Difference between revisions of "Logs:Weyrling Graduation"

Living Cavern, High Reaches Weyr

Stalactites hang high above this enormous cavern like a jagged chandelier or an inversion of the Spires themselves, but shadows cling to them instead of light. Below lie great tables arranged in rows, each large enough to serve a fighting wing, while in the nooks and alcoves around the cavern's edge sit more sensibly-sized tables, from six- and eight-seaters down to intimate spots for just a couple of diners. The only really open space is around the kitchen entrance, smelling of food and rarely quiet, and by the nearby serving tables with their long buffet of the day's offerings.

Tapestries on the smooth walls -- some faded and others newly woven -- only slightly mute the sea of sound when a meal is in full swing, but they add cheerfulness augmented by the glowlight from wall sconces and the centerpieces of each table. Still, shadows always creep along the ceiling and into the mouths of the exits -- the myriad small hallways at one end of the cavern and, at the other, the twisting tunnel to the bowl near an array of coathooks and and hatracks -- and late at night, when the glows are allowed to dim, the chamber can seem very dark indeed.

Party preparations have kept the lower caverns busy all throughout the day and the living cavern is festively decorated in dark blues, blacks, with accents of silver here and there: from drapes hung along the walls and ceilings to the posey flower arrangements that decorate each table. Pretty people in their pretty attire enter in slowly from the lower caverns and the bowl, while servers make their rounds with trays of bite-sized morsels and the kitchen staff sets up the buffet.

Midst all this party-readying, Satiet enters from the lower caverns, already dressed and dolled up for the occasion. Though the high color that sets her cheeks aflush seem to be rouge powder than actual excitement, a smile curves her mouth in its own crookedly amused way. As if expecting someone to follow in her wake, the slight, glossy-haired woman's head tips back, her face turned slightly to impart some quiet words, inaudible except to her would-be companion.

K'del, resplendent in black and burnt orange, is alone as he makes his way into the caverns, flicking an imaginary piece of dust from his jacket, but otherwise maintaining a very dignified approach. He pauses, just inside the doorway, to consider the decorations; his expression is satisfied, even outright /proud/; then, he continues on in, heading for a group of his classmates congregating towards one side.

Trailing after Satiet like a well-heeled dog, Tiriana wears fine clothes and a pained smile. "I am, I /am/," she insists, in not quite the undertone that Satiet herself manages. See? She tries to make that smile more genuine, less plastered on, and is only marginally successful. Instead, she offers, with a glance around the festivities and decorations, "It turned out all right, at least." High praise.

After a long day of shadowing, trailing after, saying yes'm and asking how high when asked to jump, after a few steps into the decorated living cavern, Satiet turns to observe Tiriana. It's a quick up-down-up study after which a toss of her hair and a jerk of her chin releases the junior goldrider from her servitude into the masses of people appearing. If she were a less imposing, warmer person, she might even give the younger woman a thumbs up and wink for luck; but this is Satiet after all. As for the Weyrwoman? She's quick to turn on heel and mingle, passing by the weyrlings congregating, pausing at the black and burnt orange K'del's donned, before continuing past slowly.

P'ax clearly either didn't feel the need, or didn't have anything particularly fancy to wear tonight. With this in mind, at least his white button-down is clean and his pants unwrinkled. It's a start. P'ax just looks relieved to be here, his hands jammed in his pockets and his eyes wandering.

K'del catches that pause of Satiet's, lifting his head just briefly to smile in her direction, but he's mid-conversation with N'par, and that seems to take the most of his attention. "I'll share the visual with you," he offers the greenrider. "Nice spot. Remote. Pretty." It's the greenrider who notices P'ax's arrival, and must make some comment to K'del, because Kas turns his head, then, lifting his hand in P'ax's direction in an obvious attempt to wave him over. So much for mingling: the weyrlings hang together.

Mingling is what Yuliye was bred to do, or at the very least what she's most comfortable doing, and if by some sixth sense, the Cromese born woman finds the guests of honor for this party and sidles up at the weyrling perimeter to chat up young Briora. "Yuliye, quite the party, hmm?" A slim hand extends, paired with a quick smile for the young greenrider. "Crom," a name perhaps not so fondly thought of in these parts of the woods, not that it seems the young woman seems to mind, "Extends their congratulations."

At first, Tiriana seems loathe to part from Satiet, even when released; but when the elder goldrider walks away, Tiriana lets her, watching her back. Finally, with a sigh, she turns about herself, eyeing the crowd unhappily. "Smile," she mutters to herself. "Smile." And oh, how hard she tries. What she does not do so much is mingle; she stands a little ways apart, shifting her weight.

Soon after passing the weyrlings, Satiet's accosted by an arm and the sudden appearance of Anvori, and her rare heard laughter is soon floating to the rafters. Which is a good thing, for Yuliye's appearance garners the most fleeting hitch in the weyrwoman's good humor. But then she's off, being carried into a floating whirl of dancing by her brother, appearing more delicate somehow in her golden champagne gown next to his dandified purple and black.

