Difference between revisions of "Logs:Hatching Afterwards"

And just like that - it's all over. K'del steps away from Cadejoth's side, glancing up at Iolene for a moment, before he straightens, and turns back towards the candidates. Cadejoth's low rumble is almost sad - sad, but also happy, a mix that can't easily be explained. "Know you're disappointed," he begins, gaze sliding from Brieli to Arysanne, to each candidate in turn. "But we really appreciate that you took the time to Stand with us. Maybe your lifemate will be shelled in a future clutch. In any case, you are more than welcome to stay. We'd be delighted to have you. Now - there's a feast awaiting. Please do join us for that, and decide what you want to do after a good night's rest." It's clearly not a duty he especially enjoys, this time.

Brieli starts to breathe a bit easier as things slow down and stop, but she does look after Azaylia and Lirienne both for a moment with a wistful expression. Her composure slowly returns with each breath, even though she still clenches and loosens her fists with leftover tension. As K'del speaks, she tilts her head to the side to listen, expression somewhere between disappointment and near-relief. She gives him a nod as his gaze falls on her, and falls in with the group of once-candidates shuffling off the Sands, some muttering and whispering amongst themselves. One notes, "At least we can drink now?"

Arysanne looks as though she's about to cry, but Brieli's remark suddenly, abruptly, makes her laugh. "Oh man," she says. "I want to get drunk so bad."

Iolene scrambles off of Cadejoth, forgetting the heat of the sands and looks at the leftover candidates. It's a first sight for her and one that... sets the pretty face into a flushed look of sadness. Leaning in towards K'del after his speech long enough to brush her lips against the corner of his mouth and then his cheek. "Let's dance later?" And then she's stepping towards the group of once-candidates, slipping in from behind to link her arm through Brieli's. "Let's go get something to eat. You and I. And all of you. Let's get drunk."

K'del seems amused by Iolene's gesture; his nod is definitely one of agreement. "Of course," he tells her, though he'll wait where he is a few minutes more before departing the sands.

You head up a short set of stairs to the hatching galleries.

Hatching Galleries, High Reaches Weyr(#290RJs)

From the sands, Seeming surprised and rather touched by the goldrider's impusiveness, Brieli looks at Iolene and just nods, following her lead.

From the sands, Brieli heads up a short set of stairs to the hatching galleries.

Brieli heads up a short set of stairs from the hatching sands.

Brieli has arrived.

"What do you think," E'ten counters without any hint of lowering the smirk that crosses his lips before it eases into a well-meant grin towards N'rov before looking to Ali for a moment before lifting his shoulders into a noncommittal shrug. "I'm not adverse to any extra stay here. We can pay our respects. I'll leave it to you, Ali." Because he doesn't have a firm opinion either way.

Io climbs up those steps in the middle of a group of now-former candidates. A blue look goes to the dignitaries where Monaco's Weyrleaders must be, and the arm about Brieli's tightens all the more. "I've been in and out of the kitchens all day and they have a lot of food prepared for us. Though, I am guessing you must have gone too. I-," the braided blonde girl in her sapphire blue crunchy-noise making dress skips a beat. "I want to ask something of you. Later?"

"As long as we don't lose Boll to them again, I think we're okay," Ali actually manages to joke about that, but it's a little bit rough and forced, and a second after she's said it she's looking chagrined. "I- in a manner of speaking." Knowing. Them. The crowd around them is staring to head out, angling for the exit, though the Fortian junior's in no hurry, perhaps because she has to claim her cloak back, first. To E'ten, with a smile, "I'd like to. And some wine to warm up before facing between would be nice, too."

The group from High Reaches Hold are already standing and beginning to make their way towards the stairs, Issedi's arm resting lightly on Devaki's as the pair follow closely behind Lord Braeden, bracing themselves for the snow out in the bowl.

Devaki heads down a short set of stairs to the bowl.

Devaki has left.

