Difference between revisions of "Logs:Turn's End - 32"

Despite the coolness of the weather, things are fairly upbeat at the celebration - due in no small part to Astivan's generosity with alcohol in celebration of his marriage. The harpers are playing an upbeat tune, and it has plenty of people dancing - others are roving around the grounds, checking out the different foods or drinks on offer. Ali's settled in a seat near the dance floor, sipping what looks like juice, eyeing the dancers with an obvious sort of envy. Her hand presses against her belly, kind of distractedly, probably not even aware how obvious she's being - or that she's making a little face.

Having spent much of the afternoon with his family, N'dalis rejoins the main celebrations now, tidy-if-not-impressively-dressed in his gather gear. He makes his way around the edge of the dance floor, accepting a drink from one of the stalls, and meat-and-vegetables on a stick from another. "Shall I find someone to dance with you, Weyrwoman?" he wonders, as his path takes him alongside Ali. "Surely you've not been abandoned here all alone."

Hattie may have started out /not/ drinking the fizzy stuff as a matter of principle, but having to smile and nod a congratulate and say the right thing over and over to so many (too many) different people takes its toll, even after the drinks had before she even left the Weyr. It's her second glass that she carries with her now, sipping absently whenever it seems she might have to talk to another of the Fort Blood, effort made to pretend to be occupied or too lost in thought. Or appreciative of the fizzy wine. Her roaming from the way of the Hold proper draws her towards the dance square, the crowd there hopefully one that can help her and her icy-pink dress blend in.

Fully recovered from his severe bout with the flu -- except for about a twenty pound weight loss that leaves him looking just a little shadowed, a bit gaunt -- a chipper B'rant can be found circulating amongst the food and drink tables with unabashed pleasure. The towering youth in the most up-to-date style of snappy, formal attire makes certain not to gorge himself in obvious fashion, instead shifting his positions after a few nips here, a few bites and drinks there. On occasion, he chats lightly with someone or another, though any Holders (especially holder women) whom he engages are treated to the best of his witty repartee and genial smile. It's the least he can do to not only represent the Weyr well, but also pay compliment to the good food and drink...that he's making little bones about consuming a good deal of. After all, Fort Hols /owes/ the Weyr.

"With this stomach?" Ali replies, with a rueful kind of smile to N'dalis for the offer, "It'd have to be someone with really long arms. I'm just resting here a moment," she assures the greenrider. Her gaze flickers over the crowd on the dance floor again, wistfully- though that falters into something else, chewing her lips as she catches sight of the Weyrwoman, however briefly. "How are you enjoying yourself?" she asks, refocusing on N'dalis.

Moving through the crowd too is another of Fort's Blood, Lester perhaps less recognized than his older brother, though there's enough similarity that some initially mistake him for Astivan and offer congratulations. Each such greeting makes the Fortian's expression grow darker as he stalks towards the drinks.

"A stomach is no excuse not to get to dance if you'd like to," N'dalis insists, gallant in a formal kind of way. "Though, of course, rest is also important. I'm -" He pauses, gaze sweeping around the dance floor and those surrounding it, taking it all in as he formulates an answer. "It's always nice to visit my former home, of course. I enjoyed spending some time with my family. My boy, in particular." It's a very polite answer, politically formulated.

Once Hattie has slipped from the paths of traffic and into the crowd around the square, she stops for long enough to catch sight of her junior and N'dalis, though her focus lingers longer on the latter than the former. Actually, not even on /him/, but... "Where did you find that?" she asks the weyrling as soon as she gets close enough to address him without raising her voice too much. As for what she's enquiring about, she gestures with her glass towards the stick he selected at one of the stalls. It's a gesture that allows her to look like she's making /another/ toast of some sort, but there's no smile to go with this one. She doesn't so much address Ali as acknowledge her with a nod, but then she offered no proper greeting to N'dalis either. Not really.