P'ax notices K'del waving and weaves towards the bronzerider, a smile breaking out on his face. A careful glance is given to the other weyrling K'del speaks with and then his smile extends again to include the other greenrider. "Congratulations, you guys."

"You, too," grins K'del, whose gaze continues to sweep the room. He considers Yuliye with the frown of the unfamiliar - and, all right, a small measure of interest; then, sweeping onwards, it settles on Tiriana, his lips pulling in to a gleeful smile. "Want to go play with Tiriana?" he asks his companions; N'par rejects the plan outright, so Kas' glance settles on P'ax, appraisingly. "Come on," he encourages. "Bet we could piss her off /easy/, tonight."

Ignorant of her proposed role in the festivities, Tiriana finds herself instead roped into small talk with a couple of newly graduated weyrlings who are tring to be polite. Tiriana is trying, too, which means mostly one- or two-word answers and that stiff smile of hers, mantra'd into place at Satiet's orders. At least K'del could probably make things more... lively? Lively. That's the word for it.

She allows half a dance, not even an entire song before Satiet extricates herself from Anvori with a few choice words made into her brother's ear. Drawing her dress up, to prevent tripping of course, the slight woman makes her way to a podium set up at the side of the cavern and there she stands, quiet, slight but still somehow imposing, and waits for attention to slowly draw her way.

K'del, alas, misses his chance. For now. Although P'ax scorns the plan, and N'par slides away to talk to someone else (the rudeness!), no sooner has K'del made an attempt to head towards the goldrider, to-- /rescue/ her from those boring other weyrlings, Satiet makes her move, and there's enough of a response throughout the gathering that the bronzerider follows suit, and turns his attention, instead, towards the Weyrwoman. Tiriana? Can wait.

Finishing her chat with Briora, Yuliye is about to turn her attention to K'del - it's hard to miss that distinctive black and orange - when a murmur through the crowd draws her attention to the podium, and Satiet's head just visible above the crowd. Looking amused, she flags down a server long enough to secure herself a glass of wine before standing back.

It's when she has command of most of the room, never mind the lack of a Weyrleader (who is likely off getting drunk somewhere, no?), Satiet fashions her thin lips into a bright, faux smile. It sets her sharpish face wider, masking the thinness of her cheeks and the gaunt lines of her throat. Graciousness lines her cool alto, "I'd like to welcome you all to this evening. We've little reason to celebrate when life seems so quiet and normal for once-." An allowance for humor is infused mildly there. "And I've very little use for the formalities set upon during the Pass, so without further words, I'd like to congratulate the weyrlings on their graduation into full wings. In your weyrs later, you will find gifts from the Weyr that will hopefully assist you in further celebrations as well as your new life, including your knots and badges. Your wing assignments are as follows." The wing name, followed by its new wing members are spoken, of which, Avalanche gains K'del, Eila, and P'ax while N'par goes to Polaris and Rascela and L'rell into Glacier.

It's within a knot of riders that L'vae stands, the small group circled together not far from the dance area conversing over their drinks. They're on the lagging end of noticing the Weyrwoman's positioning at the podium, but then one greenrider lifts her glass in a motion towards the goldrider. This causes the circle to break, feet shifting and one final chuckle shared before all eyes turn towards Satiet.

There is an understandable buzz from the collection of weyrlings, particularly as the wing assignments are announced - after all, they've spent how long agonising over them, by now? K'del looks exceptionally pleased with himself, positively smug, having presumably gained the assignment he wanted; amongst the other former-weyrlings, reactions seem varied, but on the whole, it's excitement from the group that is most obvious.

Announcement made, Yuliye finds her wanderings bringing her by a small group circled together near the dance area. With considerable charm imbued in her smile, a twinkle setting her hazel eyes aglitter, a delicate hand hangs out in front of L'vae. "Usually," imparts the sweet-toned soprano, "The man asks the woman to dance, but I'll make an exception for you sir, if you don't mind?"

Tiriana, spurned. But she doesn't seem to realize her close brush wtih K'del; she, too, is turning to face Satiet, to pay due attention to her Weyrwoman for the speechmaking, such as it is. And that established, weyrlings sent to their wings, she finally moves, heading toward the drinks tables. Time to find a reason to be happy.

Craning a look out over the crowd towards the weyrlings as he exchanges a quiet murmur with the late-thirty-ish bluerider at his side, it's not until her hand extends before him that L'vae registers Yuliye's arrival. But, when he does so, it is with a reflection of her charming smile. "On the contrary," his glass is smoothly passed to the older bluerider so that the wingleader can accept her hand while executing a polite bow of his head, "I am honored." Greyed-hazel eyes turn briefly back to his companions, "if you will excuse me," before the brownrider steps out so he can lead Yuliye to the floor.

Something about the formalities being completed eases the group of former-weyrlings, and sends them outwards across the cavern in smaller groups, mingling. And if K'del ends up at the drinks table? It's got to be at lease in part because he wants a drink, and not because Tiriana's gone in that direction, right? He ends up with a finger or two of whiskey, in a glass, before he lifts his head to consider the goldrider. "Having fun?" Nice as pie. Swear.

