afternoon, as the sea breezes begin to cool off the warm summer day's heat, that folks are starting to venture out for stall-browsing, dancing, and even more food and wine, for those who haven't yet had enough. Ali is actually wearing a dress. It's unusual enough that she probably isn't that easy to spot at first glance, although she is settled at a table with many other Fortian riders. They're probably easiest to notice, more due to the fact that there's so many of them and they seem eager to partake of their tithed Hold's generosity. In her dark red colors and brightly feathered mask, the junior weyrwoman probably actually looks more striking than her normal shirt-and-pants she sports at the Weyr; she mostly keeps her mask off, probably because the feathers are itching, judging by the absent way she scratches. She's drunk sparsely, though it's easy to mistake the light, fruity drinks for non-alcoholic, and the flush of her cheeks suggest she's made that mistake a couple of times already. What's a gather like this without interlopers? Free food, free booze-- well. What can you expect, really? At least, dressed up as they are, the trio of High Reaches riders are not instantly recognisable for what they are: no knots, no badges, no instant give-aways. Quinlys, dressed in grey-blue with a mask over her face, may not have been here long, but she's already picked up a a drink; sipping it, she remarks to her companions, "Wish WE had more gathers like this one, eh?" Likewise masked, though in a fanciful black leather affair, Taikrin can't possibly have been here long: the heat of the day would have melted her beneath her impractically long black linen jacket and male-cut finery. "I know, right? Wish our holders weren't a bunch of cheap tunnelsnakes, too," she responds to Quinlys. She's got a drink in her hand too, something darkly red that probably isn't meant for the way she's gulping it down. "Still, wouldn't be so flamin' hot, at least, if we had 'em." Some have missed the morning start and midday spread, and are only just arriving to partake of Southern Boll's hospitality. Even if certain individuals really shouldn't be partaking of said hospitality at all. But who can resist when the perfect opportunity presents itself? With his almost-full leather facial mask of autumn leaves firmly in place to keep his identity concealed, Avaryk has only recently arrived in the company of Gwenell, pretty in pink. They've been there long enough to have at the least secured drinks, a simple ale for himself, held loosely in one hand. Gentlemanly, he escorts the Healer apprentice on his arm as they wander, the storeskeeper occasionally sharing quips about one mask or costume or other. When next he bends his head though, it's to remark, "I see Hattie over there, let's go say hello?" Waiting only for his companion's consent before steering them over towards where the Fortian Weyrwoman examines that bauble. "Thinking about stealing ideas?" he asks as they near, his accent and grin both likely to give him away. "Lord Jivrain is very generous," Ali remarks in response to T'rev, and if anything, she sounds somewhat surprised by it. The fingers of her left hand curl loosely around her mostly-empty glass, as she tips her head to watch Cedrilla's disappearance with a smile. "I'm surprised she hasn't collapsed from exhaustion. I'm exhausted just watching her run around. And I'm hoping it'll be cool soon enough for plenty of dancing," she adds, hopefully. Jivrain's arrival amongst the Gather is easy to spot: he's flanked by two stern looking guards. His progress is quite slow, as he's stopped here and there by various Holders coming up to congratulate him and shake his hand, and to thank him for the Gather. He's looking pretty pleased with himself, though as his gaze catches sight of a Fort Weyr knot - Hattie's - his mouth thins briefly, and he alters his path to take him in the Weyrwoman's direction, though he's not in any hurry. It's been an afternoon of almost comfortable ease. No study. No duties. Both of those could make Esten a very happy man. Given the requirement of a mask and relative unknown, his own Fortian knot has been left behind and in its place Gather finery. Attired in dark trousers and a lighter linen shirt in green, Boll's weather was more of a requirement of such things. To be cool and comfortable, the dual colored mask keeps most of his features concealed from the nose to hairline. Riorde, in black, recycles her dress from a previous Turnover, but the mask is new: some atrocious feathery creation that looks like it was handmade in ten minutes. Apparently whoever put it together didn't consider things like eating and drinking; it's proving a challenge for Riorde to take sips from her glass without dousing some of feathers. "Whose idea was it that masks are cool?" Still, she's looking rather enviously at some of the finer examples being worn. "That High Reaches gather was alright," she remembers. "Except for the part where we're not supposed to go to them again." Fanning herself with one hand, Quinlys' agreement is fervent: "Right? Shells. High Reaches has much better summers. But-- well. I didn't cause trouble at High Reaches, so I'll get to go back, at least." She smirks, but it's hardly more than a teasing remark. Her gaze sweeps over the gather, tents and all, and she adds, "I wonder if we can steal a whole bunch of drinks and then just go down to the water and enjoy ourselves." "Boll's usually been generous," T'rev remarks diplomatically enough to Ali though his voice drops a notch lower as he goes on, "... in the past." His glass tips up and he takes a long swallow of what looks like fruit juice, but is probably spiked with something. As his glass drops away from his mouth again, he catches sight of Jivrain and his escorts. "Speakin' of ..." he notes to Fort's junior with a slight nod in that direction. "Could be Hattie might need some backup." Old habits die hard? "Thinking about buying for Elaruth," Hattie responds to Avaryk, after taking a moment to make sure she's pinned voice and grin to the correct name. From the look she gives him, she might have a few things to say about that mask of his, but she keeps it to a smirk as she leans this way and that to examine the swirl of dusky colours shot through the glass sphere rather than reaching out to touch. "Afternoon," she returns Gwenell's way, tilting her glass in a tiny salute to accompany her smile, either not yet familiar enough with her to place her or uncaring of where she should be today. "Strings of..." She starts to say, only to catch sight of Jivrain and mutter something not terribly ladylike. "Anybody fancy either hiding me or distracting our Lord Boll?" the goldrider murmurs, voice dry. Ali bites her lower lip at T'rev's murmur, nervously looking around, although no one appears to have heard. "You think he won't be?" she murmurs, tugging fingers through the feathers of the mask resting in her lap. As she follows T'rev's gaze towards where Hattie is, and then the Lord himself, she hesitates, using the mask as a makeshift fan for a moment. "I'm not very- you go," she encourages. "I think I'll only make things worse." "Ehhh," Taikrin waves a hand dismissively at Riorde, before slipping a hand behind her back. "It ain't like they keep a list. Nobody's gonna care if we go back; guards're pretty dumb about that kind of thing." Trust Taikrin. She has experience. "What, you don't wanna dance, Quin?" Because that's her nickname now. "I'm okay with stealin' a bunch of drinks, but we gotta show the southerns how to dance. Right?" Her masked eyes, lined in kohl, slant over towards Riorde pointedly. "'Sides, it's a good time to get to know some of them, yeah?" Avaryk ohhs softly, giving a bit more of his attention to the bauble in question. Though by the line of his mouth, he doesn't really see the appeal to be found in it. "I