Rather more aware of 'political situations' than the average person -- given his upbringing -- B'rant can't help but let his eyes and ears roam as he chats and eats. On one such particular observance, his gray eyes find Lester, as well as the Holder's dour-and-dourer expression...and surreptitiously trail after him. With all the ugliness and unrest that's been plaguing both Holds and Wers these last months -- and given his own restless time spent in a sickbed -- the bronzer is more than ready for nearly anything, apparently. Excusing himself from the current conversation about winter fashions, the young man finds himself slowly drawing nearer to the micro-group of Hattie, N'dalis, and Ali.

One of the novelties in the crowd - and of the whole event - is the presence of Jenilynn of Boll, who has, so far, remained firmly in the company of her family, namely her Ruathan husband and their young son. The murmurs and their gossipy origins don't seem to know quite what to make of her. By turn, she is a demure and polite creature, her husband clearly capable of intelligent and charming conversation, then a taciturn and socially inept young woman with no idea about what she's getting herself into. One thing the crowd agrees on is her son, who is branded charming and /such/ a sweet boy.

"But you're not /offering/," Ali points out, kind of ruefully, to N'dalis. "It's okay- I tried earlier, and it was- awkward, and not that fun for me or the baby, as it turns out. He objected to all the /jostling/. He does seem to like the music, though." Yes, she's already decided it's a boy, and she's smiling as she says it, growing warmer at the greenrider's words. "Oh, that's wonderful. Is he still around? I'd love to meet him." She's probably unaware how polite an answer it is. "Weyrwoman," the junior straightens, noticeably, and there's a hint of tension in her posture at the greeting. B'rant's slow approach is noticed, perhaps because she's awkwardly looking away- lifting fingers briefly, but not calling out across the crowd.

Lester arrives near the group from the Weyr, perhaps conveniently- although the way his gaze lingers on Hattie in particular might suggest not totally coincidentally- leaning on the bar and ordering a drink. "He put on a good /show/, eh?" he's commenting to the bartender, with a bit of a smirk. The bartender looks blankly at him for a moment, forcing the Blood to grimace and say, "My brother." The bartender shrugs, and hands Lester his drink.

N'dalis, his expression sympathetic for Ali's misadventures upon the dance floor, nonetheless seems pleased for the change in her expression when she talks about her unborn child. "A Harper in the making, maybe," he teases, mouth widening to the not-quite-smile he favors. "He's - Weyrwoman." Hattie's approach interrupts him; he turns, bobbing his head quick in her direction. "One of the stalls - uh, towards the other side of the grounds?" He gestures, noticing B'rant in the process, though the bronzerider gets nothing more than a simple nod. "Would you like me to fetch you one, Weyrwoman?"

Indeed, Jennilyn and her family have received some of B'rant's attention too, but the former heir knows that gossip is only that until confirmed, and so he holds back much of his judgement of the new Bollians until he might be able to get more information. Back in his own element, the young man seems even more relaxed and confident than usual, continuing to offer his charming greetings and smiles as his feet continue to move him closer to the other Weyrfolk. Between eating from his hand-held plate, subtly noting the moods and conversations of those around, and finally noting Ali's finger wiggles in his direction, the youth finally pulls up to the side of his contemporaries, offering both weyrwomen deep bows, N'dalis getting a return of his nod plus a smile, while Lester...gets a subtle, sideways glance when the Holder speaks.

Better manners and the presence of the Blood demand that Hattie finally greet, "Ali," in a low and even enough tone, though, by that point, she's not even truly looking at her fellow goldrider, but at Lester. She doesn't /stare/, but takes a sip of her drink so that she might watch him over the rim of her glass and /not/ be seen to be observing him at the same time. "No, N'dalis, you're not an errand boy," she replies, once that fizz has bubbled its way down. "Thank you. I'll go and retrieve one for myself." It's an excuse to walk right past Lester at a sedate pace and try to listen in on anything, anyway, or perhaps she just seeks to leave Ali to present company. B'rant is acknowledged much the same as the junior was, with a brief nod of the Weyrwoman's head as she slips away to eavesdrop on her way to getting some of that food.

