Difference between revisions of "Logs:Post Hatching Feast Disaster"

The weather's been perfect for the afternoon hatching, despite it being mid-winter: clear skies and even some sun here and there. In the wake of the hatching of the nine (but not ten) eggs, the mood is still joyful all the same, as it always is for a hatching feast. Spectators from the galleries are already starting to pour into the living caverns, quickly grabbing tables, or heading for the food or drink to secure early spots. The harpers are there, too, playing some light music - not so much encouring dancing yet, so much as providing a suitable background to the happy chatter and discussion of the newest dragonriders of Fort Weyr.

The Blooded of the Fort region, in contrast to others, don't rush. They, after all, have reserved tables and people to bring them food. Visrain, the elderly Lord Holder of Southern Boll, probably couldn't rush even were he inclined to: he cuts a slow and steady pace into the caverns, aided by his eldest son Jivrain, who is himself quite elderly.

Looking somewhat awkward in her dress, Ali is obviously unused to walking, or moving, or much of anything in such get up: she's slow to head into the caverns, and most of the tables nearest the food have already been quickly snapped up. She's hesitating just near the entrance, watching the group of Bollians head towards their table, hesitating like she's wondering if she should be polite and greet them, or get some food like she's obviously keen to. So she just kind of stands there vacillating, forcing other people to move around her.

So far, Hattie has been spending her time congratulating proud parents and assuring the families of those weyrlings not yet present that they /will/ be along shortly, they just have to settle their new lifemates and make sure that they're comfortable in the barracks. Her frizzy hair is all pinned-up and she's clad in a dress of autumnal colours, visibly much more at ease than she has been in a while, whether it's all for show or not. She lifts a glass to toast one of the new riders, then excuses herself from that particular family group and heads across the cavern with smiles for any that catch her eye.

The music from the harpers seems to be in tempo with Einrhi's steps, the young Blooded man in good spirits as he emerges from the inner bowels of the Weyr. Fresh-faced and slightly damp of hair it seems that Einrhi left the hatching before its finish - no doubt to prepare for arriving guests. A momentary pause as he stops to catch his bearings before he's off again! The Lords Holder from Boll do seem to be his destination, his face lighting with a smile as he gets close. "Grandfather," a quick bow to the elder man, "Father." and another to the not as elder one. "Here, I brought these." Cool towels are offered to each of the men, "For the heat from the sands."

Avaryk may be blase about hatchings, taking them in stride like many weyrbred do, but he does assign them enough respect and importance to put on something a little nicer than his work-a-day clothes for the after-celebration. Emerging into the hubbub after having undergone a quick change of garb, he cuts a smart but not too showy figure as he weaves his way carefully through the crowd. Due deference is given to those with fancier knots as he passes or pauses to allow them to pass first, but no more than. Though he moves with a purpose, his course is taking him on rather a round-about path as detours keep being made around clusters of people. "Pardon me," is said a lot, and particularly during a little impromptu dance not too far from the vacillating Ali, as he and a couple who had moved around her keep trying to get out of each other's way... by stepping into each other's way. Finally, after the third aborted attempt, with a grin and a bow, the storeskeeper gestures to the somewhat less amused pair, "After you, please." And voila, traffic jam averted.

Visrain finally gets settled at the table, the various Bloods and otherwise around him: he has a grateful smile for Einrhi, taking the towel with a nod. "I think sending that son of yours here has sorted him out somewhat," he comments in an undertone to Jivrain, who merely shrugs - his gaze is more on the Fort Hold contingent. "They got the best seats. Both here /and/ on the sands," he says, rather pointedly and loudly. This stirs a few looks over at the other Blooded.

Chewing her lip slightly, Ali only belatedly notices Avaryk's intervention, and she flushes as she becomes aware of it. "Sorry," she says, hastily, and not recognizing Avaryk, looks rather embarrassed. "I was trying to decide where to-- oh. Look. There's some spots there." She gestures towards a table near the Boll contingent, where some of the servers are already beginning to deliver food to try and avoid a rush at the tables.

