Difference between revisions of "Logs:Benden Gather: Dancing"

Benden Hold

The Hold's cliff rises high above the courtyard, its impassive stone face studded with Threadfall shutters thrown wide, surmounted by the fireheights where the Gather flag snaps in the wind. A symbol of its Lady's public belief in the Interval, the Hold's grand doors are barely ajar for once, the Gather a sprawling and wholly outside affair. Food and drink are served in the upper court, its central fountain performing double duty as a place to keep ale kegs and wineskins cool, away from the porcine roasting on its spit. While the side nearest the greenhouse is lined with tables bearing platters of simple party food, the side opposite has long trestle tables and benches brought out from the Hold itself, with festive lanterns to light the scene as the sun goes down.

A few steps down in the much larger main courtyard, a regular rotation of harpers entertains the masses from a dais next to the dancing square. The vintners are doing good business at the entrance to their Hall, but the booths of other tradespeople are down the ramp in Crafter Row.

In the upper courtyard of the free food and drinks, Satiet sits and converses with T'rien at a nearby table. It'd be difficult for those keen eyes to miss the brief flicker of sadness in T'rien's gaze, particularly as the brownrider's face seems to interest Satiet for beats longer than necessary. "Satiet, please. When people add the title to my name, I wonder if they've that much time on their hands to waste on formalities. Or," and the slightest smile hooks one corner of her mouth up, a dry, rueful smile in which a tease is so subtly inlaid it could be missed, "You may call me Weyrwoman. But not both together." Perhaps the ale's unwinding her, perhaps it's not her first glass. For a half-second late, but in kind, a sliver of sadness escapes to soften the weyrwoman's pale face. "Your son is it?"

"Fort Weyr, originally o'Balen, " Paige is saying in reply, eyebrows lifting with delight as she comes up from crafter row on the arm of a sunburnt, young man. "Dunno if'n I'm actually any good at 'em, but I do love 'em. Nice t'meetcha, Henrit. Where y'all from?"

T'rien inclines his head, a bit of a rueful smile for his own awkwardness fleeing over his face for a moment. "Sorry," he apologizes. "Trying to set a good example and all that." He gives Jerien a playful jostle. "Yes, he is. This is Jerien. Jer, can you say hello to the Weyrwoman?" Jerien, now suddenly the focus of attention, ducks his chin shyly and shakes his head, trying to hide his face behind his father's head. "Now, come on, you just said something to her a minute ago." Jerien peeks over T'ri's brown hair and gives Satiet a long, searching look. "Hi, Wher-woman," he manages.

Really, no big surprise-- Henrit answers, "Just down the road a ways. Lot closer than Fort Weyr!" With a big laugh, like he really has the first clue how much farther Fort is. "Pa says we ain't supposed to filly with girls from the Weyr, says you're all fast and he'll chap our hides." Not the best conversation starter, but he seems well-intended. "I'm good at 'em, fast dances. But you're a bit shorter'n the girl back home I learnt with."

Paige looks rather confused for a moment, chin ducking a little as she flushes a bit. "M'mama told me the same thin' 'fore I went t'Fort the firs' time, " she admits, "'bout folks bein' fast and - how y'can' trus' tha' anyone's got yer best interests in mind." Gladly moving back to the topic of dancing, she grins as he professes to being good at the speedier dances. "Hopefully not 'nough t'make a real diff'rence?" she asks worriedly, peering briefly up at him.

N'thei's not so far behind Paige and her friend that he can't hear most of their exchange, that his eyebrows can't climb at the boy's frankness. "Fast," he repeats with amused admiration, casts a glance down at Persie like he's trying to juxtapose the word with that particular greenrider. "You all right to dance then?" Belated in asking her, yes, but at least he didn't take it totally for granted.

From that upper courtyard, Satiet has a good view of the grounds as it were, but with a finger held out to Jerien, and her focus on the Fortian pair, the arrivals and excitement below are missed. "Charming," says the weyrwoman drolly, of both the little boy and his greeting. "It would explain so much, where I a wher-woman." Then; "I could ask Teonath to find it out for me, but I've always found the practice to be less than respectful, or I could call you Jerien's father. And you are?"

"Nahhh." Henrit's found his confidence somewhere between blurting out his request to dance and getting near the place where this dancing will actually occur. "Prolly be harder to make up for you were taller'n she was, but short'll be okay." He steps aside and flourishes for Paige to pass ahead of him, the overly fine manners a silly contrast to his back-woodsy drawl. "I was watchin' at that lizard hatching, little jealous you got one."