Instant gratitude is found in Yuliye's lady-like features, the delicate lift of her nose and pleasure in her brightening smile and so led, the Cromese woman follows L'vae's decisive lead. "You know," she confides, her words kept close to the man and not meant for others' ears. "I was afraid my knot my scare you away. I'm glad to see it didn't." Her step is light and well-taught, she's able to follow even the poorest of leads, which L'vae is hopefully not. "Yuliye. Crom's duties."

With her own glass of the strong stuff in hand, Tiriana cants her head toward the voice that hails her, then turns about to eye K'del. She takes a very long drink before speaking--long enough, in fact, that she turns right back around to refill. "I'm smiling, aren't I?" she asks when she faces him again, said smile forced into place once more.

After making her announcements, a wearied look tugs about her eyes and her bright, faux smile, but Satiet makes her way down the steps, there met by a sandy-haired man, who she seems all too willing to lean against for a moment. To catch her breath of course. "Even those formalities wear thin, but hopefully," a glance shoots past the man to Tiriana, "It'll sink into thicker skulls at some point." Waving off the wine glass he offers, Satiet opts for a crab canape and munches idly as she observes, paying especial attention to the wingleader and Crom woman dancing on the floor.

K'del, in contrast, doesn't drink at all, just shifts his glass from one hand to the other, keeping his expression smooth. "Sure you are," he tells Tiriana, generously. "That smile could light up the whole caverns, I bet." There's a twitch of his lip, like he's holding back a bigger smile of his own. Now, he takes a sip, though he keeps his gaze on the goldrider while he does so, and, having swallowed, he adds, voice lowered, "I won't tell, if you scowl at me instead."

"My lady, I would be a cowered indeed if I let a mere twist of thread frighten me," L'vae replies jovially. Luckily for Yuliye's light toes, he is in fact quite adept upon the dance floor. He guides with a gentle but confident hand, leading the way into steps suited to the current song. "And from Crom's niece, no less," the brownrider murmurs with a deferential dip of his head, a light in hazel eyes, and a deeper curl to his smile. "A woman reported to have done much for that Hold. If I may offer the Reaches' duties in return - I am Bremuth's rider, L'vae."

Tiriana takes another sip, and a deep breath. That smile stays firmly in place, however un-heartfelt it might be. "She'll still know," the goldrider points out, with a furtive glance sideways, in the direction Satiet was last spotted. "Did you need something, rider?" Though how that newly-appointed title grates at her.

Yuliye's, "L'vae," is almost in conjunction with the wingleader's own introduction, a happenstance that colors her cheeks prettily and elicits the lightest, tinkling laughter. "Lord Crom," is her then correction, though the smile tempers any of the gentle scolding inherent in the title. "I've heard of you. Rather, I've done my homework, done my harpers proud, and studied on those names and people I should know. Recognize." Looking beyond the brownrider's shoulder, Crom's niece spies the weyrwoman's pale eyes upon the pair and leans in, a little more intimately, a little indulgent for the light dance they step through. "Shhh, we're being watched, my good sir."

K'del's glass gets transferred from one hand to the other again. His gaze follows Satiet's, thoughtful for a moment, but turns back quickly: no point making it look too obvious. "Not especially," he says, sunnily. "But surely it looks better for you to be, you know, /mingling/ with someone? And who better, than one of the weyr's new bronzeriders, mm?"

"I am mingling. In the true Reachian way, over drinks," Tiriana protests that part, her eyes narrowing slightly. But slowly, she adds, "Good point, though. About the bronzeriders." Her lip curls , a thoughtful glance, and she lifts herself up on her tiptoes and makes a show of scanning the room. "Where'd H'tram get to?"

Even with eyes trained on her, Satiet seems unaware as she continues to study Yuliye and L'vae with narrowed lashes over pale eyes. It's then that the already pale, rouge-tinted cheeks, seem to blanche further and before she might drop to the floor like a stone, a hand reaches over and uses the Istan bronzerider at her side as a crutch. Her exit is slow, filled with faux smiles and gracious little nods of her head, but not too slow, as she's soon out in the lower caverns with very little polite attention paid towards small talk along the way.

Again a slight head tilt as they turn about the floor, easy acceptance of the correction. "The bad habits one picks up at a Weyr," L'vae murmurs off hand, almost below hearing, before his smile spreads. "Have you? And how -" But he's distracted from the idle question by Yuliye's leaning. If there's any surprise, it's only betrayed in the moment it takes for him to adjust to a closer hold. "Surely you are used to drawing attention," the wingleader notes with light flattery, not making any attempt to follow her glance. "What do you worry will be overheard?" Curious as his smile dimples.