Brieli is in the height of fashion along with all the others - white robe, thick clunky sandals, her hair in a messy bun that somehow still works for her. Trying not to notice all the people she's completely underdressed around, she still follows Io's gaze with her dark one, up to those foreign Weyrleaders. Interesting. Looking back to the goldrider, "Anytime. I suppose I'm a seamstress again, and you know how much of my attention sewing actually takes. And I've been in and out. Trying to keep busy."

"So no gambling," N'rov says with such a straight face, once he's gotten over E'ten and /his/ teasing. "Could we lose Ruatha instead? Bitra?" Which doesn't even look to them. He shakes out Ali's cloak, holds it up so she can slip into it more easily, straightening the collar with a little unnecessary pat... and a glance past, towards where those of High Reaches Hold are disappearing, and then to who's thus revealed: goldrider and candidates. "Over there," he says so quietly.

"Maybe," says Iolene, noncommittal about Brieli's return to sewing. A catch of shiny raven hair captures her attention and the genial goldrider's expression tightens. "Hopefully not. But we can talk about it later. If you want to get changed before eating?" Perhaps, Io's noticed those attempts not to notice, or her own sympathetic self-consciousness gets the best of her. "Or here." Impulsive to the end, one of the shiny little pins in her hair gets transferred from hers to Brieli's along with a bright smile. "Now, at least you have something to complement how pretty you are." The departing High Reaches Hold contingent is unnoticed, but their movements reveal Fort Weyr's attache in Io's line of sight when the teenager turns.

E'ten couldn't look more amused, keeping his grin down to moderate to low levels as he waits for his jacket to be handed back to him at some point. In the meantime, he doesn't directly join into the teasing, instead offering an arm to Ali. If inclined, given that the gesture is not overt on his part. "I think no bartering is a good idea. Just social. It beats getting watch duty on the Star Stones," he remarks to both, looking to those parties thinning out and gathering alike. "Where do we start again?"

Lifting brows quizzically, Brieli notes dryly, "Well, you know how much I love my job. It might be difficult. But yes, later. Of course." She's about to agree with the whole idea of changing, but Io's little hairpin and compliment both brings a smile to her lips; touching it lightly, "Transformed. Good enough for a hatching feast, given I was on the Sands, I think? Besides, I am starving. I was too anxious to eat earlier. Now it's all come on me at once. Or it's sympathy pains for the hatchlings."

"No gambling with our Holds," Ali agrees, a thread of amusement tracing through her voice despite the firmness of the response. "Bitra, however /isn't/-" she begins, with a laugh, slipping into the cloak with a nod of thanks. Barely a moment of hesitation before she slips a hand through E'ten's arm- glancing at N'rov a beat later. "Follow the crowd, towards the bowl." She's well-aware of N'rov's quiet comment, and her gaze flickers over the Reachian goldrider and her companion, with a polite smile. But it's too far to /talk/, and there's an odd sort of reluctance about her all the same.

"Let's go then." It'll be cold, between that taffeta dress and the white robe, but between starvation and distraction with other events, Iolene seems unfazed about going out into the snow. Instead, there's a delighted, youthful little giggle that trails in her wake as she attempts to drag Brieli along into the snow and then from the snow into the living caverns as quickly as possible. It is cold after all.

You head to the living cavern.

Brieli heads in from the bowl.

Brieli is all about getting pulled around tonight, apparently. She's a little less reluctant to be pulled by Io than she was by Azaylia, however - that might just have something to do with a super snowy walk and a girl who's never really been seen to enjoy the cold yet. As the other former candidates follow and spill into the warm cavern, heading for food and drink and merriment, the tall dark girl takes a moment to brush snow off sandaled feet as quickly as possible, before it melts all over her. "It's going to be a slushy disaster by the door tonight - have to mind your step and dress when you leave."

Not as visible on the sands, but now apparent in the bright twinkly lights of a decorated living cavern, Iolene's dress is a sapphire affair of taffeta and satin with intricate beading on the bodice and scattered throughout the skirts. Her hair's done up with little sparkly pins that hold up tiny braids in a loose bun. As Brieli speaks, Io's busy shaking her skirts loose of snow, but is unfazed by the damp darkening at the bottom of them. "It is, but I don't care. I- love dancing. I love parties. I wonder if this is what it's like to be a lady. All the time. Did you grow up with parties? We didn't, not a lot on the islands at any rate."