Over by the dancing square, the easygoing music comes to a close as it's time for the harpers to rotate again: while the previous batch starts putting away their instruments, the next set starts setting up, while an apprentice starts making the rounds, calling out, "Time for dancing! A two-mark piece lets you pick a song for your darling, or just see what /we/ come up with!"

T'rien blinks, then flushes slightly as he realizes his social faux paus. Clearing his throat, he looks a bit sheepish again. "T'rien, Cavoth's rider," he introduces himself. Jerien, for his part, eyes the extended finger, then reaches out to take it gently with a chubby hand. "It's Weyrwoman, Jer," he says then, correcting his son gently. "Sorry," he says again. "This is his first gather. The only weyrwomen he's ever met he called by name, though I probably should have corrected that in the beginning."

Persie, in her usual oblivion, doesn't quite know what's, or who, is fast, but she's smile anyway with her lower lip caught in her teeth. And while it's not precisely what she was asked. "I like to dance. Did you... want to dance?" Her eyes skim around, for a parasol maybe.

Well away from the press that surrounds firelizards and any talk of them, Tiriana has retreated from the booths that house all the crafters' wares toward the other courtyards. Now, she wanders the grounds by herself, pausing only on occasion when someone speaks to her--someone who knows her, or more often someone who doesn't, who thinks he's being polite by greeting a goldrider. The conversations are usually brief, in any case.

X'lar's fluid stride makes his way through the gather grounds and all the way out. In one hand he carries a small wooden box and in the other a sleepy blue firelizard. He returns back without neither box nor new firelizard, the two seemingly dropped them off with his dragon just outside. A deep breath later and the bronzerider makes his way toward the outskirts of the dancing square.

Paige looks relieved at this, giving him a little smile as he gestures for her to proceed him. "Yeah? Can' quite believe I got one, m'self. 'Twill be nice t'not hafta borrow someone else's t'answer letters." Skirting around a couple who's likely walking a bit too slowly for her eagerness to put up with for long, she quickly tugs Henrit's hand a little over toward the square. "Oh, look, they're gonna start up the dancin'! Y'had good timin'."

N'thei's answer is found somewhere amid the nod and the continued press toward the dancing square. While the music's picked up, more people have started crowding in between the benches, some just standing around the edge clapping, some sweeping right into the steps. He intends the latter, brings Persie right along into the stream of pretty-clothed twirls with mechanical grace; he follows the steps like a manual, precise but not so much with the fluidity of frequent use.

Dancing Square, Benden Hold ('ds' to enter) The dancing square is actually more like a massive octagon in the middle of the main courtyard, the stone marked off by benches that also serve as seating. There's a dais for performing harpers, and lanterns hanging from a series of ribbon-bedecked poles provide lighting after sundown.

Though mostly the harpers play a variety of dance music, earlier in the day there are skits for children and occasional stand-up jokesters interspersed by listening-only musical performances before it's back to the music again. After dusk, the music becomes less conventional, more wild as befits a midsummer's celebration.

You enter the dancing floor.

Henrit, dragged along for the last bit, breaks into a big-goofy-grin and bounces a nod at Paige. Fast women! "Ma says I got big ears so I can hear for miles, thought I picked up the sound of 'em tuning." He's all energy and good intentions, clumsy for the elaborate steps but happy to spin and stomp through the ones he doesn't know so well.

Music continues to float out from the dancing square, merry and gay as the dancing kicks off to quite the start. Couples and a few groups of girls flood the floor, laughter and spinning skirts, brightly colored coming together to make quite the scene: feet tapping, hands clapping and, threading through it all, the lilting jump of piped notes.

Persie all but stumbles along as N'thei drags her all over creation and now onto the dancefloor--but at least this stumble makes her chuckle a little. "Do you even dance?" she wonders of him with a glance over those proportions that don't exactly suggest he's light on his feet.

Paige is an enthusiastic and mostly decent dancer, though she does opt for a less elaborate version of some of the more complex steps where the dance calls for them. Spinning and following Henrit's cues well enough, she's happily more in her element here, lively and full of bright smiles.

"Ouch, love. People have said a lot of really bad things about me over the Turns but that one stings." N'thei says this while dragging Persie's hands where they belong, while putting his right where they go, while picking up the one-two-three one-two-three with mechanized precision. He knows the steps, but no-- he's not your average twinkle toe.