The Weyrwoman hesitates for moment when she sees those looks over at the other Blooded guests, yet she takes a deep breath and moves onward, greeting Boll's Lord before any other, though she catches sight of Einrhi first. "Lord Visrain, it's a pleasure to see you, as always." Her smile is a little secretive, as if sharing a joke. The smile is tempered a little for Jivrain, who is told, "Sir, I assure you that that no-one of Blood has been favoured over any other Blooded guest." Hattie takes a couple of steps back and inclines her head towards Einrhi. "I see family are attending you well."

Einrhi takes the comments from his grandfather in stride, mouth twitching briefly with a tight smile - it's a compliment from Visrain, and he'll take those where he can get them. It's the comments from Jivrain on the other hand that cause his 'brows to raise a little in surprise. "Father, please." Is urged quietly, the youngest Boll son stealing a brief glance in the direction of Fort's tables - catching a glimpse of Ali as he does, a hand is lifted to offer a greeting to the junior. "The view we had of the sands was better than most others," perhaps not the strongest of peace offerings, but it's combined with a plate of food and a glass of chilled wine. He looks as though he was to say more, but Hattie's words forestall anything further, the young man simply nodding an acknowledgement and stepping back a little to give the Weyrwoman room.

Straightened again, Avaryk is not so polite as to refrain from pulling a face at the backs of the couple he just do-si-doed with, though it's smoothed away again a bare instant later. The apology draws his attention, Ali's evident embarrassment bringing a reassuring smile to his lips. "Don't be. An unmoving obstacle is far easier to navigate around than a moving one, though the danger of being run over while stationary might be greater," he says cheerfully. 'Look' she says and look he does, brows lifting slightly at her choice. "Would you like an escort to cover the distance?" he offers after a marked hesitation. "These hatching feasts are worse than a supper with fresh bubbly pies and a new keg from the Vintners on offer." Formality and he aren't even nodding acquaintances.

"Weyrwoman Hattie. A pleasure as always. Congratulations on a fine looking crop of riders." Although Visrain's greeting of Hattie is effusive and warm, his son's reaction is rather notably counterpart to his father's. Jivrain's expression stiffens, especially as she responds to his comment. "No, of course not. Just a little preferential treatment in seating. It's nothing, of course," he remarks, except his tone is threaded with audible dismissal. Einrhi's comment earns an ill-pleased look, though Visrain's muttered 'enough' has Jivrain rising swiftly. "I'll see about securing us some suitable wines." And he strides off towards the nearest server, waving for the girl's attention as he makes his way towards the wine tables.

There's a notable pause while Ali digests Avaryk's words, and she tips her head to consider him anew. "Are you a harper?" she asks, gaze flicking to his shoulder to try and catch a knot. "Or the son of one? You talk like they do," and while it might be hard to tell if that's compliment or not at first, it is accompanied by smile. And when he offers to escort her, there's not much of a hesitation, if anything looking grateful, "If you would? I'd rather not be caught up in conversation with one of the Blooded, if I can avoid it. They're--" Ali darts a glance towards the grouping at the table, then swallows whatever she was going to say. "I'm Ali," she says. Briefly catching Einrhi's lift of hand as she starts to head in that direction, the raven-haired woman likewise lifts fingers briefly, offering a smile that is some parts sympathetic, some parts apologetic. Apparently she's not keen to get involved in that discussion, even though they can probably hear it from where they are.

"Thank you, Sir," Hattie replies, dipping her head a little. "They certainly all seem happy. Forgive them if you find any of the class a little dazed," she continues, low, soft laughter lacing her words. "You know how new weyrlings can be. Hopefully, we'll have you with us again soon to welcome the sons and daughters of Isyath or Kyourith into the world." Her manners escape her for long enough for her to be heard to murmur, "Nothing, because it didn't occur," to Jivrain's back. In-case she's been caught, she adds, "Forgive me," to Visrain. "I only wish to assure that there has been no preferential treatment." A moment later, she's lifting a smile to Einrhi and asking, "Do you think we'll see you out on the Sands one day, if a dragon thinks you'll suit?"