K'del sips and swallows, pushing his expression into something mirthful, if forced. "H'tram," he tells her, "Is probably watching that woman from Crom from afar, or something like that. Being as they come from the same Hold and all. You wouldn't want to talk to him." Beat. "Iovniath still showing no signs of being a real queen?" His gaze slides past her, briefly, to consider others around the room, but it slides back before too long, managing not to seem /too/ intent.

Satiet heads to the inner caverns. Satiet has left.

"No?" Tiriana's expression settles into a scowl, maybe sensing Satiet's departure and thinking she's safe. "Because you're /so/ much more interesting? Or--" She breaks off, her expression twisting into an outright glare before she can catch herself, straighten her shoulders and affect an aloof gaze again, that not-quite-focused look that says draconic intervention. She says, "Why, got your eye on her? It won't happen."

Only a little relieved when the Weyrwoman departs, Yuliye's attention upon Satiet is brief before a sunnier smile is cast upwards at L'vae. In the span of four steps, she's withdrawn to a more suitable, and less intimate, distance from the wingleader. "I worry that she'll think I'm charming one of her wingleaders away, though to where?" A feminine shrug lifts one shoulder, drawing up the general line of her dress for a moment. "I don't believe I'm quite used to the attention cast my way as much as it is at this Weyr. Oft times, I wonder if I'll find myself waking up in the middle of the lake one of these days. Were things-," a beat skips, courage then found somewhere in her study of L'vae's face, "Were things so bad?"

The scowl, and what follows, just seems to encourage K'del: he returns with a brilliant smile, head tilted back just slightly, very smug. "I am more interesting. H'tram's a bit of a wet blanket, for all he tries. As for Iovniath..." He shrugs, with what is definitely exaggerated laziness. "Perhaps. Seems to me siring a clutch is a good way to get noticed, and /surely/ Iovniath will go before Rielsath does again. Unless she really is defective."

Perhaps she's called forth by the mention of her name, or perhaps just taking her own initiative in reaching out to Cadejoth while her rider speaks to his. In either case, Iovniath's touch is cool and gracious, a brush of winter against him. « Cadejoth. » (Iovniath to Cadejoth)

To Iovniath, Cadejoth's metallic edge sings in contact with the cold, a bell-like note that turns into something less refined, like the howl of the wind, as he responds. « Iovniath. You'll have to excuse my rider; he seems to like to provoke yours, and it's really not very nice. »

"I wouldn't worry about that," L'vae attempts to reassure, though now he does turn a look out that is doomed not to find the departed Weyrwoman. His dance partner's speculation regarding the lake brings his attention back. A small crease has appeared between his brows. "I am afraid I do not know," the wingleader replies in quiet apology. "I did not reside here at the time." He lets a spin serve as pause before his next concerned inquiry. "You haven't been threatened?"

Tiriana shakes her head. "No. You're more obnoxious," she corrects, mouth twisting up into a smirk. "And I'm supposed to be playing hostess. To everybody, not just some delusional kid." Smile again~ After a moment, and a sip of her drink, she adds, smugly, "And as I said, it's not going to work. You're not going to become a somebody catching Iovniath; you're going to have to already /be/ one to catch her." The possibility of defectiveness? Not even touched, though her posture is stiff.

'Haven't I?' says those coy brows that lift up at L'vae, as if he might have asked something inappropriately sweet or said something fliratious, rather than asked after her well-being. One of her hands slips off L'vae's shoulder to press into his upper arm. "I wonder if what I hear as rumor is truth or what I know as truth is rumor. Truth is such a subjective thing, don't you think, L'vae?" As for his inquiry, other than those perked brows, Yuliye says naught, instead preferring to slide onto the next topic. "Do you charm all the ladies as such? I believe, sir," her head tips down to drop her height just a little and she looks up with doll-like adorableness: large eyes framed by long lashes blinking cutely, "I'm quite charmed by you."

"Persistent?" K'del offers this with a grin, choosing a middle-ground between the two terms, though he doesn't seem to expect it to be taken up. "From what I've learned, 'hostess' involves more than skulking around the drinks table. You should be mingling. Especially since Satiet's--" Gone. But he doesn't finish that sentence, too busy glancing around to make sure, presumably, that this is, in fact, the case. "/If/ she ever rises."

Picked up by that gust of wind, snow swirls around Iovniath's mind, flurries whipped up and gleaming in the light. « Of course. He is hardly unique in that regard, » she concedes that much, mildly. « Though--tonight is to be a night for festivities, no? » (Iovniath to Cadejoth)

The chink-chink of metal against metal marks Cadejoth's thought processes, moonlight glistening between the gusts and flurries shared between them. « They do not like each other. » A shame, his intonation seems to suggest, because /he/ likes /her/. « It is! And K'del says we're going to fly with Bremuth's, and I think I'm going to like that. We should make them play nice. » Just /play/, though. (Cadejoth to Iovniath)

"No. Obnoxious," Tiriana snaps off now, fuming and doing scant little to control that. "And Satiet is--just sick. Yeah." But that excuse doesn't sit well with her, and her brows furrow as she looks toward the door again, troubled. She shakes her head to try to rid those tell-tale signs from her face, then grabs K'del by the arm. "Fine. Let's mingle, rider," she grates out, around a smile. Her voice lowers. "And you say one more thing about Iovniath, and /I'm/ not going to have to do anything to you. /She'll/ do it herself."