remember you mentioned, her driftwood tree?" He doesn't remind her of Gwenell's identity, allowing the apprentice her anonymity and enjoyment just in case she hasn't been recognised. Hattie's mutter and her next words make him wince. "Ah... I could distract him, but it probably wouldn't end well. I vote for hiding. D'you ladies perhaps care to disappear onto the dance floor? I'm sure we could snag an extra partner, or I could just be greedy and dance with you both." Always a joke. "Can't say for sure," T'rev murmurs, continuing to observe the movement of Boll's Lord through the crowd. "All depends on how well relationships get mended," he notes further, then tips a look over at Ali. "Could call it good practice," the bronzerider encourages gently. "Though I s'pose the stakes're mighty high just now." His black suede mask is pushed higher up on his head, making a mess of already tousled curls before T'rev takes another good long drink from his glass. Jivrain's inspiring some strong reactions all around, and he's not unaware of it: both his Holder's pleasure, and the counterpart of the Fortian's dismay. Each earns a pleased sort of smile in equal measures. Even if he weren't wearing his knot, his clothing marks him as someone of importance, the finest silks from the nearby Weaverhall. His path draws him inexorably towards Hattie, and it'd be difficult to avoid him without turning and running tail - though he might well enjoy that, too. Gwenell blinks at Hattie, "I suppose I'm fairly good at distracting if you need me to, though... why do you need hiding?" She may be upto date one something, but apparently others are still a mystery. "Do you want to borrow A... this one?" She nods to Avaryk and his suggestion of dancing, "I could stay here and look pretty for a bit while you dance if you want. I'm not sure we could quite manage a three person dance just yet." "Neither did I," Riorde claims, which isn't exactly true. She lifts her mask with one hand so she can take another sip; it's too early to rip off the ill-suited affair altogether. "Dancing could be fun," she agrees, dodging Taikrin's gaze to look over at Quinlys. If she's blushing, at least the feathery mask comes in good for something and hides it. "Those lessons you gave us come in handy. So," a segue, "who should we pick?" "I-I don't think this is a situation you practice in. It's more like a situation you fall on your face," Ali answers T'rev, nervous enough at the very suggestion that she drains the rest of her glass and pushes herself to her feet, not to stride to the Weyrwoman's aid, but to look for an excuse to go in the /other/ direction, perhaps. First though, she has to fix her mask back in place, kind of awkwardly, bending some of the feathers in the process. Quinlys smirks, her lips - just barely visible below her mask - twisting ruefully in their blue-painted glory. "You two are cute, now that you're not being all-- you know, crap. Sure, we can dance. And then we can steal the booze and drink it, and maybe swim or something. While we're here." In their gather gear. Or without. Ah yes, this is why High Reaches shouldn't be allowed to go anywhere. "You two go and take the first dance. I'll find someone else. Go - dance." "You can say my name, no one here not from Fort knows it," Avaryk murmurs quietly to Gwenell. Or at least he's hoping that's the case, if certain elements of Fortian gossip haven't passed out beyond the Weyr's walls. "On second thought, don't." Paranoia is a survival skill! His expression isn't suiting his words, a bright smile showing in the open space left by his mask, as if they're all having a grand old time instead of a minor panic. Appearances, after all. "Right, I'm skedaddling. You look lovely, Weyrwoman," the last spoken in a more normal voice as he bows to her. Then, still keeping up the act, "Shall we dance, sweetheart?" is asked of Gwen. Though a good observer would note that he's a bit too quick to turn towards the dance floor after so gracious an invitation. Deft fingers coil up the the mustache as Celadion's dark eyes flicker around the gather-crowd from E'gin's side. "I think I'll wait on the drinks. I wouldn't want to get loose-lipped and let myself slip before having some fun with the alter ego." Dropping the hand away to rest on the hilt of a silly looking wooden sword at his hip Cela eyes drift towards the feathered girls, "Lets go hunting sir." Surely it's a holder miss who's squeezing daintily between clusters of people focused on Jivrain, Val certainly has the breathy accent to go with it, though one that speaks of origins further to the northeast, and the intricately upbraided hair. "What just happened?" she wonders, tapping someone nearby upon the shoulder. Not with her fingers, though: with the lovely little accessory of a fan. Ali stills as T'rev fixes the feathers on her mask, murmuring a quiet thanks. "I'd like that," she says to T'rev with a smile. The smile's probably one of relief, too, as she watches the Wingleader head towards Hattie. The junior, for her part, makes her way in the other direction, threading her way through the crowds towards the drinks tables, though wistful looks are giving towards the dance floor as she goes. Gwenell is utterly confused now, but she quickly thrusts her glass of wine at Hattie, not entirely thinking as she comments, "You might need this." There's a ma'am that follows, oh so quiet, but it's clear from her expression that she doesn't quite understand what's going on but is all too happy to move off with Avaryk for dancing purposes. "Of course." She hurries to keep up with him, every bit the doting lover a she leans in towards him to whisper something and then giggles straight after. The iggle seems... odd somehow. Faked perhaps. "I dunno, I'm awful fond of feathers, me." She's in rare form tonight, Taikrin is, with the edges of her lopsided grin disappearing beneath her black domino. "But-- it's a gather. Wanna play a little game? It's a Glacier-game." Her grin deepens, turning a little predatory as she glances across the brightly-colored flock of gather-goers. "Involves seein' how many people you can feel up in a dance. Counts double if they're a greenrider, triple if you get a goldrider. Still," she mock-sighs, gaze returning to fix challengingly on Quinlys, "Don't know if it's fair to play against nearly-weyrlings." "You go scout," E'gin looks over at Celadion, "I'm going to grab a drink first." He takes a step towards the drink table but pauses to look back at the masked-exile, "You're alter-ego seems like the kind that would go ask a random girl to dance." And with that he's off towards the drink table. Pulling up behind a lone feathered woman, "Ma'am." Beat, "Recommend anything?" The bandit asks as he surveys the drinks. Jivrain - and his guard contingent - are in fact drawing level with Hattie just as Avaryk and Gwenell disappear off onto the dance floor. He's not unaware of the sudden departure, and his head tips slightly towards the guard on his right, who disappears off into the crowd, too. "Weyrwoman," Jivrain says, managing to make the drawl of his address more disdainful than respectful. "Pleased to see you've come to... indulge in my hospitality. I take it you're enjoying yourself?" Tap. Then there's another one against his shoulder. It was almost ignored if not for the glance Estan gives over one shoulder, the mask tickling at his nose due to its general unfamiliarity. "Wha-? People are making way for the Lord Holder, if my glance isn't mistaken in that direction," he says to Val, the girl's ribboned mask catching his attention first and foremost. Avaryk passes his mug of ale off to some random fellow as he passes, his own cheer forced as he tells the individual to: "Enjoy it, man, it's a party!" With hands now free disengages his arm from Gwenell, lifting it to loop about her shoulders to further the