Ali looks... well, uncomfortable, and trying hard to hide it. Her gaze follows Hattie, chewing her lower lip, opening her mouth and shutting it as if failing to come up with something to say, gaze flickering towards N'dalis as if he might be able to come up with something. She glances down at her drink, looking back up when B'rant arrives, "You're looking... better, B'rant," she tells the bronzerider with a smile. "It's good to see you out and about. Though- you'll need to come by sometime this week for dinner. I clearly need to put more weight on you."

Lester's head turns briefly in the direction of the group, then back towards the bartender as he nurses his drink. "It'll be interesting to see what this place will look like next seven, once everyone's gone back home. It was practically falling apart, until the Lady Darcy borrowed help from her family. Now that the wedding's done, though..."

One of the major complaints doing the rounds concerning Boll's not-yet-Lady is that she's not been seen in the dance square, nor actually away from her husband's side. How is anyone going to figure out if she's going to be any good if she won't /dance/? That chatter originates from some of the Blooded girls close to Jenilynn's own age, some of them staring enviously at her dress, others at the affable and presentable husband, and the rest at the well-mannered toddler.

N'dalis opens his mouth, quite ready to say something more to Hattie, but the Weyrwoman is already heading away; he shuts it again, hesitating, his gaze following her. It's likely that this is the first time he's stopped to pay attention to what else is going on around the gather, those dark eyes tracking from one person to the next. It leaves him quite without words to save Ali until after she's spoken to B'rant, and even then, he seems distracted. "B'rant," he greets, a greeting that's largely made on auto-pilot. Then, abruptly: "Fort never seemed so... political, in the past. Is it that I pay more attention, now, or have things gotten worse?" He sounds frustrated.

"The mixed veggie soup is delicious..." B'rant murmurs in subdued fashion aside to Hattie as she passes, a faint wink offered to the senior weyrwoman as he can't help but notice her own focus of attention. Maybe they'll spell each other in Lester-watching tonight. Still, he can't but overhear the Holder's next words, even as the bronzer responds fluidly to Ali, "I'm more than ready, my good weyrwoman. I'm sure you've likely overheard the warnings from kitchen staff at the Weyr that my prodigious hunger will set the Weyr to ruin this winter." A twinkling of gray eyes set into a bit of a smirky grin renders the young man more of a Holder himself again right now than dragonrider, though he's settling into his usual manner again to note to the greenrider, "Enjoying yourself, N'dalis?" That once slightly wavery, borderline tenor of his has finally settled into a firm baritone, though it was always cultured and somewhat sophisticated. The weyrling's words earn him an expression of both curiosity and same small, dark humor. Let Ali try to answer him, though, for the moment. B'rant has more eating to do, scooping a meatpie up in his fingers, and nipping into the thing with subdued gusto.

As if she could convey disapproval with the mere manner of her sweep past Lester, Hattie sure tries, after she's heard that information being shared with the /bartender/, of all people. From slow steps to quick, she clips past the Fortian Blood fast enough for the skirts of her dress to swirl and brush against him as she heads off, all without acknowledging him at all. It's a minute or two (or five) before she's finished searching for that which she went to find, and swings back towards the dance square with one of those kebabs, all the vegetables already nibbled away. She's lost - and finished - her glass of fizzy somewhere along the way. Maybe it's deliberate. It gives her good reason to stop at the bar, right where she can keep an eye on her riders too.

"Perhaps both," Ali murmurs in response to N'dalis. She hasn't taken notice of Lester yet, frowning. "It might be easier to see now, too, since you're standing apart." B'rant's comments earn a grimace, though it's follows with wry humor, "So you're saying I should make sure you attend every gather on Pern to avoid eating our stores dry?" It might fall a little flat, considering there's a quick, darted look sent Hattie's way shortly after.