That 'ill-pleased' look has the tips of Einrhi's ears pinking with the wordless rebuke from his father, the young man ducking his head downward as he starts to withdraw his presence from the esteemed audience. However, not before finishing organising the second meal for his patriarchs and attempting a quiet retreat to the other side of the table with a chilled glass of something and a small bowl of 'beast and gravy. He doesn't get particularly far before he's choking at Hattie's question. "That's not for me to decide Weyrwoman, I have duties to both Weyr and Hold that would be disrupted if such a thing were to happen." His tone is a little strained, but his voice remains even - all the while keeping one eye on his grandfather, gauging the elder man's response to such a query.

"Grandson," Avaryk replies promptly with a wink, his knot that of a simple resident showing darkly against his blue shirt. "My parents are both riders." A sidelong glance as he offers the junior his arm for their trek to the table, though he doesn't miss a beat as he says, "A pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, weyrwoman." Somehow making the non-capitalization audible in his voice. And wisely choosing not to remark one way or the other about what the Blooded may or may not be. "Avaryk," he then supplies his own monicker. "Not-so-humble storeskeeper, at your service." He keeps a pace to match hers, shortening his stride, but manages to project an air of confidence and purpose that will hopefully help to deflect any unwanted attention. More like a bodyguard than a simple storeskeeper, really. "If you don't mind me noting," he begins, voice kept low and pitched to avoid carrying, "you could have your pick of seats, or have had one reserved for you. It would certainly be appropriate to your station to do so. So... why didn't you?"

Visrain's gaze follows his son's departure, and though his attention is on the Weyrwoman's words his gaze follows the man for moments longer. "Of course. We always enjoy our trips to the Weyr. Especially on such happy occasions." As to Hattie's comment about Jivrain, he is old enough and diplomatically skilled enough to excel at pretending not to hear. He does, however, furrow his brow at Hattie's question of his grandson, quick to jump in, "We have other plans for my grandson. Don't think you're getting him onto the sands, Weyrwoman," his tone is light enough to be taken easily, though he's got his gaze fixed on Einrhi, now, finally nodding in pleased response to the boy's answer. "Sit, please. Join me." This seems to be offered to both Weyrwoman and grandson equally. Just in time for Jivrain's return with an opened bottle of wine, which he pours for his Visrain, his expression indicating he's aware he's missed something and not terribly pleased about that

"I thought so. You all talk..." and then Ali's hesitating, like she's belatedly realizing it's probably a massive faux pas on her part. "There's just something about the way a Harper talks. You can always spot them," she finally finishes, somewhat awkwardly, now. As they reach the designated table, the Fortian's gaze flickers towards the group of the Weyrwoman and Blooded, then back to Avaryk. "I don't much like the attention. Sitting up there it- it feels awkward. I'll have to do the rounds later, but for now, I'd like to enjoy the feast," she confesses, as she seats herself, then looks up at the storeskeeper with a sheepish smile. "Promise you won't tell anyone?" And in the same breath, she's reaching for some of the cooked wherry and is transferring it to a plate next to hers, presumably for Avaryk, before doing the same for herself.

"Of course," Hattie answers Boll's Lord. "Duty to family must come first and I'm sure he will do you proud, whatever particular plans you have for him." All spoken as if Einrhi himself isn't there. "Though I must say that he's certainly proven himself to be a capable young man and a credit to you." There's a slight stress on her last word, as Jivrain returns and she takes another half-step back as though to distance herself, despite the invitation. "I appreciate the offer, Sir, but I'm sure you have a lot to catch up on. I won't intrude." The Weyrwoman manages to send a polite enough nod to Boll's heir, though has a warmer smile for Einrhi and Visrain as she excuses herself for the time being at least, headed across the cavern to speak with another family.

A small exhalation of breath is the only indication of Einrhi's relief at the rescue by Visrain, a shallow nod of deference to his grandfather. Hattie's departure is given a formal bow and murmur of 'Weyrwoman.' before he sinks into a chair and returns his attentions to the 'beast and gravy that's been waiting so patiently to be devoured. "I'm sorry for that grandfather." The apology offered before he starts to eating. Jivrain's return goes unacknowledged as the young man attempts to avoid interaction with his father til his mood improves.