semblance of a cozy couple. He lowers his head towards hers, faking an amorous nuzzle as he whispers back to her. Ali half turns, in surprise, as /she/ of all people is asked to provide advice on the best drinks. Her eyes are wide behind the feathered mask as she studies E'gin, and his costume, her mouth pressing into an 'o' of surprise. "Um. The bright gold one is what I've been drinking. I forget what it's called, though. Aftermath? Afterburn?" One is alcoholic. One is not. The poor woman gets them too easily mixed up. After a moment, she says, "I like your outfit. It's very convincing." Riorde's scowl goes unappreciated behind the mask, but surely Quinlys can interpret her embarrassed glare. She's not about the gainsay the bluerider, of course, but neither will she concede. Riorde takes a long swallow of the drink she's holding while hearing out Taikrin's suggestion, somewhere between amused and dismayed. But, "Glacier game?" she repeats, wry. "Can't say I'm surprised. Is this the sort of Glacier thing you're supposed to do, you know, outside the Weyr though?" Riorde doesn't sound particularly hopeful on that count, and instead looks to Quinlys. "I don't know," the girl in black says slowly, "We're /younger/ than you, Taikrin. Might not be able to keep up in your old age." Pausing just long enough to trade a 32nd for some fresh sliced melon, T'rev slides on up to Hattie and Boll's Lord just as Jivrain addresses the Weyrwoman. "Always excellent, Boll's hospitality, m'lord," he cuts in with a smile and a deferential nod. "Your refreshment, Weyrwoman," he continues, offering up one of those slices to Hattie and then holds out a hand, presumably for one of those glasses she's awkwardly holding. Gwenell's arms loop around Avaryk's waist, head resting on his shoulder so that it keeps their conversation quiet, but gives him the opportunity to look around. There's a moment when her body stiffens slightly, but other than that the outward appearance is one of calm and happy. "/Are/ they," Val murmurs with every appearance of delight as Esten turns around. "I cannot see for the life of me. You're so tall!" Which must be why she reaches up to that shoulder, to try and draw him down, or at least aside. Indeed, in this crush there isn't much beyond her mask to see, aside from the many-layered rings on that hand and the gauzy cloth that disguises the defined muscle of her shoulders in what should have been a holder girl's modesty. "I have heard such stories... ooh, and who is he talking to? Turn around, turn around, dear me, I can't see her knot from here either." Quinlys straightens, visibly, meeting Taikrin's challenge with one of her own: challenge accepted. She opens her mouth to respond, but Riorde evidently beats her to it - the bluerider smirks. "Riorde's right, you know. We're young and virile and beautiful; you're an old hag next to us. But... if you really want to risk it. Of course. And if you'll excuse me?" She has partners to find. Like... Ali, for example, whose wistful glances are not exactly difficult to miss. Of course, by the time she gets there, the goldrider is talking to E'gin; below her mask, Quinlys' lips draw into a frown. "I," she says, firmly, "was going to offer a dance, but-- perhaps you're too busy?" E'gin chuckles softly at the woman's answer, "Aftermath and Afterburn, huh? They both sound delightful, and not at all as if they would kill me." A finger plucks at the string of the bow, "Outfit?" His deadpan tone is betrayed by his grin, "And would it be wrong for a bandit to ask a beautiful woman to dance? I promise not to steal those beautiful feathers off your mask..." But then a masked -Quinlys is there asking too, "Oh, well it seems I may not be the only bandit here to steal a dance from you this evening." The masked-brown rider is inviting enough in his tone towards the dance thief but all the same holds out a hand towards Ali in an offer. They seemed like a good idea at the time, but there's nothing Hattie can do about those two glasses now, a very quick glance shot their way as she hears 'indulge'. "Lord Jivrain," she returns in kind, inclining her head a little. "Certainly everybody seems to be," accompanies a gesture at the crowd with her free hand, her transaction left incomplete, response sidestepping whether she's thrilled to be here or not. "I'm..." the goldrider starts to say, only to find T'rev at her side, "sure you know Wingleader T'rev?" One of the glasses is relinquished to the bronzerider, slice of melon accepted in its place, her manners not entirely forgotten, for her thanks lie in the look she slants up at him in place of words. Those insults are met with a snort of incredulity, though the effect of Taikrin's return smirk is marred by the hand swiping at the beads of persperation gathering under her mask. "Yeah, whatever, little baby hatchlings. Keep talkin'. Maybe if you /beg/ the two o'you together might maybe be able to catch up to me." The brownrider releases Riorde once Quinlys leaves, rising on her toes to watch her approach her target with a guffaw. "Good luck with that one. And--" Abruptly she turns again, and -- masks be damned -- sweeps in to plant a hard kiss on Riorde. "-- luck for me!" The dance floor has been reached, finally, and Avaryk wastes no time in twirling Gwen in amongst the crowd already there. It's obvious he's had more than a few lessons, moving easily and picking up the beat swiftly, but he isn't performing any fancy or flashy moves. No, all his skill is being applied to keep them moving steadily towards the centre and presumably, the other side. Amidst the throng with the music so close, he can no longer whisper, but his voice should hopefully be well masked. "We'll try to find a group that's already leaving," he decides, "and slip in with them. I don't know the Hold well enough to be confident of any good hiding spots. Besides, I don't want to get stuck here." He sighs, an apology found in his eyes even though his mouth is smiling in a thoroughly besotted fashion as he looks down at the Healer. "I'm so sorry. You can stay if you want. I don't want to ruin your outing." The omission, is of course, noted by Jivrain, though this just deepens his smile. "The Hold is prosperous. It's only fitting that we share that with those deserving of it." If he's aware he's interrupted her transaction, he doesn't seem particularly bothered by it. "Of course I am aware of him. It is wise to know one's... counterparts. Former and otherwise. Wingleader," Southern's Lord says, rather diffidently, his gaze briefly touching on the ex-Weyrleader and dismissing him just as readily to return to Hattie. "I've noted many of your riders here." If anything, Ali seems entirely flustered by the proposition of a /woman/ asking her to dance. Let alone two people at once. She glances between Quinlys and E'gin, entirely unprepared for how to deal with this situation, especially in light of E'gin's comments, though thankfully the flush is invisible underneath the mask. Finally, she says, "Perhaps... perhaps you two can dance, and we'll take turns?" she suggests, as her drink is delivered, "While I drink?" Which means she'll have to drink quickly, but that's another matter. Gwenell twirls with Avaryk, her dress making a far better job of the dancing than she herself does. There are a few trodden feet, and a fw dangerous wobbles, but all in all the dance goes better than it might have. "It's okay." For a moment she lifts a hand to his cheek, "I came with you, I leave with you. Besides... you promised to make sure I didn't get too drunk and run off with some completely unsuitable man. Can't do that if you're not here." Quinlys is not deterred, for all that she gives E'gin a quick up-and-down: she's found her target, and she's not giving in! If anything, Ali's fluster only seems to encourage her. "I asked first," she points out. "And this gentleman