Lester starts at that brush of material against him, turning in time to see a flash of the goldrider striding past, and grinning a little, like he /knows/ she's listening. "Gonna be harder for Fort to tithe to the Weyr next Turn, things keep going the way they do." He pitches it so Hattie can hear as she's departing, though his gaze is back on the bartender, with a thoughtful purse of lips. "Sad to see things go the way they have been. My father would've wanted better for his people."

N'dalis eyes the food still on his stick and then bites at it, decisively, chewing carefully around the stick so as not to drop any of it. It means he can't answer anything for a few moments; it gives him time to put his words together, when he does. "I've had a perfectly pleasant time, thank you, B'rant," he says, though his words are clipped enough to suggest that's an exaggeration. "I'm - it's difficult to see. This was my home, and now it isn't, and it doesn't even feel familiar." He's keeping his voice low, but the suddenly dark look on his face surely broadcasts his feelings... as does the way he keeps glancing in Lester's direction.

If they all start glancing over at Lester, it'll be a rubbernecking group that might make the sour Holder feel better...so B'rant (at least visually) ignores him, for now. "As many as possible..." the young man notes too casually back to Ali, then quirking his head some at N'dalis' own words of the Hold. Again to Ali: "I've been deprived, after all. Positive /penury/." He's not kidding too much, either, given the look of him. Softly murmured to N'dalis: "Try not to be so obvious." Smirk-wink. About eyeballing Lester.

It's not more of the fizzy that Hattie requests, but a short drink that falls into levels of orange and crimson before she takes a sip of it and dashes the neat little layers it's organised itself into. "I would discontinue this line of conversation, unless you wish this day to be remembered for all the wrong reasons," Hattie idly remarks, sliding her gaze across to Lester. She may rank his brother, but /him/... "You've earned your own infamy already, have you not?" is a less than subtle reminder of /his/ scandal. "There are /some/ things to be said for addressing matters through the right channels..." Is that a hint? An invitation? A reminder? It's unclear, and Hattie's already pushing away from the bar, drink in hand, and back towards those of her Weyr.

"You- could bring your family to the Weyr, if you're worried," Ali murmurs the suggestion softly to N'dalis. She finally follows his gaze towards Lester, and it's obvious from the chewing of her lower lip she recognizes Astivan's youngest brother. Of course, that's when B'rant's comment to N'dalis happens, and she's flustering at doing the same, hastily looking back down at her drink. "He- he wouldn't be so obvious unless he thought- unless it was serious, don't you think?" her voice is soft, gaze flicking between B'rant and N'dalis.

Lester turns his gaze towards the Weyrwoman as she arrives, attentive and polite to a fault, "My apologies, Weyrwoman. Too many drinks in celebration of his fine day, I expect," he lifts his glass, but his hand is steady as a rock. "Perhaps I can have the pleasure of a dance later...?"

As one tune fades and the opening bars of the next begin to ring out across the square, an obvious hush falls over one side of the gathering. Perhaps Jenilynn has been listening to all those mutterings and murmurings, since her first steps into the dance square are without her husband; in-fact without /anyone/ to escort her, Blooded or otherwise. That no-one immediately steps forward to sweep her up into the next dance makes that group of girls giggle amongst themselves, though some of them look simply horrified and embarrassed for her. At the edge of the square, Jenilynn glances down at her feet, light blush colouring her cheeks, then stares out into the assembled crowd. Help?

"My parents won't come," explains N'dalis, which rather suggests that this has already been suggested. "But Jay is coming; they can't stop that. As soon as I'm graduated." He's not looking at either of his companions as he says that, though a faint flush in his cheeks suggests he's heard B'rant's admonishment. He's evidently inclined to focus on Ali's interpretation of it, however, because he adds: "He wouldn't be, no. He'd... surely it would have to be really, really bad, before he'd..." Now, as Hattie begins making her way back, he shuts his mouth again, swallowing audibly.