Ali heads in from the bowl.

E'ten heads in from the bowl.

N'rov heads in from the bowl.

The living cavern is strung in twinkling lights and the blues and blacks of High Reaches. The drudges are out with trays of bubbly and other drinks and small canapes as the buffet lines might be long. There's music in the air and dancing and crowds of well-dressed folk milling about, clustered in conversation or on their way towards finding people they know. A few dignitaries remain, including that of Crom's niece, whose bright smile and infectious laughter have already brought about a court of (mostly) male and (some) females about her.

"Such a lovely dress, Io. Don't slip on the way out at least." Because falling down in the sludge in that blue would be a tragedy. Brieli and Iolene have just come in from the cold, and are finishing shaking the snow off. As she straightens, Brieli tells Io, waving one of those bubbly trays nearer, "I think they don't get parties all the time, but more often than we do at least. And we had a lot of parties - not as many proper hold ones, but more like this. I just wish it were warmer; I'd rather the stars and a great bonfire."

Riveted by that last, Iolene takes in the talk of more parties, stars and great bonfires with large, blue eyes. "That sounds... lovely. We'd celebrate births and weddings. Sometimes deaths," the last added a little reluctantly. "But we never had much to celebrate with other than the warmth of each other's company." It's all so kumbaya and naively spoken. "Thank you," says the goldrider in a quieter voice, as a by the way, her hand catching on Brieli's robe, even as her other hand reaches out for a glass of something bubbly. "For before. For what you said to her."

A light dusting of snow covers the Fort contingent as they arrive. Several of the riders make beelines for the drinks table, while Ali seems more focused on shucking her cloak and casting about for somewhere to settle down, first. "What do you think?" she murmurs, "Food and drink first? Buck tradition and dance? Mingle?" the latter is spoken with reluctance, but given her position it'd be amiss of her /not/ to suggest that. Still and all, she's looking at the pair of weyrlings for guidance, content to defer to their preferences, "I'm happy for you two to pick- given this is probably your first formal outing since-" impression, presumably, though she doesn't finish that thought, stepping out of the way of some of the more focused guests.

N'rov enters /after/ his junior weyrwoman with her sweeping cloak, but guardsman-close, and reaches to take custody of that garment again unless she's lost her patience with him or with them. He's eyeing the food, and then says sotto voce, "Look at those lights. They're sparkly." As are the girls. His gray glance slides E'ten's way, past and towards nieces and once-candidates and back to Ali again: "And as long as you save me a dance, I'm good. After your mingling. Did they warn you before you Impressed, that there would be mingling?" He raises his brows at E'ten: surely they didn't warn /them/!

With some little sadness, "No one ever just played music, around the fire, danced? It sounds like life was hard." Brieli takes her own glass, apparently forgetting about the whole 'haven't eaten all day' thing. As she's about to touch it to Iolene's, the blonde's tug on her robe and lowered voice catches her attention - she's momentarily confused until comprehension flashes in dark eyes, and she just smiles. "How did you hear, all the way over there?" she has to ask. Perhaps smugly, "And she was getting on my last nerve."

"I-," Iolene flushes and looks into the bubbly drink. "I didn't." The admission is rueful. "Ysavaeth did. She might not have been pleased with Hraedhyth but... she's her daughter." And apparently that trumps all, even surpassing the superficialities of unattractiveness. "My ancestors might have been exiled, but even the Hold is willing to recognize our Blood claims." The cloak is hard to miss, with its sweeping, and Io's attention drifts to the Fortians arriving. "I... I've wanted to say something to them since a while ago. Will you join me, Brieli?" The look in her eyes? She's practically begging for the girl to agree, be supportive, don't let her trip on her face. Those are some expressive eyes.