hasn't had a drink, yet." She waves her own - empty - glass idly, before setting it down. "Come. Please? One dance. And then I'll leave you two alone. I wouldn't want to... interrupt for long." Never mind that Ali, too, has a drink in hand. "What-ev-er," Riorde sings out mockingly, setting her nearly-finished drink aside. She turns to watch the trajectory Quinlys sets for herself, and a grin steals up beneath the feathers. "She should've gotten tapped for Glacier too," says Riorde a little wistfully, after the way that Quinlys takes up the challenge. She's watching their fellow competitor more than Taikrin and, caught off guard, can't even return the kiss-- if there were time for that in the first place. "Luck for /me,/" she declares, grin taking on an edge, and heads for the dance floor with the obvious intention of cutting in on some unsuspecting couple. Hattie arches a brow and casts the not quite enquiry out there while she can, timing be damned. "Then I'm sure we'll have no concerns about the quality of your tithe, will we? Since we have all seen for ourselves how the Hold prospers with your Lordship to guide it." She nibbles on the edge of the slice of melon to either keep herself from saying much more or to allow Boll's Lord the chance to respond, soon echoing T'rev's toast with a sip of her own drink. "Ties between Boll and Fort have been strong for decades. One of our best features, I'd say," the Weyrwoman says eventually. "My riders know how welcoming Boll is." E'gin let's his hand drop back to string of his bow, a grin turning up the corners of his mouth, "Oh, now, Pretty ladies should always be dancing." He concedes the fight to his the new comer, "And so if you two beautiful women go dance together, well that would take care of it." A pause, "But then I think you would owe me a dance as well." The finger that was playing with the bow string points gently towards Quinlys, and the masked-brownrider grin pulls into a playful smirk. "I can hold your drink for you, ma'am." A light smile for Ali, "If you'd like." Ali hesitates, still, because the whole, dancing-with-a-girl thing seems rather alien to her. But with both of them, strangers to her, agreeing, she doesn't really have much of a choice. She offers her glass to E'gin with a grateful smile, and a, "Guard it with your life, sir bandit, or I shall have to come after you," that is probably more daringly teasing than is normal for the meek weyrwoman. And then she's reaching, with just a shade of awkwardness, for Quinlys' hand. "I- I've never danced with a girl before. Who leads?" she half-murmurs to the Reachian woman. "I /am/ a completely unsuitable man," Avaryk can't resist the joke, humour masking his unease. The good thing about being as tall as he is is that even with the occasionally preposterous masks and hats sported by various of the gather-goers, he can still manage to keep an eye out around them. Although that unfortunately means there are a lot of circles being turned as he dances Gwenell across the floor. "Thread take me," he mutters, noticing the disturbance made amongst the dancers as someone moves through them with more purpose and less subterfuge. "This was not my brightest idea ever, was it? Hold on." That's as much warning as Gwen gets before he lifts her hand to draw her into a spin... that's guaranteed to knock her into another couple to make them stagger. He won't let her fall or be separated from him, but any sort of minor chaos that impedes that guard's progress is a good thing in his book. Val pauses a moment at /that/, looking Esten up and down as best she can as though she hadn't precipitated the encounter to begin with. Evidently satisfied, the curve of her mouth deepens and she gets a certain twinkle in her eyes before she switches her fan to her other hand and daintily accepts his arm. "How lovely! Thank you so much, and certainly you should not ask if you do not provide your own name first, or at least the name that you wish to be called. I will tell you that I am not Lady Jinei, if that helps... does it?" Laughing eyes, now, encourage him to claim surprise, even as her pat upon his arm reminds him of her, now their, purpose. Onward! Gwenell laughs, a birght giggle drifting over the dance floor. "Okay, another completely unsuitable man then." All the spinning is making her mouth dry, and the words come out a little hoarse, but are followed by a loud squeak as she's spun into someone else. "Sorry, sorry. Clumsy!" She spins away again with Avaryk, and for a second there's worry in her expression. "This dress gets ripped, Ed'll kill us both." Half warning, half desperation to say something. Anything. A mock salute is Riorde's only answer before Taikrin winds her way through the crowd with a practised air. A few moments later she's already whirling some poor holder girl out onto the dance floor; with her black mask and long coat, and voice dropped into a deeply husky register, she's apparently androgenous enough to overcome the girl's giggling protestations. Still, one girl won't cut it-- no more than a few turns later and the pair are close enough for Taikrin to try to catch Gwenell's gaze despite how taken she seems to be with Avaryk. When Avaryk and Esten knock into them, the brownrider turns sturdy enough to hold her giggling dance partner upright-- it is, in fact, an excellent excuse to press the poor girl indecently close. Then, to the other pair, Taikrin shoots a brilliant grin. "Someone ought to teach you how it's done, boy! Whirling that poor girl about like that! Terrible!" There's a pause from the Lord Boll like he's taken aback by the forthrightness of Hattie's words, and then his voice deepens. Not so much a whisper as a darkening of his tone at the Fortian Weyrwoman's words. "Are you suggesting," Jivrain says, pointedly, "That I am going to short my tithe? What evidence do you have for such an accusation? And /at my Gather/." There's a quiet furiousity in his words. Then: "If our ties were so strong, you'd not seek to insult me so openly during my confirmation gather. ...Weyrwoman." He practically spits the last word. Quinlys, triumphant, grins at E'gin, half-curtseying her thanks; it's almost certain, by now, that she's worked out who he is, and seems to expect that he knows her, too-- the hair, if not the voice, is a pretty good giveaway. Having done that, however, all her attention is fastened upon Ali, the bluerider accepting that hand so that she can lead her towards the dance floor. "I will," she says, cheerfully. "It's all right: I know how to lead and how to follow." And she is, given her confidence in placing hands and moving feet, a decent dancer... even if she does seem determined to try and pull Ali close. What a show for the locals! The guard appears to have disappeared within the dancing crowd, himself. At least, when the dancing couples' spin is completed, the Bollian guard is no longer visibly parting his way through the crowd towards them. Celadion is having the luck of Lords this fine gather. He's landed himself a pretty, giggling little flower and is spinning around with her on the dance floor. "oh, where did I learn to dance like this? Well, ah, the captain wants all of his deck-hands to know how to do it. Pirate charm and all that." This makes the girl giggle even more. Riorde's tactic is different: just /happening/ to get in the way at the wrong time. "Sorry, sorry," she excuses herself, smile apologetic under that overly feathered mask. She winds up near Gwenell and Avaryk on the dancefloor, still partnerless and attempting to move across to the other side, and throws up her hands to ward off the couple. Accidentally well-placed hands, perhaps? "Oh," she exclaims, in tones of utter embarrassment, "Excuse me!" T'rev's brows flicker upward at Jivrain's reaction to Hattie and he takes another drink from Gwenell's glass, then clears his throat