The coyness, the touch - they ease concern away from the lines of L'vae's features and recall his smile. And yet, perhaps subtly, his eyes remain watchful. "I feel truth may be a difficult thing to fully comprehend," he soft-of answers. Content enough to follow Crom's niece onwards and away from weightier topics, a deeper smile crinkles about the brownrider's eyes in response to that adorable glance of hers. "You flatter me, Yuliye." His lashes drop lower, his glance almost bashfully dropping away as he lets the steps and the ending of the song bring them back towards the edge of the dance floor. "It is not my intent to charm, though I can not say I would be displeased to be in the good graces of such a lovely, admirable lady."

To Cadejoth, Iovniath, despite her rider's threats, still offers up nothing more than cold, the press of ice around his mind, icicles hung on metal. « Bremuth's, that should be honor indeed; he is a fine wingleader, » she informs him first. And then, half-coy, « A shame, indeed. Mine does not play. »

He's not so much taller that she has to stand at too much of a tippy toe, especially in her kid heels, but just enough so she can plant a chaste little kiss to his jaw. "Thank you for the dance, but I see another wingleader who might attempt to charm me as much as you have tonight. I doubt he'll succeed." The final tease pairs with a flicker of her fingers as Yuliye makes a gracious bow and clatters towards the next dignitary to charm.

K'del's gaze follows Tiriana's to the door, and that troubled expression must certainly be noticed, because his own wavers, for a moment. Then, she grabs him, and he attempts to shape his arm so as to make it look a little less like she's dragging him, though he certainly doesn't /seem/ unwilling. "Good," he tells her, of mingling, turning his head so that he can smile graciously at one of the older wingleaders. Mingling! "She doesn't seem the type. Very controlled, from what Cadejoth says. He likes her."

The ice makes pretty patterns, and pretty sounds, too, adding a crunch to the sliding click-clack. « I believe so, » he enthuses, happily. « It's what we wanted. I think we're going to like it there. » The coyness seems to confuse him, on some level; he responds with plain enthusiasm, instead, rippling the words out merrily. « She should. It's more fun that way. Do you play, Iovniath? » (Cadejoth to Iovniath)

L'vae seems no less charmed than his dance partner professes to be, by his pleased expression. His hand at her waist lingers with a light touch through the parting kiss, and then draws behind his back to clasp loosely with his other as he returns a formal bow. "My pleasure. Good evening, Yuliye," the wingleader says in farewell as he watches her go with a smile hovering about his lips. Only after she has slipped well away does the brownrider turn and see about looking for where his drink might have gone.

Yuliye heads to the inner caverns. Yuliye has left.

Tiriana's hand remains tight on K'del's arm, though she at least slides it around so it's less overt dragging and more pretense-of-politeness. "Controlled like Satiet," she says of her dragon, snorting. "At least I'm upfront about how much I hate you. Her? She'll play at nice, but she's remembering every. single. thing you've ever said about her." Which plainly delights Tiriana, whose smile is, for probably the first time tonight, entirely sincere.

« Is it? That is good, then. I'm happy for you, » Iovniath agrees, her pleasure sliding around him like fogbanks, dense and white. But his question? It bemuses her, scattering light and mist in every direction as quickly as it arose. « Of a sort, » she concedes. (Iovniath to Cadejoth)

"Charming," remarks K'del, of all of this, as he smiles graciously for another well-wisher. Not that 'mingling' seems to involve anything but that, just yet. "Between the two of you... And how /is/ R'uen, these days? Saw him, a while back. At least in passing. Before he slept with another woman. Again." His glass is mostly empty - he drains it, and sets it aside on one of the tables.

Happy! Happy for Cadejoth! His happiness at this is palpable, shining through her dense mists, gleaming off metallic edges - glowing. It continues to glow as that mist disappears, her response drawing more questions from the younger bronze. « What sort? » (Cadejoth to Iovniath)

That table may very well hold L'vae's discarded cup as well, since R'lloli is certainly no longer holding it. The dashing bluerider currently is stomping about the dance floor with his hands otherwise occupied with a buxom laundry lass. And so, giving up, his path takes him conveniently across the mingling gold- and bronzerider. "Good evening, weyrwoman," the brownrider bids cordially upon noticing Tiriana. "Rider. Congratulations," is added with a significantly wider smile as he nods greeting to K'del on his way through the crowd.

"R'uen? Weyrleader Fort?" Tiriana slides the title in there as viciously as she can. "/He's/ fine. You know I'm weyrbred, right? I don't give a damn about a flight." Such language while mingling! It earns a couple of sideways looks but no comments; Tiriana just forces her smile into order again, just in time to greet L'vae. "Oh. Hi. --Wingleader," she remembers proper hostessing duties after a moment, and straightens.