E'ten doesn't seem worse for wear when it comes to the jacket that had been shrugged into, even though the dusting of snow is quick to melt once indoors. "You'll have to mingle eventually, Ali," comes the quip even as his gaze looks over to N'rov with a rueful shake of his head. "I think that it might have been in one of our classes. All that studying they put us through before and after Impressing. Mingle first, fun later. You did want a glass of wine, Weyrwoman?" Meaning Ali this time, he does notice the approach of a pair of High Reaches people. One wearing a difficult to miss knot.

Brieli's own eyes might go a bit wide as she realizes that Ysavaeth does, in fact, see and know all, as was feared. Still, the gold is likely not displeased by her actions, so after something more than a sip of the sparkling wine, "She shouldn't have been there if she wasn't interested in Ysavaeth's dragons. It was disrespectful to her... and to you, Io. Unfairly so." And by her tone, that she cannot stand. Following Io's gaze curiously, she looks back and tries not to grin too much at the pleading expression. "Of course. They're near the food too, so that's perfect. Fated."

Ali's more than happy to divest her cloak into N'rov's care, with a grateful smile for him at the offer. And a pleasant laugh, too: "I definitely will, and-" with a little twitch of lips, "The mingling was a surprise. I'd like to say a pleasant one, but-" with a sigh, she concedes E'ten's comment with a rueful, "Spoken like the son of a Harper. But if /I/ have to do it, then so do both of you." It's a shared pain, judging by her wry expression. Not to mention a (for her) fairly enthusiastic murmur of agreement to E'ten's offer of a drink. "I'd like to catch up with the Ista contingent, if they're here, and I saw a few Monaco riders earlier in the galleries-" she hasn't yet noticed Iolene's look in their direction, it seems.

"Fated." Iolene's relief is almost comical, her finger latched to Brieli's robe latching on all the more with a hand that clenches a little. "Let's do this." A glance up to the ceiling and those twinkling lights. A deep breath. A long exhale. Then, the sapphire taffeta and satin concoction and the girl drowned within it, moves towards the Fortians, an irrepressible smile quickly lighting up those apprehensive features. "Welcome! Our duties to your Weyr, your queens, and your queen in particular," she begins in all the formal ways she wasn't trained in, the latter to Ali.

Did N'rov sleep through that class? If there even was such a class? His smile teeters on the edge of enigmatic, however much of it is a bluff, and by the time he's stowed Ali's cloak with his own coat -- not within easy sight, it must be said -- and returned, here comes the frothy concoction. Their queens: it sets gray eyes to dancing. "Vhaeryth and Adiulth appreciate it," he murmurs dulcetly from the background, once Ali's had her say.

With a nod, Brieli follows Iolene, though she'll drain her glass and exchange it for another along the way - she doesn't need to be particularly good or diplomatic, just supportive! Which might be good & diplomatic, but whatever, she's still in a hatching robe and just left the Sands. "High Reaches' Duties," she echoes pleasantly however, with an easy smile for each of the Fort contingent; a touch to the sparkly pin in her hair. And drink.

E'ten doesn't seem to mind, still wearing his own jacket while at least two of of the three have been stowed who knows where. Offering a resigned sinking of his shoulder to Ali's pronouncement, he can only and does match the ruefulness with a smile of his own. "Glad that you noticed that," he remarks to one particular weyrwoman before looking to Iolene with a salute. Not as crisp but it is there, as he replies, "Fort's duties to the Reaches and her Queens. It was a good hatching, from what I saw."

There's a mix of emotions in Ali's reception of Iolene: something a little bit anxious and awkward, and tentative to, to her smile. But she's had Turns now to practice, and those words spill forth so willingly at a time of need, to cover up her reaction: "Fort's duties to High Reaches and her clutch. And felicitations on a fine hatching. I'm sure the Weyrleader," is that a note of familiarity in the Fortian junior's voice there? "-is very pleased with the outcome." Is that a slight turn of her head N'rov's way? It doesn't last for long, as her gaze falls on Brieli with a pleasant sort of smile, then back to Iolene.