lightly. "I believe the Weyrwoman said she was sure the tithe would be good, not the opposite," the wingleader remarks mildly. "Boll's always been very good to Fort Weyr. The Hold's support in turns past was and is still greatly appreciated," he continues and surreptitiously gives Hattie's elbow a little squeeze that might leave some melon juice behind from sticky fingers. E'gin has worked out who it was, and perhaps out of respect, or feeling like he owes the other girl something, he makes no further comments as they leave. He has been left, awkwardly holding to drinks and partnerless, but he'll make the best of it. Leaning towards the pretty lady pouring drinks he exchanges idle chit-chat with her. Occassionally chuckling at something. Pointing out his actual partner in crime, the other bandit twirling a pretty girl around, and nodding at the appropriate times. As Celadion and the girl spin by he lifts a hand in a wave with a wink, indicating a good choice. Ali is both entirely flustered, and equally intrigued by the self-confident Quinlys, letting the woman lead her out onto the dance floor. "Oh- okay." The Fortian woman, for her part, is an energetic and enthusiastic dancer, and once she gets over the awkwardness of dancing with another woman, she's happy to indulge. Even if the whole dancing-close thing is a bit weirder than she expects. She doesn't talk, instead taken up by the fast pace of the dance itself. Quinlys doesn't offer her own name, of course, but she's more than happy to chatter as she dances, saying, "It's a beautiful day for a gather, isn't it? Just lovely. And the music is perfect." And her hand? Well, since Ali hasn't protested the closeness, it's perfectly natural that the bluerider's hand might creep downwards to curve around the goldrider's behind. Even as she's doing that, she's leaning in to murmur something into her partner's ear. [Quinlys] You whisper "You have a nice ass. Has anyone ever told you that?" to Ali. Gwenell catches Taikrin's gaze and grins back at her, mouthing another apology for their having bumped at all, and if there was any upset at the contact with Riorde then it doesn't really show on her face at all that she noticed. She all but clings to Avaryk now, head tilted to one side as she looks at him and then leans against him so that she can rest her head on his shoulder. "Take me home?" it's deliberately putched to sound loving enough, but that those closest to them would hear it clearly. Even with the mask, Riorde's wide eyes and the downward tilt of her mouth convey surprise and chagrin -- that is, until she's slide past Gwenell and Avaryk, shimmying past another dancing couple. And then, when she thinks she's out of view, she lifts a finger towards Taikrin: one. "Don't play coy with me," Jivrain grates, gaze flickering briefly to T'rev, then back to Hattie. "You've been at this far too long to make such a casual comment, /Weyrwoman/. You can't play the ignorance card." And then the guard returns to his side, leaning in to murmur something quietly to his Lord. Jivrain's gaze narrows, and there's a pleased sort of look in his gaze. "Indeed? Let's go and see our interloper." And, without a word of apology, walks away from the pair of Fortians, headed for the dance floor. He's not the only one. There are other Boll guards weaving their way down towards the dance floor, standing towards the side rather than wading into the mass. Watching. Waiting. E'gin is scanning the crowd and he happens to be watching when Quinlys hands get friendly with the gold rider. He sputters, a bit of drink flying from his mouth. Surprised that she would be so forward with anyone, especially someone she doesn't know. The bartender is laughing as she points it out and E'gin nods back at her with a grin. "...Yes, well we see how that poor lady takes it." Well, Ali /was/ enjoying the dancing. Right up until she lets out a noise of surprise, eyes wide as she stares at Quinlys incredulously. "I- I-" she stares at the other woman, flustered and uncertain, only moreso for the murmured comment. "I- I have to go," she says, hastily stepping back, then darting off through the crowd, looking to escape the dance floor. She probably isn't even aware of the guards as she pushes past them, heading for the relative 'safety' of the drinks table. "Wait--" begins Quinlys, sounding genuinely apologetic. Indeed, her cheeks have turned pink beneath her mask, and the way she stands? It's defiantly awkward. She doesn't chase after Ali, though, and instead turns to head in the other direction, wiggling past a few other couples on her way (does that even count?). Off to one side, she lets a more rueful smile twist into place, but it's half-hearted at best. Val's answering chuckle is of a subtly lower register then, and she goes so far as to lean delicately upon Esten's arm now and again when they reach a particularly thick spot in the crowd, or when a dancer who seems less than less-than-sober threatens to near: a delicate lean that says he's valiant in coming to her aid, not the tip-him-over tug that might be a challenge elsewhere. "You may name me, if you like, so long as it begins with Ji-: for the occasion, you know. As to interest... they can affect us so much, can't they? They affect everyone, and if we can see for ourselves instead of hearing third- and fourth- and fifth-hand, then..." only /then/ her hand tightens upon the tall young man's arm, completely genuine this time, and not because of girls dancing together, either. "Did you see that? He just left! He looks /angry/." At least she keeps her voice down, mostly, with its thread of worry. When a beautiful woman makes /that/ request, a man would have to be either a eunuch or wholly gay not to take her up on it. Avaryk is neither, and so Gwenell's request is met with the appropriate level of drunken lasciviousness. "Why m'dear, eager are we?" He'll apologise for being a cad later. If he can. For now he's stopping all pretense of dancing and, looping his arm back around Gwen's shoulders to keep her close as he begins to work them through the last wall of dancers and out to freedom. Or at least less confining spaces. Because as they near the edge the storeskeeper takes note of the nearest of the guards and curses, quietly and creatively. "I don't want you getting mixed up in this," he tells Gwen as he hangs back. "Find a rider, or better yet, Hattie or N'muir and /do not leave their side./ Get home." He gives her a quick hug and then releases her, giving her a gentle nudge to encourage her back onto the dance floor before he turns and steps deliberately out into the open. Poker-face is at least something T'rev's good at and he keeps his features well-schooled as Jivrain gets all gratey with Hattie. He might've been about to say something when the Lord strides off with his guard and the wingleader lets out a slow breath and casts a glance Hattie-wards. "Should we be followin'?" he asks in an undertone. As Ali flees back in his direciton E'gin simply watches her, "I guarded your drink with my life..." He trails off for a moment, as he gives her a grin, "I apologize for suggesting you go dance with her, I failed the bandit code I'm afraid. Can you forgive me?" His attention is stolen for a second by the gathering guards but it, having nothing to do with him, can't keep is attention for long and he turns his gaze back to the upset woman. "That went as well as could be expected," Hattie mutters, waiting until Jivrain doesn't have his gaze on her to knock back the rest of her wine in one go. Her focus remains on the retreating Lord, eyes narrowing the further away he gets. A litany of curses escape her lips, followed by a low, "No, no, no, no...." She could find somewhere to put her glass; she could try and hand it off to T'rev, but she just lets it tumble to the ground and smash as she makes to hurry after Boll's Lord. "Yes, we