Avaryk chuckles, waving off Ali's hesitation with an easy lack of offence. "Too pretty for our own good," he supplies. "It's a damned hard habit to break, if you'll forgive my slip into common vulgarity." He grins, obviously teasing, though if he's attempting to flirt or just try to put her at ease is rather hard to tell. "It's all cadence and modulation and phrasing and gah. I'm just lucky that I can't carry a tune in a bucket, or Granddad woulda had me plunking away on some fool love song before I could blink." Hand to heart, he offers Ali a half bow, "Your secret, my lady, is safe with me." Again there's an odd sort of hesitation as he can't fail to notice her dishing up that second plate, but after a pause and a lick of his lips, he takes it as invitation and settles into the spot next to her. "Do you prefer wine, ale, or something a little less likely to make you muddle-headed?" he asks as his head swivels in search of one of the roaming drink-servers. Who cares if they're mostly reserved for the Blooded, he'll take advantage of Ali's knot even if she won't.

Visrain inclines his head in subtle thanks to his son, and sips the wine, mulling over it for a moment. Then he nods his approval, and gestures for Jivrain to retake his seat, as he takes a deeper drought of the liquid. His gaze follows the Weyrwoman briefly. Then: "So, Einrhi. What's the latest around here? This new Weyrleader- what do you think of him?" He's taking another sip of his wine when his face begins to go an odd shade. Sort of gray, like all the color's drained out of him all of a sudden. The wineglass drops from his hands and spills across the table as he clutches at his chest, his expression contorted. Jivrain's on his feet in an instant: "Father? Father! We need a healer here!" he calls, reaching to try and support the Boll Lord.

The wave does seem to ease Ali's visible awkwardness, laughing agreeably at his words, "Everyone does seem to like the love songs the best. Although they're more awkward to dance too. I like the faster tunes, myself." She hesitates notably at the offer of alcohol. Then finally, "Wine. It's a celebration, right? Just- don't let me drink too much. If I wake up with /another/ hangover, I'm going to have to abstain entirely." There's a rueful twist to her lips, and she reaches for some vegetables, serving them up, too, in the same order: Avaryk, then herself. She's working hard to ignore the discussions at the Blooded table, although the yelling does turn her attention in that direction, she's unable to tell what's going on.

The family that Hattie has found herself with are not so happy and number among those who have a disappointed son or daughter to try and cheer up after leaving the Sands without having been chosen by one of the dragonets. It's the mother, a short, painfully thin woman, who demands answers to questions such as, "What did he do wrong?" and, "What should he do next time?" and, "There /is/ going to be a next time, isn't there?" The Weyrwoman is not doing a very good job of hiding her frustration and looks quite as if she'd like someone - even her Weyrleader - to rescue her right about now. The yelling doesn't exactly rescue her, but someone else has picked up the cry, echoing, "A healer for Lord Boll!" above the noise in the cavern. The music continues, the disturbance having not yet reached the harpers.

"The Weyrleader?" Einrhi wasn't expecting to have this sort of conversation til later - and perhaps not quite in such a public space either. "I haven't met with him yet, tomorrow I'll organise a time to meet with him and let you know." He pauses briefly, as if considering whether or not to continue. Lowering his voice as he leans closer to his grandfather, "There are also thoughts that there is some awkwardness between the two, he and the Weyrwoman." Again, his ears pink a little - uncomfortable with having to say such things. At Visrain's collapse, he startles, rising swiftly to his feet to help aid the old man. "Grandfather!" A brief glance is shot to his father, the worry evident in his features.

"As do I," Avaryk agrees with her indicated taste in music. Head tilting in her direction briefly, his expression turns a tad conspiratorial, "Only if you'll promise me the same. I think this is the wrong crowd for me to get drunk in." His hand has lifted to catch a server's attention when the yelling starts, and he twists in his seat to try to see what the commotion is all about. "Trouble," he says, probably unnecessarily, and as the cry is picked up and carries through the cavern, his eyes visibly widen. The word that escapes his mouth in a sulphurous mutter is best left unwritten. Further putting his storeskeeper claim in doubt, he turns serious eyes on Ali. "Until we know what's happened, do not leave my side. I can't protect you if you go running off." then he's adding his own voice into the din, a deep breath taken before he projects in a loud boom, "Clear a path, you ninnies, and make room around the Lord!" But notably, he doesn't move, not even to stand. Let his be one more anonymous voice in the racket.