"To the bronzes as well. And all your dragons. Isn't it strange and sad that we don't give our duties to all dragons and just queens? For what? Plopping out a few eggs?" Ysavaeth must be sleeping, that's probably the only way Iolene can dare say such things. She's pleased at Ali's reception, ignoring the momentary awkwardness and tentative start. Iolene's smile blossoms more, suffusing her face with color and brightening those deep, dark blue eyes. The hand that's clinging to Brieli releases long enough for it to reach out to Ali, the gesture in one part full of gratitude and in other parts hopeful. Thank you. Thank you for everything. For agreeing. For standing by K'del." Where the Fort goldrider uses titles imbued in familiar tones, Iolene claims the name. "He told me about your agreement and I'm- he's, we're both grateful." Gushing aside, the teenager turns her champagne holding hand to Brieli, "This was one of our candidates, come Crom way, Brieli. And I'm Iolene, but you can call me Io if you want. Most everyone does. I have question, do you mind?"

N'rov watches, listens, his smile widening for their bronzes even if it's followed by an indulgent hint of a shrug: all dragons, why not. It's a party! He thinks to follow E'ten's salute, finally, lightly, but then leans around Ali just enough to insert his own question for Brieli, sotto voce: "Do you dance?" In her so un-concoction-y robe.

G'zal comes into the High Reaches Living Cavern and he is all smiles as he is dressed in his gather finery. It's his first time visiting another weyr as a rider, even if he's still a weyrling. He is all smiles as he looks around and he hears someone give greetings. He moves over to give his greetings as well. He gives a salute to Iolene, "Fort Weyr's greetings to High Reaches and all it's dragons." He says as he hears the tail end of Iolene's comment about not honoring all the dragons. He gives a smile and a wink, "Wonderful hatching. I'm G'zal, Weyrling of Green Narath. It's an honor to meet you." He moves off to get something to eat and drink, greeting done and he grabs himself a glass of champagne and a meatroll.

Quietly, dryly, "Perhaps someone thought it would take too long." Brieli is terribly, terribly interested in Ali and Iolene's exchange, dark gaze gone sharp as she looks between the two goldriders from behind her fluted glass. It's likely all the gushing that really raises her brows, but all that goes away when Io turns to introduce her; with another smile for Ali, "A pleasure, weyrwoman." N'rov, however, gets a bit of the side-eye. Even so, "I do dance, but I'll have to admit, I'm not terribly good at it. Mediocre at best."

The comment about queens and eggs earns a wrinkle of brow from Ali, like the islander's speaking a foreign language all of a sudden. "It doesn't seem strange at all," the dark-haired woman answers, slowly, glancing towards the Harper-bred E'ten for a moment, then back to the High Reaches goldrider. "It's tradition." If she's surprised by the stretching of Iolene's hand towards her, the other woman's words earn a stronger reaction: a flush of color and a stiffening of posture forms the Fortian's rigid response, momentary alarm careening across her expression, barely covered by the drop of her gaze. The fact that she says nothing at all to Iolene's gushing gratitude is telling enough, and she seems happy to focus on something, anything else, despite the unevenness of her voice, "Well met, Brieli. I'm Ali, and this is E'ten, and N'rov," she introduces in turn, before, to Iolene: "I remember, from High Reaches' last hatching." As to whether a question is okay? She doesn't respond, not immediately, that slight haziness of a rider conversing with their dragon perhaps excuse enough.