should. /Now/," she tells the bronzerider. Correction: "/Winning/ your game." Riorde doesn't side-step out of the way, inappropriate as Taikrin may be. She tilts her chin to the side, affecting a look more coy than abashed in her approximation of the giggling holder girl that Taikrin was dancing with previously; behind her mask, eyelashes flutter. "Quinlys' beating us," she relates, but doesn't sound too upset about it. The smash of the glass to the ground earns a brief flash of surprise in T'rev's eyes, followed by a distinct look of concern. "At your service," he musters and he does find a spot to perch Gwen's nearly empty glass before he catches Hattie up with a few rapid strides. Esten saw the same thing that Val spotted but given his height there's so much more as he tracks the Holder towards the dancing. Pressing his lips together in what might be a prelude to a frown, it lasts only as long as he looks back to the young woman beside him. Dismissing the worrying thoughts, he quips, "How about I call you Lady of the Ribbons? Or just Ribbons in honor of the obvious." Said as he steers them more to the drinking tables, it might give a better view of the dancing. Something that's drawing his attention before a beat betrays the unanswered question. "I suppose that since I dressed somewhat as a tree, perhaps that should be what name I go by this evening. Or some variation. As of the reasons behind curious of their movements? I couldn't agree with you more." Amazingly, Ali looks /relieved/ to be talking to a random stranger. Even if he is wearing a bandit costume. She's still flustered, and lets E'gin's words wash over her, though she does evince a grateful smile as she claims her glass back and takes a rather lengthy gulp from it. "I- she-" not even a flustered Ali can quiet voice the whole incident aloud, far too mortified for that. "Thank you, sir," she finally manages to get out. "I think- given you protected my drink, I probably can forgive you. Did you find another dance?" she asks. She remains oblivious to the impending incident down on the dance floor, pointedly /not/ looking in that direction. Jivrain nears the dance floor just as Avaryk steps out. Avaryk, too, will recognize the man at his shoulder as the guard captain, Greishan, who gestures for a couple of his guards to close in on the young man. "Veronyk. You were warned not to come back. Was I not clear?" Jivrain glances at his captain, then the Fortian man, an air of surprise in his features. "This is the one? He seems... smaller than I thought." "Quinlys's lucky she didn't get her ass kicked; girl ain't got the game for what she's doin'." Still, Taikrin doesn't seem overly concerned with what the erstwhile bluerider might be up to: she's suddenly /very/ focused on that feel she's copping from Riorde, and her voice is still all husky. "Suddenly I don't find myself caring so much what she's up to, know what I'm sayin'?" A thick necked man with a dragon-mask cuts into Celadion's dance with less humor than his giggling partner, "I was just keeping her warmed up for you friend." Celadion laughs as he bows to the lady, "Thank you. Do enjoy your night. If you can." Suggesting that the serious dragon-man might be a stretch. But, now he's without a dancer and distracted by the guards prowling around. He just has to trail after one of them to see what's up, curling at his mustache. "No," E'gin begins with a smile, "It is hard to protect something with one's life and dance at the same time." Taking a long drink he shrugs, "If you find out where she is from please know we wouldn't all do that." The playful tone in his voice ebbs away as his attention is once again taken by the movements on the dance floor, "Who are those guards stopping?" He says half to no-one before turning back to the masked gold-rider, "Do you know what is going on?" Quinlys' frown is visible despite her mask: she stares through the throng of people to see E'gin and Ali, and that only seems to make her even more unhappy. Before she has much of a chance to do anything about it, though, she's made aware - thanks to the others around her - of the incident in the making: she boggles, suddenly standing straight again, her eyes wide. Gwenell doesn't move very far, simply standing and staring at the scene in front of her and trying to not trip up anyone that is still dancing near her. A quick glance around and she's already lost sight of Hattie and pretty much everyone she knows, so she just stays where she is and waits. Avaryk doesn't even bother trying to run, standing calm and proud with shoulders back and head held high. Jivrain is barely spared a glance, his focus settling on the guard captain. As the other guards approach he slowly lifts his hands away from his sides, open and palm out to show them that he is completely unarmed. "You are a canny bastard," he remarks to the captain, a perhaps surprising amount of respect in his voice. "How'd you peg me, anyway?" After he was so careful to find a mask that concealed most of his face, he's just itching to know. The only thing betraying that he's at all worried is the tension in his frame, his stance too stiff. Loyalty to her clutchmate prompts Riorde to say, "She can handle herself." Even with her arms wound around Taikrin's neck, the woman isn't unaware of the impending scene that's drawing other dancers' attention. "Sure, but -- do we care about /that?/" she wonders, directing the other brownrider's attention toward the Lord Holder and his guards with a little point of her chin. "Was that... glass, breaking glass?" Val interrupts her escort, widened eyes shifting from that direction to Gwenell's tussling with Avaryk only when Esten gives her that better view. Gwenell, and the guards. It's only when the girl's released that she gets back to answering, and even then it's somewhat distractedly at first: "/That/ does not begin with Ji-. But under the circumstances, you may yet convince me to forgive you. Tell me, are you a shivery aspen? A..." a glance that's only momentarily, unmaidenly sly, "stout skybroom? Or a simple sweet apple, perhaps." She's even about to take a drink from the table, but then her hand stills. Much more quietly, near-whispered, "Is this a play?" The guards, the confrontation. Could it be a game? It's a testament to the many turns of soft living that Taikrin is not the first to notice the approaching guards, though once her belated instincts kick in, they do so with a vengence. Her grip on Riorde is suddenly a lot less flirtatious, and her gaze goes hard as she stops, mid-stride, to watch. "Not sure," she whispers. Her body is rigid, ready for fight-or-flight -- and ready to drag Riorde with her if need be. "Might be time to make ourselves scarce-like, though." "I've never seen her before in my life," Ali declares, still flustered, and she takes another sip from her glass, marginally relaxing as she glances up at E'gin in surprise, before following his gaze belatedly towards the clustered guards. "I don't- oh!" there's a sharp exhale of surprise and dismay, both, her hand coming up over her mouth. "Oh, no. That's- he's a Fortian. I don't know why they're stopping him, though." Celadion brushes by the boggling Quinly on his way to sneak up on those guards, "Hey there. Know what's going on over there?" A jerk of his chin towards the thickening activity with the guards. "Want to check it out? Or--dance?" Because either seems a fine enough idea at the moment. Hattie stops at the edge of the dance square, trying to seek out Avaryk's gaze. She doesn't do anything to draw attention to herself; doesn't shout out or demand answers from Jivrain. Not yet. If she's not poised to do something about what's happening, perhaps someone, somewhere /is/ and keeps her from rushing into things. T'rev keeping pace with Hattie, T'rev also draws to a halt at the edge of the dance square and remains