With Hattie's rispote to Lester comes a thinner, not-quite-so-nice little smile of approval from B'rant, the bronzer then noting to Ali and N'dalis in a voice that doesn't carry, "It's difficult to know these days... especially given that whole, ugly Nabol thing going on. The air of Pern seems rife with a special form of Holder insanity." A look out and over at the crowd tries to notice if anyone not of the Weyr might be trying to listen in... and B'rant's grays happen to find blushing, partnerless Jenilynn standing on the dance floor. Doing his duty -- briding the gap between Hold and Weyr once again -- the young man murmurs a quick, "Pardon me..." to his fellows, then setting his nearly-empty dish down nearby. Long legs stride him near-directly to the new Lady Holder, the bronzer then offering her a formal bow and a murmur of, "If you've no objection, may I accompany you for this dance, ma'am?"

Hattie concedes, "/Perhaps/," to Lester as she turns, though it's a weighted, heavier word than it should be, all potential and thought and no idle refusal. She favours her drink over what remains of her food, abandoning the remains of the kebab to the care of one of the drudges going around to collect up litter and other disposables. The Weyrwoman reaches N'dalis and Ali just as B'rant heads off, her frown following him out into the crowd and across the square and all the way to Jenilynn. "Is he--?" she starts to ask, surprised (and somehow not so) and uncertain all at once; so much so that it makes it difficult to tell whether she approves of what he's doing or she doesn't.

There's an apologetic look from Ali to N'dalis; perhaps for bringing it up as much as for his parent's refusal to come. "It's- it's a big move," she concedes, slowly. "But- that's great that Jay's coming. You've only a few sevens until graduation, so not long." She, too, is aware of Hattie's return, and despite the awkwardness, seems almost relieved for it. She's watching, too, B'rant's stride towards Boll, looking somewhat conflicted: it's the gallant thing to do, and yet, it's Boll, so it has her watching with a chew of her lower lip. Then, to Hattie and N'dalis: "You- you two should go out there, join them. So it's less..." awkward?

Lester, meanwhile, is watching the drama on the dance floor, too, with a considering tip of his head. At least he's quiet... for now.

The sudden lift the volume of the chatter around the square as B'rant is seen approaching and offering a bow to Boll's Lady is obvious. What's not so is whether all that murmuring and all those comments are positive or not. Wasn't Fort wronged by Boll? Or was it Boll wronged by Fort? Has anyone decided yet? How come a Fortian rider - and a bronzerider, at that - has the manners and heart to rescue Jenilynn when none of the Blood, major or minor branches, have bothered to do so? Has he been ordered to, to try and mend fences? Whatever the reasons, and whatever gossip she hears, Jenilynn nervously sweeps a stray curl of fair hair away from her eyes and offers B'rant the tiniest of grateful smiles, too tense to be overly effusive in her thanks; too aware of how obvious it would be if she were. "That would be lovely. Thank you," she says softly, delicately extending one hand towards him.

A quick shake of N'dalis' head excuses Ali her from her apology, though he seems genuinely pleased about his boy - pleasure that nonetheless doesn't last, turning abruptly serious as B'rant takes off. His breath catches, a flush darkening his cheeks; it's response to a number of things, all at once, from B'rant's destination to Hattie's question and Ali's suggestion. "That would be far more awkward," he declares, firmly. "A weyrling, escorting the Weyrwoman. It - does seem as though he's done the right thing."

He too -- perhaps contrary to popular thought -- is going over the potential outcomes of his impulsive, gallant gesture in his mind as he speaks to Jenilynn, but B'rant isn't about to back down because of potential tongue-wagglers. "I am honored..." he responds in subdued fashion to the Bollian, accepting her hand, and then setting them up for the dance. He's not aggressive, but neither is the bronzer passive...more a thoughtful partner. Only on occasion so his gray eyes flick around as they dance, noting expressions, manners.

Jenilynn's manners are best expressed through dance, as many have been /joking/, for she lets B'rant lead and is careful not to press too close, nor to /look/ for any who might be staring at her or seeking to grab her attention. Her focus is all for her partner, in the polite, controlled way that speaks of a desire to please and be /decent/ and not submit at the same time. /This/ girl is not like the outspoken and argumentative grandfather, even in the way that she carries herself. And so, she lingers in B'rant's presence only for as long as she is invited, and when this first dance is over, it's clear enough that her husband is waiting for her, close to where she once stood at was about to be so horribly humiliated.