Laughter, ringing off his metal; Iovniath brushes soft against him, near teasing. « Aren't we now? » (Iovniath to Cadejoth)

K'del remarks, levelly, keeping his smile in place as the sideways looks come their way, "She's a very pretty woman, though. Cirse." There's no time for him to continue that thought, however, as L'vae's greeting draws attention in that direction. "Wingleader," he greets, grinning. "And thank you. I'm looking forward to working with you, Sir. Avalanche was what we hoped for." With his hand free, now, he'll rest it atop Tiriana's hand on his arm, all very nice.

To Iovniath, Cadejoth projects, « Are we? » For a moment, there's confusion: then, enlightenment. Or, perhaps, assumed enlightment. « Of course. I like games. Playing makes everything more interesting, don't you think? And people get along. I prefer that. »

That straightened posture, and don't they just make an attractive picture, all hand in arm like that? L'vae takes it in anyway, with a slight tick at the edges of his smile. "Excellent," is what he replies brightly to the bronzerider. "Then you won't be complaining about our relative lack of free time." There's a bit of lighthearted jest in there, and his brows tick upwards. "But there will be plenty of time for work later." Again, looking between the two. "Are you having a good time? Has he offered you a dance?" This question to Tiriana. "I don't believe I've seen you out on the floor yet." Not that he's been watching the whole time.

"He hates her," Tiriana says of Cirse, cruelly delighted; but she does lower her voice just enough to try not to let their new companion in on that. Still, she's enough caught off-guard by L'vae's latter words that half that irritation is still on her face when she looks up at him suddenly. "What? No. Not with him," she dismisses K'del at once, and even pries her hand away from the bronzerider's. "Are you offering? Because I think I've--detained him from other guests too long already, anyway."

If she doesn't quite believe he truly understands, then Iovniath still indulges him, with tendrils of mist that creep back in, running in and out of the links of chain that characterize his mental touch. « Oh, I do, certainly. It should be quite boring, if we didn't all have our games. And if we spent all our time just snapping at heels, like some. » (Iovniath to Cadejoth)

Despite L'vae, K'del manages to add, even /cheerfully/, "Then he's got bad taste. No, Sir, I won't be. It'll be good to be doing something structured." Jest or no, he takes it at face-value, smiling brightly at his new Wingleader. His mouth opens at the question of dancing, head turning towards Tiriana; clearly, it's not something that has crossed his mind until now. It snaps shut again, as she pulls her hand away, lips pulling in tightly. A frown? Could it be? "There's no one who desperately needs to see me, Tiriana," he allows. "But if the Wingleader would like to dance with you--"

It's a peculiar kind of dancing, her mist and his chains, his trying to match the movements of hers, and not quite managing, but having a lovely time all the same. There's eagerness, almost pure joy, in the sensation, from the bronze. « K'del treats yours like a game, » he confides; it's a darker note to his otherwise sunny touch. « But he's not usually like that. We play /good/ games. » (Cadejoth to Iovniath)

To Cadejoth, Iovniath delivers a pulse of clean white in answer to that, her thoughts untroubled by Cadejoth's admission. She's politely surprised at best, and asks, « Does he. And the rules, of his game with her? Is he winning at it? »

Even if he catches a hint of those lowered words of the goldrider's, L'vae at least pretends not to notice them. Or the more audible reply of K'del's. He does shift back a little at the initial look on Tiriana's features. "Well" his hand starts to roll before hazel eyes shift back to the bronzerider. His grin tugs up to one side. "I am afraid I have interrupted." A hand smoothes down the already-straight lines of his sweater before tucking into a pocket. The brownrider inclines a slight bow towards Tiriana, coming back around to answering, "although I would be happy for the chance to take you for a turn about the floor, if you were so inclined."

To Iovniath, Cadejoth's troubles over this are marked by his hesitation, and that single silvered chain that connects him to K'del, now twining in and out, as he tests it, thoughtfully. « Only sometimes, » he admits. « When she gets annoyed at him, that's good. And when she doesn't, that's not so good. I don't know if he ever really wins, though. It's /silly/. »

"No, I suppose there's not," Tiriana agrees to K'del's latter, breezy. She's already turning toward the dance floor, a couple of sweeping steps before she glances back. "Not interrupting, no," she assures L'vae. "I'd be happy to dance with you." So gracious! Who knew she had it in her. "Hold this," she orders K'del, pushing her not-quite-finished glass toward his hand.

K'del accepts the glass more out of surprise than a willingness to be useful; for a moment, his expression flickers unhappily, then, he pushes a smile back onto his face, taking a step backwards to indicate that he's in no way going to stand in the way of this. Left behind, he transfers the glass from one hand to the other, and then finishes the contents, helpfully, which is not much of a consolation prize. This round? This one goes to Tiriana.