there, hands clasped loosely behind his back, gaze traveling the crowd in between pauses in the direction of Avaryk, Lord Boll and guards. He leans in toward the Weyrwoman briefly, murmurs something in an undertone. "A Fortian? Is he a friend of yours?" E'gin seems surprised that his companion for the moment knows the person being stopped by the guards, and not just the guards but the Lord Holder as well, unaware that he is speaking to one of their junior weyrwomen. "Hope they don't mistake me for a trouble causer." He winks beneath his mask, a joke to ease the tension that his discovery has clearly caused the woman, "I am sure they will take care of it quickly." He pauses, "Hopefully." In low tones, more attuned to Taikrin's reaction than the confrontation between people she doesn't know, Riorde thinks of themselves first: "/We/ didn't do anything." This time. "But I bet Quinlys could use the company. Or that girl she was dancing with." In other words, she assents to removing themselves from the immediate vicinity of whatever-it-is that's happening. A couple of guards flank Avaryk, not touching him, just standing close so that if he tries to run they can easily make a grab for him. "Could be the posture, the stance. A man doesn't forget that." The Boll captain smirks, as he adds, "Then again, could just be we were tipped off," he says, touching his nose, looking pleased. Several of the other guards are positioning themselves a further distance away. Jivrain is not pleased at being dismissed so easily. He is, after all, Lord of the Hold. And so, he clears his throat, "So. This is how Fort Weyr treats the hospitality of its Holds? By allowing a known criminal to take advantage of the generosity of its people? Where is the Fort Weyrwoman!" He casts about for Hattie, and his gaze fixes on her near the edge of the square. "Take this man back. If we see him on our lands again, I'll be petitioning for custody. I think you, and your weyrfolk have taken enough advantage of our hospitality for today. I want all of you off my lands." Which of course, is easier said than done, since a lot of them are not wearing knots. Quinlys starts, as Celadion brushes up against her, and gives him a wary look before - at length - she seems to recognise him enough to relax. "Oh," she says. And then, "I think dancing is the last thing on my mind right about now-- fuck me, this looks serious." "Maybe," is Taikrin's curt response: she's too intent on watching what unfolds with the guards. After a moment, Riorde's words sink in enough for her to acknowledge, "Yeah. Okay. Grab 'em both, grab a skin, get out of here's what I'm thinkin'. You catch what the Holder said?" And, since she's decided on an action, she starts to wind her way back through the crowd with a pickpocket's grace -- and dragging Riorde behind her if necessary. "Jia?" Responding to the frivolous is easy to counter before hearing the more serious situation, which does cause Esten's lips to pull into a line with a dip downwards. "That's not good," he murmurs aside to Val, amusement and merriment gone as he considers those who may be riders from Fort and a lot of them without knots. "And I don't think it's a play either. Unfortunate as it may be, I think this is when I have to take my leave," he notes with a hint of disappointment, glancing to the ribboned girl beside him. Avaryk doesn't turn his head, not to check on Gwenell or anyone else, but he does keep his gaze moving, eyes roving back and forth behind his mask. His glance does seem to pause a moment as he sweeps it past the area where Hattie's standing, but no other indication that he's seen her is given. Anger narrows his eyes at Jivrain's accusation, his lip curling upward in a disdainful sneer as he finally gives the Lord his attention. His accent thickens with the intensity of his emotion, voice grating through the Southern drawl, "You're a bloody fool. /Fort/ has nothing to do with this, nor her Weyrwoman." His eyes narrow further, an indication of the falsehood that next falls from his lips, "I am no longer affiliated with them or with her." Far more interested in protecting Hattie and the Weyr than in getting himself out of trouble. Gwenell can't quite stop herself and takes a step forwards as the guards move to flank Avaryk - not quite a leap to his defence, but a movement made with obvious concern for his wellbeing. Pink and blonde fairly obvious in the crowd, despite Avaryk's wishes. "I think you're fine," Ali responds to E'gin, though it's kind of absent: her gaze is on the incident unfolding, her posture stiff, like she's unsure if she should join or not. And then she hears the Lord Holder yelling for the Weyrwoman, and there's a brief wince. "Best we stay out of it, I think. Just in case they mistake you for a real bandit," she adds, glancing back to E'gin, forcing a smile. The thin brownrider continues watching over her shoulder as Taikrin pulls them away, paying attention for as long as it's possible before the ranks of dancers close and obscure her sight of guards, Holder, and interloper entirely. "Something about blaming Fort Weyr." Without an inkling of the context, Riorde can't be more specific. Ri lifts her mask -- the feathers get in the way of her vision -- and lets it rest on her brow. "Two skins, more like it," she adds wryly. "He is /not/ a criminal," Hattie raises her voice to call out, to Jivrain or just to everyone in the vicinity. "You cannot redefine the meaning of that word to encompass what you see fit, whomever he claims to be affiliated with." /That/ is aimed at Boll's Lord. Her gaze seeks out Avaryk again, genuine frustration to be found lurking there after he relinquishes the Weyr's protection and she snaps, regardless, "Go with the Wingleader, please," casting a long look back at T'rev. And, just in-case the former didn't get it: "NOW." She strides forward, focus fixed on Jivrain again. "You do realise that if you demand that we go, then we are /gone/," she tells him lowly, suggesting a permanence to such things beyond the gather. The talk of the Lord holder kicking the lot of them off his lands takes all the wind out of Celadion's sails, "Well, fuck me twice." Since Quinlys's started the vulgarity, he just has to follow along helplessly. "So, do you know any of those people?" Pink and brunette is outright staring too, if from behind her mask and slightly-dropped lashes. "Jia," Val murmurs agreement even so, but then she looks up at Esten more starkly. "Are you... one of them?" A plainclothes guard? A rider? Again Taikrin's response is delayed by a second or two, when she glances over her shoulder to shoot back, "Two skins, no problem." Still, it's all business, even as she comes up behind Quinlys and Celadion. "Here, you two stick together-- I'll grab the skins. Meet me outside." She taps the side of her head, which apparently is supposed to mean something significant, then releases Riorde and ducks back into the anonymity of the crowd to, ah, liberate some alcohol while everyone is focused on the unfolding drama. "This is getting serious." E'gin looks back at the masked woman, "Probably a good time to leave, I've gotten you into a bad situation already once and I don't even know you, so if you'd let me get you out of this one?" He waves a hand towards the road, "Where is home for you, and can I give you a lift?" The male's gaze cuts from true bandit to guards to other masked people involved in the altercation, "Vysravth is on his way." "You mean, like... Fort's Weyrwoman? Boll's Lord?" Quinlys indicates people with her fingers, one after another, giving Celadion a wry look as she glances back. "I think we'd better make an escape, too. I don't know about you, but I'd rather not faces the wrath of our Weyrleaders-- Taikrin." She breaks off, as the brownrider approaches, listening. Her nod is firm, just once, as she grabs for Celadion's