"Don't worry, N'dalis, that's the most polite way you could possibly refuse to dance with your Weyrwoman," Hattie declares after a too-nonchalant sip of her drink, her thin smile rather forced, yet it doesn't /look/ like she's taken offense. Like so many things at this celebration, it's difficult to tell. "If you'll both excuse me, I'll be quietly weeping in a corner somewhere. Don't rush after me; my heart won't take it." The humour is more natural, but it's easily and notoriously her first line of defence, and after a long /look/ at Jenilynn and B'rant, she's satisfied enough that she's safe in his care to turn away from the dance square, Lester, and all, and head back into the hustle and bustle of people wandering to and from the Hold itself. Her destination? Somewhere with fewer people.

There's a flicker of disagreement from Ali at N'dalis' response, her gaze immediately cutting towards the Weyrwoman. Still, she keeps her peace and watches the dance, fingers pressed against her glass. When Hattie makes to depart, she's quick to murmurs, "Weyrwoman," with a chew of her lower lip.

Lester, too, has been watching the pair on the dance floor, and when the Bollian woman steps off, the Fortian Blood slowly and unobtrusively makes his way towards her. He's seen chatting with her and her husband, and there seems to be some cheerfulness about the group by the laughter that comes from that direction.

N'dalis colors, lowering his gaze towards the ground, and doesn't even try to stammer out some kind of apology or reply. "I should-" he begins, finally, though he doesn't initially get further than that. Uncomfortably, he eyes the remains of his food, instead. "I should go. I apologise."

Except for those few points where he's looking out to others -- expecially to the other Weyrfolk -- B'rant is all Jenilynn's during that dance. He's charming, but not gushing, polite yet not stiff, part of him enjoying this while the other remains more careful in this delicate moment. A few pleasant words of not too much import are exchanged with the new Lady Holder, and when the dance finally ends, the bronzer offers his partner another, less stiff little bow, then remarking with just the perfect mix of warmth formality and clearly, "Thank you for a delightful dance, Lady." His smile is just the same as his voice - treading the line between too personal and too impersonal, the tall young man waiting for her to join her husband before he moves smoothly back towards the food tables. Hopefully it'll be less awkward for everyone, that way...plus net him more chow. Eyes flick over to the Weyr group, and notice Hattie's departure, as well as Ali and N'dalis' interactions. Well... at least nobody's glowering at him. Yet.

With a low exhale of breath, Ali gives N'dalis a comforting smile. "It's fine. It's- fine." The hesitation suggests she was going to say something else, but politeness' sake keeps her to a light conversation. "I'll see you back at the Weyr, later?" she pushes slowly to her feet, settling the folds of her dress around her.

N'dalis, glancing up again, hesitates. His eyebrows have raised slightly, as though he'd like to ask Ali about whatever it was she was going to say - but he doesn't. He's already put his foot in it enough for one day; that much is obvious. "Yes, of course," he agrees, inclining his head formally in the goldrider's direction. "Happy turnover, weyrwoman."

FInally grabbing a new plate, and loading it up with just enough food to tide him over, yet not enough to render said plate dangerous to transport, B'rant meanders nack over to his fellow riders, offering the apparently departing Ali and N'dalis a skewer of veggies apiece, if they wish, plus his own, "Happy Turnover."

"Happy Turnover," Ali echoes, with a lift of her near-empty glass of juice in toast to the weyrling. Though she's standing, she doesn't look like she's leaving /just/ yet- welcoming B'rant back with a smile. "You can take the Holder out of the Hold..." she begins, with a flicker of glance past him, to where Jenilynn and Lester are talking.