"You dance good!" Henrit proclaims, which is the hillbilly's rendition of a love speech. He twirls Paige giddily, nearly into a stodgy old pair in the height of fashion, and has to run over to retrieve her with apologies, apologies, got a li'l excited there. "M'brother'll cry himself to sleep tonight, no mistaking. Your friend ain't friendly."

The upbeat song continues, a tenor breaking out for a solo backed by the rapid thump of light drums, only to give over to a set of three drums at the bridge.

In contrast, Persie is rather a girl made for twirling and with so steady, if not inspiring, a partner, she glides along easily enough. His claims of such great wounds only gets a grin from her but she will try to make herself companionable. "I'm sorry about earlier," though her smiles still haven't quite recovered their former brightness. "And you look very handsome tonight," with a flick of her eyes at his spiffy brocaded vest.

"Thank ya!" Paige returns, giving a pleased flush - well, that's until he twirls her almost into a fashionable pair. Making her own set of apologies quickly, her renewed smile up at her partner falters just a trifle. "Oh. I'm real sorry if'n he does. I mean - he oughta be dancin', too." And she bites her lip. "She's jus' - picky, I reckon, " she says at last of Sunniva, brow creasing momentarily. "Seems nice 'nough, though, the few times I've run into her at Fort."

Vanity; "I know. I clean up nicely." N'thei's hand comes from Persie's hip to smooth down the front of his fancy duds, to give them a meaningful tug, and he looks over the top of her head to eye Paige getting nearly bowled into the stiffs. "Don't be sorry. Just spin."

Henrit snorts dubiously at Paige's reassurance, countering, "Don't seem too friendly out here! My brother don't look like much, but he's the best dancer of us all, so it'll be here loss anyways. Oh woops, your steps're a little shorter than my girl's." To explain why he'd tromp on her toe in the middle there.

D'kai looks more than pleased that Sunniva should've accepted his offer, and he moves a bit gingerly, as though the girl should scare off at any moment. But there they are, in the dancing tent! Would you look at that. Pausing at the edge of the whirling pairs, he inspects the crowd and then finally jerks his chin. "There she is!" Paige, that is. "Oh, she's still dancing." The lad eyes the boy she's dancing with for a moment, as though sizing him up, and then motions to a nearby chair. "Shall we? Until she's done? And watch our little friends for a bit longer? I'm still - d'you like the name Narie?"

Though this particular song looks to be drawing to an end after the next verse, the next one will prove to keep to much the same pace. In between, the bass singer booms out, "This song's for Margrethe, from your family! Everyone else, remember that two marks gets your pick," and a beaming thirteen-Turn-old from the back of beyond is escorted by her grandfather for her very first dance at her very first Gather.

"He is?" Paige is all delight again for that statement, assuming, of course, that it's true. "He's jus' gotta dance with someone, 'specially if'n he likes it lots. I'm sure there's a nice girl who'll dance with -- ouch!" There's a small cry for the moment where her poor toes get tromped on momentarily, but she recovers quickly enough, even if her next few smiles are a little more watery. "Oh, erm. Sorry, " as if she could apologize for her height.

Well the spin does it. A twirl under N'thei's hand and Persie's lighting up again, letting out a small giggle as she comes back around to face him. "Are you going to spin too?" she asks, her grin growing impishly silly. But the hand in his does lift up a bit, daring him to take a ridiculous twirl.

The song changes, Henrit's just about to engage Paige for a second one when a man who can only be his father comes to claim the boy by his ear and drag him off into the depths of the crowd. "Nice to meetcha!" the lad has the good grace to call out while being removed from the clutches of a greenrider; the rebuffed brother must have ratted him out.

Scare Sunni off? Not when there's dancing to be had. She gives D'kai's arm a bit of a squeeze as if in reassurance, a bright smile in place as she stretches up on tiptoes to see- ah. He beat her to it! "Oh, there she is!" She lowers down again, tilting a look up to D'kai before her attention is directed to the chairs. "Certainly. Oh, and that name is wonderful. It rather does seem to fit her, doesn't it? Nerie."

There. N'thei twirled. Or spun in a circle anyway. The blandness of it makes the point that he leaves out-- that could not have been pretty. "Happy?" He stops the lead of Persie to clap for the players, to clap for Marga-whoever, to watch the parade of people coming and going from the dance floor.