arm. "Come on." T'rev shoots a brief, sidelong look at Hattie as she calls out across the crowd. He doesn't argue however when given a clear directive and steps toward Avaryk and the Bollian guards. He makes no sudden moves and halts just shy of the group. "Mecaith awaits," he announces simply with a slight nod of his head to indicate the proper direction. Celadion nods his head to Quinlys, "yes. Yes. Of course, I mean /him/." Pointing to the criminal. Nice one, go pointing. Nice that Quinlys grab makes for that arm and hauls him after her, "What a kill-joy. I was just getting started. Wait...can we go somewhere else?" Oggling one last time over his shoulder to try to hear more before giving in and following after the lady. "Let's say... getting home will be difficult without them," Esten remarks wryly, tilting his head towards the direction of the commotion as he speaks softly to Val. "What would be a few moments could turn into days otherwise. And I'd get closer to find out details, but getting close doesn't seem like the wisest thing right now." Riorde, stranded sans Taikrin, jogs a step to catch up with Quinlys and Celadion. "Down the beach?" she suggests, speaking up behind the other two. "That's where the dragons are, anyway." "Really? And here I thought you and some other woman-" Jivrain casts briefly about the crowd, his gaze picking out Gwenell as she steps forward, gesturing towards her pointedly, "Were talking with the Weyrwoman as we were approaching." And then his lips twist as Hattie speaks up. "Regardless. This is my land, and--" his eyes widen at the Fort Weyrwoman's latter words. It's part surprise, part incredulousness, and then- amusement. He throws back his head and laughs. "That is, of course, entirely your choice, Weyrwoman. An odd overreaction for someone who claims not be of your Weyr. But if you should choose to withdraw support from us, I can't, of course, stop you." Quinlys answers Celadion's question belatedly, and more correctly this time, with a shake of the head - but mostly, she's moved on to other things, like nodding in Riorde's direction. "Beach is good. We're not Fort, so they can't really kick us out, but I'd still rather stay... out of sight, as it were. Believe me, we do not want to get caught up in this." To the beach, then! The nice, safe beach. Except that her footsteps halt, and she turns a glance back. "Did... Is Boll independent now? Is that what just happened? Please tell me that isn't what just happened." So not a guard, if it's safe for Val to assume. Nor a rider. Her fingers curl around the fan and then, slowly, she begins to slide her other hand from Esten's green-clad arm. "You could be valuable here," she murmurs, her tone lighter than the words would suggest, as though they were merely considering what to have to drink. "But there is still something to be said for playing it safe... Branch?" She smiles up at him, more of a /good luck/ this time, and on a whim frees the fragile ribbon from her mask in favor of tying a light bow around his wrist, if he can stay that long. As for the mask? More truly secured by a dark cord hidden within her dark hair, it stays put. "I hope your shirt wasn't unlucky. Go well." "I-" Ali's flustering, half over E'gin's offer, perhaps misinterpreting, and half over the ongoing altercation, her gaze flickering from the scene, then back to E'gin. Of course, it could very easily be interpreted as a young holder girl's flustering over being offered a ride from a dragonrider. "I have my own lift, sir. But thank you for the offer." Frustration is mirrored back at Hattie from hazel-green eyes, Avaryk's jaw muscles jumping as he clenches his teeth. Shame only dragons are telepathic, or he'd probably have an awful lot to say to his Weyrwoman right about now. Like how if she'd let him be taken, they might find out who tipped off the guards to his presence. If indeed there was an informant. As it is, he can only clench his hands into fists and watch her helplessly as she goes to confront Boll's Lord. His reluctance is clear when he finally turns towards T'rev, but then he freezes in place for a moment. Jivrain's words and gesture bring Gwenell to his attention, and his lips move in a soundless curse. Looking back toward the bronzerider he stares hard at him for a long moment, then deliberately shifts his glance to the Healer before looking back again. Hopefully the message makes it through: bring her with us. With blatant disregard for the guards surrounding him, he strides past to accompany T'rev. E'gin, who has been scanning the crowd for his fellow bandit, finally spots him, and Quinlys moving off towards the beach. "Very well then, if you promise you have someone who can take care of you if this gets crazy." Is his answer to the woman, he gives a slight formal bow, "It was a pleasure having met you, ma'am." and Finishes his conversation with the woman by giving a brilliant grin, "Stay out of trouble." A wink and then he is off at a jog after his friends. As soon as attention's brought to her Gwenell realises how big a mistake she just made, and the stubborn ground refuses to open up and swallow her no matter how hard she stares at it and wishes. A step backwards meets with resistance, someone having taken her place to watch the goings on and foiling her attempt to emlt back into the crowd and out of sight. "Beach....rrrriiight." Celadion agrees, but his attention is on the Lord holder and the Weyrwoman even while being drawn along with the bluerider. He almost crashes into her as she makes her stop, "Careful. C'mon. I guess they're going to give it a go....um....there's going to be drinks at the beach?" Spotting E'gin making his move, he lifts a hand, his expression wary behind the mask. T'rev's gaze skips between the players in the immediate area and meets Avaryk's briefly then go beyond him to find Gwenell. "Miss," he says quite clearly and gestures her way, hand held out. "If you please, just this way," the bronzerider says firmly, but politely. If has an opinion about what Hattie's threatened, he doesn't speak it aloud and only inclines his head in Lord Boll's direction. "Thank you kindly for your hospitality." "You state this is your land and that you want the Fortian people gone," Hattie replies evenly. "How are we to interpret that? For today? For the sevenday? The turn?" she questions. "How long is it that you desire us to be /gone/ for? If you are going to throw around demands and threats, you should take a note from your father's book and be clear in your instructions." It's only then that the Weyrwoman seems to remember that there is a crowd present and listening. "Fort's weyrfolk will leave. My queen informs all riders to do so. What I suggest is that you permit myself and the Weyrleader to remain so that we may discuss this... incident." Riorde's "mm-hmm" signals her concurrence: to the beach. She nearly bumps into Quinlys when the bluerider pauses, side-stepping first and then also twisting to look back the way they came. Spotting E'gin hurry after them causes a quick grimace. "I-- don't know. Can they /do/ that?" The former islander's question is more than rhetorical; she's genuinely wondering. "And you, sir," Ali murmurs by way of response to E'gin, a low laugh her response to his parting comment. Her gaze follows him for a moment, but not long- soon drawn back to the altercation near the dance floor, her countenance paling visibly as she catches some of the words. Nearly bumped into from all sides, but Quinlys can't help herself: she continues to stare, drawing her mask down and into her hand, now, revealing her features fully for the first time. "Well," she says, finally. "Fuck me sideways." And then she turns back-- and is gone. It may be a slightly less raucous celebration from this High Reachians, however, down on that beach, after everything that has happened. |
Leave A Comment