N'dalis shakes his head to decline the offer of food - his own is yet to be finished, though for now it seems largely forgotten. "Well done," he offers the bronzerider, but a moment later he's ducking his head in what is apparently intended to be a gesture of farewell, because a moment later he's turning to go, disappearing promptly into the crowd.

"Yeah..." is all B'rant comments in return to Ali, his head turning for a few moments to note where she's looking. In that moment, his expression goes rather sentimental, then a faint tetch dark before he recovers himself, and looks back to the other two riders again with even features. A bite of his veggie skewer is taken, the pepper munched on, a dip of head offered to N'dalis after swalowing, as well as a low, "Enjoy yourself..."

Perhaps she notices that dark look, however brief it is; Ali slips a hand through B'rant's arm. "I should take one more turn around to make myself seen before I head home. Would you mind keeping me company? I'm sure you'll prove more of the distraction than me- it'll allow us to slip away quicker," she says, ruefully.

"Not at all..." B'rant notes to Ali, once again abandoning his plate -- though not the skewer in his hand -- to offer her his nearest arm. Her words of slipping away quicker bring a mix of relief and consternation to the young man's features, which he masters quickly, then noting to Ali, "Part of me is... perfectly at home, here. Craves this."

"I was never born to this," Ali says, after a sidelong glance to catch B'rant's expression. "I normally have a glass of wine to hand to help with the awkwardness of it all, but not really so much of an option this time. You'll have to suffice," she adds, with a sidelong grin. "And, don't enjoy yourself /too/ much. Unless you plan to make this a permanent duty- which can be arranged, by the way."

"I do my utmost to suffice..." B'rant teases back around a small smile and a wink, then finally glancing back a little guardedly, but more in perplexment at Ali's last statement. "Partying constantly... It'd lose its value, if I did that. Or do you mean something like being a watchrider, here?" Again, he looks suddenly conflicted. "I know it would appeal to my Holder part...but the part of me that wants to move around, see other people and places..."

"No. I meant playing the politics, the diplomat," Ali's quick to correct, with a wry smile. "It strikes me as something that might keep you out of trouble... for the most part." She's not looking over at the Bollian Blood, no.

"Oh..." B'rant notes softly, looking a little chagrined at being caught off guard...the bronzer then finally allowing himself to smirk softly. "I think you ranking folks would want to keep a close eye on me, given my tendencies to eat people out of their homes, as well as because of my unfortunate happenstance of Impressing a bronze."

"I /have/ been keeping a close eye on you. Or did you forget in all your fever dreams?" It's hard to tell but it seems like Ali's joking. Not much time to linger on that, though - they're approaching a group of Peyton's holders and Ali's going into weyrwoman mode, polite and distant, only the faintest squeezing of fingers against B'rant's arm when there's some curious questioning about her due date and the father.

"So /that's/ the reason I smell like flowers all the time, now..." the bronzer quips back around a fond little grin, his former mood slowly washing away from him in Ali's presence. "Isn't that what most women would prefer a man be scented like?" And then he too shifts gears in mixed company, being warm and personable -- but not /too/ much -- to balance out the weyrwoman, his own presence near Ali seeking to buoy her when those inevitable and perhaps rude questions of her baby come up. He'll keep doing such along their path, though, inevitably - his grays sometimes stray to food, dance, and even the Hold itself around them.

There's a non-committal smile from Ali at B'rant's question, that makes it seem that particular one will go unanswered for now. By the time B'rant's gaze starts straying to far more interesting endeavors, the weyrwoman's looking exhausted. With a grateful murmur and a squeeze of his arm, she bids him, "Go and have a good time. And- thank you," she adds, gaze lifting up to watch for Isyath's descent to ground to meet her.

"I will..." the young man notes with subdued pleasure, awaiting Isyath's arrival. Whether accepted or not, B'rant remains to assist Ali in mounting her dragon, then watching her fasten herself securely in straps -- soon up and away -- before he returns to the revelry inside. And when he returns to his weyr, the hour is late indeed, and the bronzer is slightly tipsy, sporting a broad smile and a very full stomach before sleep takes him.