It quickly becomes apparent that, healer or not, Lord Visrain is beyond saving. His expression has turned from pained to completely blank, slumped against his son. While the healers rush in, it doesn't take them long to come to the same conclusion, either, one standing and catching Hattie's gaze, before shaking his head. While they may be trying to be discreet, it's somewhat difficult given the position of the table, and whispers about the 'Lord Boll', and 'is he okay'? are already rapidly sweeping throughout the cavern. Jivrain, meanwhile, continues to support the Lord, and is audibly yelling at them to 'do something'!

"Actually, it's probably the right crowd to get drunk in. That's the problem," Ali's murmuring with a wry sort of smile. And then she rises quickly as the yelling and the rushing of the healers becomes notable throughout the cavern. The junior pales, a hand held over her mouth, and she rocks in place like she's not sure whether to move closer or not, wincing at Avaryk's yell, but it does serve to make her decision for her.

Hattie is... Well, Hattie is still staring at that healer, willing them to change their mind and nod or cry 'false alarm' or /something/. The music ceases and it's /that/ that sends her into action, that family abandoned without another word as she starts to weave her way through the crowds, finding the Headwoman, her assistants and various other caverns staff as she goes, telling each, in a low voice, "Solarium. Now. Move everyone out. Quickly and quietly as possible." As /some/ of the crowd begins to disperse under these orders, there are pockets around the cavern who stick around to gawk and murmur and try and get a closer look. It's going to be a while before the plan reaches everyone's ears, but it's clear that the Weyrwoman is /not/ about to make a loud and unfeeling announcement.

"Grandfather!" Einrhi urges again, brows furrowing as his attention ping-pongs between the Lord of Boll and the healers, his own colour starting to drain as he watches. Carefully, he shifts his support of the old Holder, finger tips coming to rest against where a pulse should be, but finding nothing. Grief swells as he shuts his eyes briefly, attempting to steady his position. Each shout of Jivrain's seems to cause the young man to wince a little. Finally he exhales, eyes opening again and he reaches a hand out across his grandfather in an attempt to calm his patriarch. "Father, he's gone." His features starting to redden with the blood that rises with the grief of family loss.

Avaryk reaches out, fingers aiming for Ali's elbow. Though his expression makes it clear he'd really rather not, he rises to stand by the junior's side. Though many, if not all, eyes have turned towards the Bollian table, his own rarely glance in that direction. Instead he keeps his own gaze moving, eyes flicking here and there around the crowd. Dipping his head to bring his mouth close to Ali's ear, "There, I can see the Weyrwoman moving." His hand lifts to point her out, and drops again before the gesture becomes too noticable. "We should move to meet with her, find out what she wants you to do." His voice is gentle, this time a suggestion, his early commanding tones having vanished completely.

Jivrain, finally, lets the healers inaction penetrate, but only after Einrhi's pronouncement. The look he gives his son is not gratitude, nor comfort, nor sympathy, but something sharper, and his fingers tighten and loosen against his father's arms as he surrenders him. He rises, slowly, and odd expression on his face: anger and grief and resentment all co-mingled. There's a beat of inaction, and then he snaps, "We require immediate transport to Southern Boll."

Frozen in indecision, Ali simply stares. It's Avaryk's subtle support, and his not-so-subtle suggestion that finally urges her to action, and she exhales a shuddering breath. "Yes. Yes, of course. You'd better come. She might want help with- with-" she can't quite finish that statement, and so gives up. Instead, she moves on an intercept path to Hattie, question in her gaze, even if she doesn't quite voice it.

Hattie's expression is grim as she locks eyes with Ali and gets right to the point; she has no time be reassuring or particularly supportive at the moment. "Get everyone settled in the Solarium," the Weyrwoman instructs. "Shevena and her assistants will help you. Get the harpers playing again and assure everyone that there will be food available shortly." She looks up at Avaryk and tells him, "Want to prove yourself? Remember what we spoke of? Help your weyrwoman." The goldrider nods towards Ali, then aims to take her junior aside for a second or two to murmur, "This is your..." 'celebration' just isn't the right word, "...event now. You know what to do. You'll be fine." That must be meant to be /some/ reassurance. Then she's off, aiming to catch the arm of her Weyrleader when she finds him.