« Silly, » Iovniath repeats. « It seems--more than that. Dangerous, for yours, and... cruel, to mine. » She's slow to put that feeling to words, however, but her sadness at such mutes her thoughts, matte white fog rather than gleaming ice. (Iovniath to Cadejoth)

It's not exactly like Cadejoth cowers in the face of this response, though he retreats slightly, his acceptance of this writ clear in the way his coils still, the wind rustling between them. « Dangerous? You think yours will win. » He's soft, in his words. « Yours is cruel, too. To him, even when he's not trying to win. And to others. They worry about her. But not /her/. What she might do. They doubt her. » (Cadejoth to Iovniath)

« No, » and Iovniath's correction is gentle, snowflakes that rest a moment against him and then slide away. « I think no one wins this game. » But it's the bronze's latter words that hold her attention the longest, though her query is a simple, « Do they? » prompt to continue. (Iovniath to Cadejoth)

L'vae hides the twist of his smile by reaching up to drag a knuckle down the bridge of his nose. He lags a few steps behind her - because yes, who knew? The amused cant isn't entirely gone from his mouth when he gives a nod to K'del. And then he's off, dutifully catching up to Tiriana and gallantly offering out an arm to swing her into step and join the mass of couples out on the dance floor. "It hasn't been so long since your own graduation, has it?" the brownrider notes conversationally as he finds the beat of the music. Eyes looking away briefly to find the drink-downing bronzerider over her shoulder. Supressing an amused reaction. "Was it much like this? At Telgar?"

Tiriana, taking L'vae's arm, slides into the dance's move easily: her hostessing skills might be lacking, but her dancing ones are certainly above par. "Long enough," she answers the wingleader, her voice just a touch sour; she, too, glances back at K'del and glares when she catches the remains of her drink disappearing. "At--what, graduation?" she tries to refocus on her current partner. "Pretty much, except I slipped out soon as I could, instead of having to stay around playing hostess."

To Iovniath, Cadejoth considers this answer with a certain, sad reluctance, accepting it in a deep breath more reminiscent of a howl to the moon, if a muted one, than a simple inhale-exhale. « True, » he allows, finally. « He wouldn't want me to say. But. They, » and the image is presented: K'del and Milani. Thankfully, just their faces. « don't think she acts like a leader should. And worry about what she'd do. If she was. » Hastily, « But I don't think they mean it as anything except that they don't get along. That's all. It's not a big deal. »

K'del eyes the bottom of the glass, thus completely missing the way both of the dancing pair glance at him. It being empty, and him being alone, now, he glances up once more to consider the pair, and then heads for the drinks table again, to refill it. His own glass long gone, he appropriates Tiriana's, downing another drink in a single swig. Bah humbug.

A hint of sympathy touches L'vae's brow at the sour note. It's gone by the time she's speaking again - he nods. Yes, graduation. "Ah, I see," he smiles congenially. "It is not your favorite part of the job, is it?" Perhaps somewhat begging the question: what is? The dance floor is full enough that the brownrider is quite occupied with steering them safely about that he cannot witness K'del's further appropriation of Tiriana's cup. And yet, he's getting them back around towards the side of the floor where they left the bronzerider, so when the song ends she'll have a chance to try and get it back and all.

To Cadejoth, Iovniath's dim light shifts, a certain wry tone in the play of mist about him again. She's not surprised now, but still, the hurt's there, not quite palpable. « We know. She, and I, » she concedes. « That others worry. » And if she's sad, she still doesn't seem worried herself; her thought contracts into a white ball, glowing with cold. « What else could they mean, except their not getting along. Surely not--? » Though Iovniath seems to not quite dare to say the words, the question still hangs between them: they wouldn't /really/ plan anything else out against her rider, would they?

"R'uen was there then," Tiriana explains; leave it to the imagination what that slipping out really entailed. The thought still draws a faint wistful quirk of her mouth, before she shakes it off in favor of the dance. "There's not a favorite part," she answers the unsaid. "It's /all/ like this." It draws a sigh from her, but as they navigate closer back to where K'del formerly was, her expression shifts thoughtful. She lowers her voice and draws in closer to the brownrider. "So, I was wondering. Do you ever have, say... accidents, in your wing? Where people end up hurt? Not /dead/ or anything, just..." She trails off, directs a rather hopeful glance up at L'vae.

K'del is far enough away, being still at the drinks table, refilling that glass, that there's not even the slightest chance of him overhearing Tiriana's question. Which is probably for the best. Still, once his glass has been refilled, he begins to amble back over, no doubt for lack of anything better to do, and he can, at least, see the way she's drawing him. His expression is unreadable; he leans up against a chair, and turns away, to glance around the rest of the room.

