Difference between revisions of "Logs:Clutch Party Fiasco"

>---< Living Cavern, High Reaches Weyr(#350RJs) >----------------------------<

  Stalactites hang high above this enormous cavern like a jagged chandelier 
  or an inversion of the Spires themselves, but shadows cling to them       
  instead of light. Below lie great tables arranged in rows, each large     
  enough to serve a fighting wing, while in the nooks and alcoves around the
  cavern's edge sit more sensibly-sized tables, from six- and eight-seaters 
  down to intimate spots for just a couple of diners. The only really open  
  space is around the kitchen entrance, smelling of food and rarely quiet,  
  and by the nearby serving tables with their long buffet of the day's      
  offerings.                                                                
                                                                            
  Tapestries on the smooth walls -- some faded and others newly woven --    
  only slightly mute the sea of sound when a meal is in full swing, but they
  add cheerfulness augmented by the glowlight from wall sconces and the     
  centerpieces of each table. Still, shadows always creep along the ceiling 
  and into the mouths of the exits -- the myriad small hallways at one end  
  of the cavern and, at the other, the twisting tunnel to the bowl near an  
  array of coathooks and and hatracks -- and late at night, when the glows  
  are allowed to dim, the chamber can seem very dark indeed.                

 -----------------------------< Active Players >-----------------------------
  Alida        F  27  5'7"  athletic, white-blond hair, clear green ey   47s 
  Faryn        F  22  5'4"  lean, brown hair, brown eyes                  5m 
  Ghena        F  19 5'10"  coltish, brown hair, hazel eyes               5m 
  H'vier       M  39   6'5  big, dark hair, brown eyes                    0s 
  Irianke      F  37  5'7"  slender, dark curly hair, stone blue eyes     0s 
  K'zin        M  23  6'1"  muscled, brown hair, brown eyes               5m 
  Laine        F  17  5'4"  trim, dark hair, grey eyes                    2m 
  Leova        F  44  5'5"  hourglass, rusty hair, amber eyes             2m 
  R'oan        M  39   6'1  muscular, blonde hair, grey-green eyes       29s 
  Schuyler     M  19 5'11"  muscular, black hair, blue eyes               5m 
  Zadkiel      M  20  6'3"  lean, black hair, green eyes                  3m
 ----------------------------< Idlers + Objects >----------------------------
  Idlers:     L'sha (11m)                                                   
  Objects:    Clutching Party - Scene Set                                   
 ----------------------------------< Exits >---------------------------------
                         Inner Caverns  Kitchen  Bowl                       
>-----------------------------------------< 16D 4M 37T I10, spring night >---<

It's evening, now, and hours since Niahvth laid her last egg. The tables have been cleared to the sides of the living cavern, and the buffet tables laid out with food and drinks. There's even cake-- and that's a rarety, given the state of High Reaches' grain stores (and indeed, those of storerooms Pern-wide). A trio of harpers are playing light mood music, although there's the promise of dancing later on; the mood is festive. After all, a clutch of seventeen is a promising sign, in these Interval times, and that burnished gold egg? That's High Reaches' first new queen in more than eight turns. Time to celebrate!

The party is in full swing, the harpers doing a lively set and well, there's cake. Irianke is there, with the cake, looking upon its six tiered magnificence with all the covetous desire that H'vier probably gives every single good-looking female in a fifty-mile radius. She's in a pretty red affair, fitted sleekly to her body, and with the exception of the giant walking boot on her right foot, looks as pretty as a peach. "Tell me it

The party is in full swing, the harpers doing a lively set and well, there's cake. Irianke is there, with the cake, looking upon its six tiered magnificence with all the covetous desire that H'vier probably gives every single good-looking female in a fifty-mile radius. She's in a pretty red affair, fitted sleekly to her body, and with the exception of the giant walking boot on her right foot, looks as pretty as a peach. "Tell me it's a different flavor on each layer. Tell me, even if it's a lie," is asked of the baker who is putting finishing touches, even now, on the masterpiece.

« Babies! » It's not the first shout in the last few days. But it's not in the least bit dimmed for enthusiasm. And of course, it's made worth by those like Hraedhyth, who are encouraging this sort of celebration. (To High Reaches dragons from Lythronath)

To High Reaches dragons, Niahvth's pride is self-evident in the fireworks that go off in the draconic mental space every so often, but instead of sparks, they unleash a torrent of thrilled, beaming, tired petals on unsuspecting dragons. Everyone will know her joy today.

Banners snapping and the brassy sounds of trumpets filled with good news. « Well done M'lady, well done! » (To High Reaches dragons from Knioth)

He's known about it for days, of course. But Hraedhyth's enthusiasm requires an answer from Ilicaeth, who rumbles his easy humor and comments, « You two gonna bounce 'em on yer knees? » Hrae and Niahvth. Unless he's been chased off, the blue is lounging in the warmth of the hatching cavern upon the highest of the viewing ledges. (To High Reaches dragons from Ilicaeth)

The party is in full swing, the harpers doing a lively set and well, there's cake. Irianke is there, with the cake, looking upon its six tiered magnificence with all the covetous desire that H'vier probably gives every single good-looking female in a fifty-mile radius. She's in a pretty red affair, fitted sleekly to her body, and with the exception of the giant walking boot on her right foot, looks as pretty as a peach. "Tell me it's a different flavor on each layer. Tell me, even if it's a lie," is asked of the baker who is putting finishing touches, even now, on the masterpiece. (repose for all those who arrived)

The heavy, smoky haze that's always an indicator of Zmeyth's presence roils in an effort, and a faint crackling, like logs shifting in a fire, is issued in response to the queen's joy. Eggs, « Congratulations are in order, » but he's got a thrum of something, a smug something. Where's Reisoth? (To High Reaches dragons from Zmeyth)

Ghena meanders in, in her party clothes, which is to say a silver-blue silk tunic and tight leather pants. While some go for cake? She goes for the booze.