There's a wince from Einrhi at his father's tone, the youngest of the Boll contingent shouldering the weight of his grandfather as Jivrain stands, fighting back tears that threaten to spill if his control slips even for an instant. There's little for him to say or do, and so the bereaved grandson for the time being remains quiet - supporting the body of his grandfather while his father organises what needs to be done.

Keeping in his self-appointed role, Avaryk falls into step a bare half-pace behind and slightly to one side of Ali. Though, due to the occasion, he is completely lacking in weaponry, the young man's whole demeanor has changed to one that projects both alertness and a hint of danger. His movements fluid, his gaze never still, at least not until Hattie's words reach his ears. Turning his eyes towards her, the hazel-green depths are for once completely unreadable. "My place is by her side," he says with a slight nod towards the junior, "until this is finished." He doesn't say it with any particular effort to attempt to reassure or even agree with Hattie. It's a simple fact, nothing more. And as the senior leaves, he turns towards Ali, waiting, ready and steady. "Your instructions?" Okay, so maybe he and formality do know each other, after all.

The shifting crowd makes it difficult for the Weyrleader but he eventually makes his way through, emerging near enough that it isn't hard for Hattie to catch him. Honey-brown eyes scan the scene and N'muir's expression is strained and serious as he searches the faces around him, leaning in to share quiet words with Hattie.

The healers continue to mill around the former Lord Holder, even though there's little that they can do at this point. Jivrain simply stands near his family, waiting until his request is obeyed, although his gaze does fall on Einrhi. "Go pack your things, Einrhi. You won't be staying here long." And then his gaze falls on the Weyrleaders with a narrowing of gaze, and instead, he's ordering for the healers to get a stretcher.

Ali's expression, is, let's face it, somewhat ashen and perhaps even a little panicked. Even /more/ so at Hattie's quiet murmur, staring after the Weyrwoman. Avaryk's words, however, are a surprise, and she stares at him for a beat, before she touches his arm and murmurs, "Smile. Be polite. Get everyone moving, don't let them ask questions." She steps away from the table, heading from group to group and urging them with a politely fixed smile that they've decided to move the celebration to the Solarium.

"You'll have to do it," Hattie is telling N'muir, voice low. "It's the honour owed him. Them. You'll have escort them back to Boll." If she is at all upset about events playing out before her, there's no way of knowing it, the Weyrwoman locked into a mode that involves efficiency and little else. Only the Weyrleader is allowed to see or is accidentally given a glimpse of how she might be feeling underneath that mask, her, "Please," a little desperate as she subconsciously curls her fingers against his arm. "We need to go..." She nods towards Jivrain, pressing her lips into a thin line.

There's little for Einrhi to do at this stage apart from waiting for the next lot of instructions from his father. Patience is serving him well given the circumstances, and for the time being he's retaining his grief-stricken cool and not falling to pieces.

The harpers are now assisting with the encouraging of people to relocate to the solarium, and the kitchen staff, too, has begun moving the food out of the caverns. Slowly, the place is emptying out, though there's a few gawkers still here and there.

Avaryk touches his fist to his heart in a very odd sort of salute for Ali as the hand-off of authority is fully made -- not that he had any right assuming any in the first place, but still. She's the boss, and it's beyond clear now that she's given him his orders. So. He smiles. He's polite, if firm, and he does his bit to round up the gawpers and make the transition from living cavern to solarium as smooth as possible. But always with an eye out for Ali, always near her if needed, doing his duty within the bounds his honour has set.

The Weyrwoman softens N'muir's look and he nods, offering Hattie a gentle hand to her shoulder before moving on towards the body of the Holder. N'muir glances from Jivrain to Einrhi as the stretcher arrives, his face solemn and gaze gently apologetic. He'll help put the Lord Holder onto the stretcher and carry him out into the cold where Bijedth awaits with grieving eyes to take the Lord Holder and his family home.