To Iovniath, Cadejoth seems aware - deeply, keenly - aware of that hurt, and it hurts him, too; his apology, his unhappiness with this, is silent, but visible, in the stiffening of his usually ever-active movements, the low sound he makes. « I'm sorry, » he says. « Perhaps she should watch some of the others. Learn how to be nicer! So they don't dislike her. » The rest? Waved away, the question dismissed like a mist, banished entirely. « No, no, of course not. There is no /harm/ intended. » He's certain, radiates this, focuses it. « I would not believe that of K'del. You shouldn't, either. »

« Perhaps she's here so that others may learn patience, » counters Iovniath, rebuke cast as a tease; all forgiven, brushed away in a sweep of snow over all hurts, his and her own. « No, of course not. He is harmless, no? » she agrees. « I will not worry. » (Iovniath to Cadejoth)

"Ah," again. More drawn out this time, understanding. Then, "not quite what you expected out of life," L'vae guesses. And he must be wearing the right kind of cologne tonight, to have yet another beautiful woman leaning close. His chin shifts, bringing his ear closer to hear over the music. Completely unaware that K'del is watching, so not a chance at deciphering the younger man's cryptic expression. "Accidents." Flatly. The browrider cants his head to better slant a look at the goldrider. The song is dying off anyway, so he happens to come to a halt without drawing away at all. Just one corner of his mouth is quirked upwards. "You wouldn't really wish harm on anyone, Tiriana," the wingleader says quietly. A bit lightly chiding. Maybe quite a bit hopeful.

To Iovniath, Cadejoth /leans/ in on that tease, no doubt counting it far preferable to that hurt: oh, satisfaction complete. Hidden beneath the snow, things must surely no longer exist. « Not /harmless/, » he adds, however. « He's useful! He's going to climb, my K'del. Be important. He's oh-so-clever! But you shouldn't worry, all the same. » All is good again; his thoughts gleam and twang.

"Not--permanently," Tiriana notes, gaze shifting downward guiltily. She stops too as the music winds down, and after another couple of seconds she releases L'vae and takes a step back. "Nevermind, forget it." It's not quite an apology, but it's close, certainly so by Tiriana's standards. And she's quick to move away, over toward where K'del waits with a handily refilled glass. "I'll take that back, thanks."

What glass? Oh - /that/ glass. K'del gives Tiriana a Look as she returns, and, after her request, shrugs. He drains the glass entirely - that's a lot of whiskey in one gulp - then offers it back, pressing it into her hand. "You'll have to excuse me," he says, then, encompassing both Tiriana and L'vae. "I've things to attend to. Good night." She can fetch her own whiskey, thank you. He saunters away without so much as another glance back, his usual swagger more pronounced.

To Cadejoth, Iovniath laughs lightly, a brush of fur against him, more sensual than her usual wintry mix. « Oh, is he. Yes, I seem to remember hearing something about that, » she agrees. Musingly, « And how did that plan go--wasn't I to be a pawn in it? »

K'del's plans are obviously something that Cadejoth takes more pleasure in: his chains wind and curl, shaping obliquely the plans his rider has taken such care over. « It's too soon, » he explains. « But you've waited. To fly, I mean. Waited for us. So it's all in motion - you'll see! » The brush of her fur draws distinct pleasure from the bronze - again, he leans in, luxuriating in it, extending his moonlight, the aching throb of his voice. « We're going home, now. Having visitors. I'll talk to you again, though! » Soon. (Cadejoth to Iovniath)

« Of course, » Iovniath agrees, fur lingering in place, just for him. « Of course. We've waited for the right moment. --Another time. » And she withdraws slowly, fur fading into snow and ice and a last wisp of mist that eventually dissipates as well, leaving him and his to their own guests. (Iovniath to Cadejoth)

To Iovniath, Cadejoth will take that thought on face-value. 'The 'right moment'? All to do with him. And his K'del. Perfect! And then: off and away.

K'del heads to the bowl. K'del has left.

The guilt comes as somewhat of a surprise. Enough of one, anyway, to keep L'vae quiet as he blinks down at the goldrider. She steps back, and his smile falls back into its usual curve. The only other reply he gives is a shallow dip of his head, partial acceptance of her quasi-apology and partial reflexive parting gesture as his dance partner moves away. If the brownrider is shadowing a few strides back in her wake, it's mostly because he's on his way to the drink table. "Good night," he lifts his voice to return to K'del. There's a hitch in his step to dodge the edge of his glance back to Tiriana, but otherwise he's off to see about replacing that pint he gave up two dances ago.

Tiriana's mouth twists as she finds the empty glass in hand, and she glances from it to K'del's back and looks very much like she's considering just how bad a hostess she would be if she threw said glass at one of those guests. With a resigned sigh, she clenches her hand around the glass, then lays it aside on a nearby table, abandoning it. To L'vae, if not K'del, "Good night." Maturity blows.

>---< Gossip: Weyrwomanly Indigestion? >-------------------------------------<

Shortly after the wings were announced and the weyrlings 'officially'

graduated, the Weyrwoman was seen being escorted out of the living caverns

and wasn't seen at the party for the rest of the evening. Some noted that

the goldrider looked peaked throughout and rumors were quick to fly from

there: that she might be pregnant, or perhaps showed up drunk already and

left completely, unable to stand intoxicated. But later, general consensus

seems to have come to the conclusion that Satiet suffered a bout of

indigestion and shifted her next day's schedule onto Tiriana without much

warning.

>-----------------------------< Day 11, Month 13, Turn 18 of Interval 10 >---<