There's something restrained, in the touch of the familiar Fortian gold's mental tones. Her stars do not stream through the skies as she wishes, and the ground holds her, reluctantly. There's something faint, curious, an echo of panic trying to be withheld that is definitely not the queen's: « Ali is alarmed, at the comments your goldrider makes. She wonders if it is already public knowledge that Fort supports yours? That- » a pause her, as if she has to clarify, since it doesn't make /sense/, « -your senior is not your senior? » (Isyath to Cadejoth)

To Isyath, Cadejoth is jolted out of his rest by these remarks, and takes a few moments to reply. « It... » He breaks off. This is unfamiliar territory, and it shows in the way his mind clinks to a halt, so cautious and unsure. « No. No, it shouldn't be like that. » His rider is off with some other dignitaries, too embroiled there to escape and rescue the situation, but - « I will see what I can do. »

"Tradition." It's a funny word, spoken in the way Iolene says it; a tone that both dismisses its current worth and cherishes what it's meant in one breath. As expressive as her eyes were once in entreating Brieli to come here, so too, is there expression in this manipulation of her low voice. But then, Io finds herself dismissed, the rigidity of Ali's response and the refocus on Brieli turning the flush of youth's delight into crestfallen embarrassment, and the chatty young woman goes nominally silent, her fingers turning that stem of that slender flute around and around in dizzying little circles. "Well met," is just about all she manages, the effervescent quality of her voice diminished.

To Ysavaeth, Cadejoth has been resting, rather as though the evening's events have tired him out completely. « K'del asks yours to be cautious. We cannot play our hand too soon, he says. » He sounds confused, as though he's not entirely sure what his rider is getting at, or where this is coming from. Or why loyalty to his queen is not complete.

Roused from slumber, Ysavaeth is nothing delightful. She's deserved rest after the long vigil of making sure her eggs remain untouched until the time is just right, or at least that shot of cranky cacophony in her normally melodic tones implies. « He may tell her himself. Do you fly? » The last, touched wistfully as she shakes more sleep from her mind, is sent for Cadejoth. Not for his rider. « Do you leap and soar and stretch your wings in freedom? » And then. « Are you proud, my darling? » (Ysavaeth to Cadejoth)

"I haven't asked him," undeterred N'rov admits with a nod his fellow bronzerider's way, for all that his gaze doesn't waver from Brieli, "But I'm sure he's terribly good. His father was a harper, you know. Would you like to dance with him? Or with me. Now that you know our names. Or would you rather dance with G'zal?" now that their fellow weyrling's spoken up, though he doesn't look back to see him -- or to see him move on to the drinks. N'rov's prattle remains light, his gaze candidly admiring, for all that Standing those sands is surely not the least sweaty of experiences... but his near hand's also lifted to unobtrusively bolster Ali's forearm.

No, Cadejoth does not fly - although he'd clearly like to, and suggests, without words that tomorrow they might fly together, might taste that freedom once more. « I'm very proud, » he reports back. « So proud. We did well. No - you did well. » His was the easy bit. That said? « He's busy with Lord Nabol. It seemed important. » And, « I'm sorry I woke you. » (Cadejoth to Ysavaeth)

"Well met to both of you," E'ten offers once introduced to both Brieli and Iolene, already glancing over at N'rov as he introduces himself to the former. Amused to some degree, he does add for being polite, "Bronze Adiulth's rider." He's doing his fair share of listening and almost misses something important. Yeah, that 'thing' courtesy of N'rov pipping up which sends a pair of green-gray eyes onto his fellow rider. "My father is a Harper and you do know I'm standing right here," he remarks wryly, glancing to the women standing in their group. A good mix, all considered.

G'zal hears his name and he moves over towards N'rov with a smile on his face, "Hello there." He gives a polite nod to Brieli as he takes a sip of champagne and he teases N'rov, "As long as you remember to save a dance for me N'rov." He gives a teasing wink as he eats some of his meatroll, "Some dancing would be lovely as soon as I finish my meal. Seeing those lovely dragons out on the sands has left me starving."

Now it's the Fortian weyrwoman getting the side-eye from Brieli - Iolene might not be picking up on Ali's odd behavior around the subject of the Weyrleader, but the once-candidate seems to be, though she says nothing. She just smiles despite Ali's uneven voice, seeming appreciative of the introductions. "Well met, Ali. And E'ten, and N'rov. I hope you're enjoying your time here, despite all the snow. I'm not a fan." Yet she's here, up in the mountains, why? Looking over at Io as she falls quiet, the tall girl has the same sort of air about her as she did when she she told the harper off on the Sands. However, despite being a glass and a half into the evening, she keeps her mouth shut. She's good at that. And despite herself, she's amused by the bronzerider. "It's nice of you to offer options. I'll dance with you." But... there's a glance to his hand on Ali's arm, then Io's hand on her robe. They're maybe busy.