Paige visibly wilts as Henrit gets dragged off by his father, waving at him as he disappears into the crowd. There's a sad look tipped toward her shoulder where her knot usually rests; crestfallen, the young greenrider makes to exit the square, but settles for standing just on the outskirts of the floor to watch the little girl's first dance at a gather, even if her gaze remains somewhat absent.

Deke's even got the gentlemanly charm to draw out not only a chair for himself, but Sunniva, too - even though just as he moves to sit, the song spins to a close. "Ah! Let's see if we can catch her before - Paige!" He looks at one hand - occupied by the now-named Narie - then the other - by Sunniva - and simply raises his voice. "Paige!" Because he can't very well wave to catch her attention, can he? The lad catches that fleeting look from his prospective dance partner and returns it with a grin, and a warning: "I'm not very good at dancing. At all."

This song is just the next in a sequence of energetic dances, an apprentice refilling water glasses for the working harpers when needed. Beyond, the vintners keep their stall stocked with ale and wine for the dancers.

He does it and Persie laughs brightly, giving a little hop to help her hand get high enough to clear N'thei's head. "Yes. And very proud," she answers as they come to a halt to applaud the music. But more music is picking up and so, shyly, "Did you have enough?"

"Paige!" Sunniva joins in the summoning, pushing back up to tiptoe again in the hopes of actually seeing the greenrider. She could wave, but like D'kai, her hands are a bit full -- one with a 'lizard, the other with his elbow -- so that's out of the question. "Oh, I do hope she hears us over this music," is an aside to her partner, with a bit of fretful lip-chewing.

"Man has to know his limits." And N'thei's limit is one dance, one twirl, one song. Steering Persie by the elbow, he makes toward the fringe of the dance floor sort of in Paige's wake, and can't help but chime toward the Fortian, "Shouldn't have confessed you were a greenrider, darling. Bite your tongue next time, you'll still be dancing."

Paige glances up to make a reply to X'lar, but that's before N'thei's comment cuts in. Face crumpling at the Weyrleader's words, she ducks her head down and hurries past the people in front of her, desperate to lose herself in the masses. Fortunately, she gets swept over toward where D'kai and Sunniva are. Even though her expression looks anything but as lively as it did a short time ago, she manages to get out an only somewhat shaky, "Y'all - go dance. I'll - I'll watch 'em."

"You should go," Persie says as she's taken by N'thei's hand on her elbow again. "I'm sure you have people to meet with, your family or..." She just gives a shrug as her feet follow along to the edge of the floor. "I was going to go look at those glass bracelets before they're all gone." There, an 'out' if he wants one.

N'thei repeats derisively, "Glass bracelets." Of all things! When there's little-to-no danger left of getting smashed by those still in the dancing throngs, he lets loose Persie's elbow and glances down to take stock of her expression while she excuses herself. "Good luck at it." Whether or not he was looking for an out, he takes it with aplomb.

D'kai's wide grin falters at Paige's clear dismay, and he tips his head down toward the green-riding weyrling. "Hey - what's the matter?" He makes as though to offer Narie towards her, and then pauses, glancing down at Paige's own 'lizard in Sunniva's hands. "Um," he says, eloquently, and then nods to Sunniva. "I guess - shall we?" He motions towards the dance floor, and then grins lopsidedly, though he does cast a faintly worried frown after Paige.

The crestfallen look on Paige's face elicits a suddenly sympathetic one from Sunniva, even as she's handing over both 'lizard and meatroll. But, she's fairly well lost for words and settles on murmuring a mildly reassuring, "You will find someone to dance with soon enough, I am sure of it." Her frown echoes D'kai's as they step away to join the rest of the dancers properly on the floor. "Yes, let's. And," concern resolves into a faint smile, "I am sure you will dance just fine."

Expression? Persie's is hesitant, but she gets a smile on her face in any case, the apology in it hiding whatever else might be there behind her eyes. "Thank you, though. For the dance and the food and..." Her teeth catch her lip. "Maybe I'll see you later?" Again she's holding the straps of her dress, hands on her shoulders, and stepping backwards from N'thei.

N'thei cocks his head in a doubtful way at Persie's gratitude, something disbelieving in his smile while he watches the greenrider start detaching herself from the party, watches her hugging her dress like that. "Enjoy the party, Persie," is his suggestion, neither here nor there on the likelihood of seeing her afterward.