Ali looks distinctly ill-at-ease, which is to say, for her, probably normal for this sort of a gathering. It's intensified, perhaps, by the company, and when her gaze finally refocuses, it's to chew her lower lip in response to the way Iolene phrases the word. Tradition. The Fortian woman doesn't even have a handy glass to keep herself distracted with, and so she's forced to focus on the conversation, however uncomfortable she is with it. N'rov's subtle support might help: "The harpers are very good, here," she says, rather lamely, like she's trying hard. The talk of dancing, however, does earn a brief smile, directed mainly at the bronzeriders, then, to Iolene: "I- I bet Ysavaeth is pleased with the clutch." She's trying, but her discomfort is nearly a visible thing.

There's forgiveness in the young queen's touch, for Cadejoth's rider. The discordant notes fade into the greater melody and Ysavaeth stretches her limbs out on those sands, where she's reclined herself midst the shards of her departed clutch. « Is it always, a little sad? Bittersweet? » She shares her view, the small splinters and shards of white remnant along with footsteps and a hollow where he once sat. « When will I rise again? » When will she be -with- him again in the lustful yearning of flights? When will there be eggs to tend to again? (Ysavaeth to Cadejoth)

"She-." There's so much Iolene could say here, and in the part of her lips, she might, but then a look at Ali turns those cheeks scarlet though, manfully (womanfully?) the dampness in her eyes is kept at bay from spilling. "She is," is what she ends up with, her response just as lame as Ali's attempts to make small talk. "Speaking of-." Brieli is relinquished with a parting pat. "Please drop by tomorrow? Ysavaeth wants to go flying with me. Stretch her wings, feel the snow against her back. Go far far away." Dragon's desires and rider's voice comingles and in this, a very small, ghost of a smile re-emerges. "Please," starts Io, "Enjoy our hospitality," after which she turns to depart.

N'rov mimes sudden hand-to-mouth surprise, free hand to mouth surprise, turning to E'ten: right here, really? Everyone, look at E'ten, not anyone who might be shaky over there, nor either weyrwoman's arguably lame conversation. "He wants you to know that he's standing right there," he tells Brieli quite as though he hasn't seen her downward glance, adding, "I'm from Boll, myself," with a wry roll of his own eyes around: everyone knows about High Reaches' and Fort's and Southern Boll's history? Good. "Do you like fast dances, slow dances? I don't know if dances here are any different from back home, but we can certainly give it a whirl. How long until the next song starts, I wonder."

If Cadejoth does not entirely understand what there is to be forgiven, he's better equipped to handle the rest of it. « It is, » he allows. « What was once, suddenly isn't. And they - they need us less, don't they? » But here's freedom, and there is joy. « I suppose it could be a long time before you do, but - not so very long. » Because he, too, anticipates it, with a flurry of thoughts that send his chains to jangling once more. More. (Cadejoth to Ysavaeth)

G'zal gives a wave to the junior weyrwoman as she departs and he smiles, "It was nice to meet you. I hope you enjoy your trip with your dragon." He is content to eat and drink and watch the party go on around him. He takes a drink as he decides not to announce himself as a former resident of Southern Boll even though he was a weaver apprentice. He finishes up his meatroll and takes a final drink of his champagne. "I'm sure the next song will start soon enough and than you can wow us with all your moves."

Harper trained. At least, it's in E'ten's blood as the young man hasn't ignored Ali's discomfiture outright but it does have him excusing himself with a slight bow - leaving N'rov as the lucky one for dancing. "I should get that glass of wine for you, Ali. Since N'rov has a dance pending," he notes with a charming smile that he pulls out of somewhere. Maybe the jacket that he still wears, head tilting to regard him before looking over to G'zal in acknowledgement. He's seen the green rider over there, while avoiding things like, um, sudden dances. "I'll be right back."

Unsure whether to try to smooth over the conversation or ignore it entirely, Brieli eventually just goes with the latter; there's not much chance of saving things. Likely. She glances over E'ten's way with a little wave as N'rov feigns surprise at his existence. "I can hear what he says," she tells him patiently, before asking E'ten, "Is he terribly trying?" After a grateful glance back to N'rov for his admission, she's immediately distracted by Iolene's departure, concern in dark eyes. "Of course. Tomorrow. If you're sure you'll be all right?" Because she's not looking so great. Vaguely, to the Fortian bronzerider, "I'm fine with either. Do you really not have a preference?"

There's a greatful smile for the harper-come-weyrling's offer of a glass of wine. "I-" Ali lifts a hand, as Iolene makes noises to depart. "A quick word, please-" she glances at the Fortians, then Brieli, somewhat apologetically, stepping after the High Reaches goldrider, leaning in to murmur to her once they've taken enough steps away. There's still a flush of color and an awkwardness to her step that suggests all is not well, though she's trying hard to hide it.

Iolene senses Ali's words are breathless, full of barely-contained panic: "Please don't tell, you don't understand! I don't want to be kicked out of Fort, it's my /home/." There's something desperate and needful in the Fortian junior's voice, a wearied strain.

Stayed a moment, Iolene listens, but the look she gives Ali is nothing warm nor welcoming. It's downright wary and distant, protective of herself. "You need to learn how to be a nicer person," are the simple words she says before walking out.

So. Awkward!

It's not that N'rov seeks to stop the Fortian queenrider; it's as though he'd never touched her at all, as though not even his gaze had. He's smiling at Brieli, after all, adding in his own, "'He's' terribly trying." Only then there's Iolene leaving, and he tacks on, "It depends on how sweaty you are, and how much your robe flies up," in a distracted but agreeable tone that has more sincerity than seriousness. And then... well. All at once, he steps forward, seeking to catch up one of Brieli's hands and go to one knee with it: "Hold that thought. Keep that dance. I must go. Valiantly." That's louder. "I hope they don't do that often." Quieter, troubled. And then, either way, he'll surely be after Ali in Io's wake.

Okay. Brieli is charmed. Even if N'rov might be dubious about her current state of cleanliness. She won't try to hide that, as N'rov takes her hand and drops to one knee. With a slow grin, "I'm not that bad, but I'm precisely in the state I'd like to be. So, right. Another time. You go after your goldrider, and I'll worry about mine tomorrow." As for his last, quieter comment, she adds as softly, "Depends on a few things. Another time on that as well." And well, after that, it's time to finish her drink FOR SURE.

More color rises to Ali's cheeks at Iolene's demeanor, not to mention her subsequent words and her sudden departure. She looks, if anything, stunned, swallowing hastily and working to regather a workable demeanor. Certainly not up to immediately returning to the fray, hands twisting into the folds of her dress. N'rov's approach earns a hasty shake of her head, expression strained: "Stay, please. I need to- I need some air."

G'zal gives a nod to E'ten as he gets a nod of acknowledgement. He looks over at the other two, "Well enjoy your dance two you. N'rov is your dance card frees up let me know." He winks teasingly as he goes over to get another drink of champagne.

His and hers goldriders? Hot and cold running goldriders? Yes, of course Ali needs air, and N'rov even says, "Yes, of course," but after a startled glance at G'zal, he's also fetching her cloak and his coat. Silently. Seeing, hearing no evil.

Barely even aware of the assistance from N'rov - but Ali'll probably be grateful for it once she's out in the cold - the Fortian makes her way through the crowd as quickly as possible, and out into the bowl.

Snagging her third and fourth glass of champagne, Brieli looks after the departing Fortians with an unreadable expression before bypassing the food entirely in favor of a rowdy group of former candidates that she couldn't stand the whole candidacy - but that might be okay while she's drunk and maybe a little disappointed. Misery does love company.