To High Reaches dragons, Qhyluth's mental ocean emits a dull roar and the tide washes in, bringing with it the sighs of sycophants from distant shores. Better to listen to the clattering of lobstrosities on the nearer shore, creatures that click their praises and chitter blissfully until they're swept away when the tide washes back out.

L'sha enters the caverns and makes a vtol-line for the cake. Caaaaake! He piles some more snacks on a plate, takes a glass of Benden Red from a passing server and begins to mingle, chatting with various riders. He sees Ghena through the crows and waves, grinning at her.

Leova'd walked in with H'kon and then promptly abandoned him, though surely he was heading off to buttonhole Y'rel anyway. Now she eyes the main cavern speculatively, particularly all those people dressed up while she's still in work-clothes, and heads in unassuming fashion towards the drinks table likewise.

It's not joy that Reisoth is feeling in this moment. The clutch's sire is distracted with mild agitation despite his physical presence on the sands. (To High Reaches dragons from Reisoth)

Which is the priority, this time: food or drinks? Perhaps this is the reason why Alida enters the cavern, looks over the place, then pulls a wooden coin out of her pocket and flips it into the air. A grunt and nod later see the blonde stowing her coin away once again and making a beeline for the food tables, and whatever looks and smells the best (and least seen on the menu for months). On her way, incisive green eyes cut arcs through the gathering crowd, keeping the woman appraised of the whos and wheres.

To Reisoth, Niahvth catches that irriation, her joy subsiding, if for a moment, to snake out vines of lush jungle foliage and flowers and the heady perfume of ylang ylang and other such sensual aromas. « You cannot be displeased by what we have done together. »

Ghena grins at her clutchmate, fingers dancing in a cheery greeting. "Oy! L'sha!" Once her drink is claimed, hazel eyes shift and cause the girl to smile. "Leova, it's nice to see you outside the infirmary. I imagine you've been kinda busy of late?

Amongst those two-and-threes trickling in, Laine and two similarly-knotted apprentices, still wet-haired but in clean, pressed tunics and trousers, are elbowing and jostling amongst each other. Her two companions are prattling behind their hands who's wearing the nicest, the tackiest, the most glamourous, and Laine, with a laughing roll of her eyes, takes her mates by the elbow and directs their babbling little group toward the drinks. They lose one girl when she veers with an avid 'oooh!' off toward the cake, but Laine and the other eventually make it to the booze.

To High Reaches dragons, Rasavyth's yawn is a felt thing more than physical. « Already we have brought you a candidate from Igen Weyr, Niahvth, » he offers the gold with due pomp and circumstance. « The first of many, I am sure. »

It might be pouring buckets outside, but that's only an indication spring is firmly here. "It's not snow, 'least," says an arriving bluerider, whose leathers are pretty damp. "Says you," returns his incredibly put out partner, who runs a hand through his soggy hair. "Shut up and dance with me. It's nice not to care whether we're hungover tomorrow or not."

"You'd think they'd be used to sliding in the mud, hm? But no." Leova has a half-smile even so, but then it is an occasion. As she moves up in line, by chance making room for the pair of apprentices, "Nice tunic, by the by." More ruefully, "The dress I was going to wear, of course it's in my weyr."

To High Reaches dragons, Niahvth's joy, mitigated by something else is now flat. There's a black silence where the gold's joy once was. « You what? »

That. Rasavyth's news is the reason for Reisoth's agitation and it's immediately apparent in the way the large bronze rumbles when it's shared with the Weyr at large. « I'm not displeased. H'vier, however... » The man's not happy. « He would like to speak with K'zin. » That can't be good. (To Niahvth from Reisoth)

How the laundress made it from the bathing pools to the living cavern before the others may be a forever mystery, but from the look of her curls, still damp at the ends, she appears to have struck out immediately for the party. Dressed in her usual trousers and a loose tunic-blouse of olive, Farideh's busy making a mess of the set the harpers are playing. She's laughing with another girl, their jaunty movements offset by their giggling, as they sway and turn, and-- it's comical, and more stalwart dancers will probably disapprove. But they're teenagers and they're having fun, and maybe they've already partaken of the drinks; one too many. Farideh's cheeks, at least, are flushed, whether from dancing or drinking, and she takes a moment to stop, fanning her pink cheeks with a hand as her bright eyes rove over the assembled weyrfolk.

Though Ilicaeth's not often inclined to purposely listen to his estranged sibling, Rasavyth's call to the weyr-at-large has the blue grunting, shifting in his splay upon rock...then rumbling with something like dark humor. Blue eyes whirl somewhat faster as they look down upon bronze and gold on those egg-laden sands...and observe. (To High Reaches dragons from Ilicaeth)

Ghena grins wryly at Leova. "You'd think, but No. Plumb wore out after all those greenflights." As for clothes? She smiles, "Knioth insisted I look presentable. It's really too bad though, I'd have loved to see you in that dress." The bluerider adds with a lift of her cup. "Seventeen, is impressive though isn't it? And - I hear a gold?"

Irianke suddenly stops short in her admiration, if that's what they're calling it now rather than inahlation, of a large slice of cake. Her eyes suddenly narrow and she of the wine-flushed cheeks and cheerful intoxication looks suddenly less so now. The goldrider straightens, those keen eyes cutting through the crowds, searching, seeking for something. Someone. "If you'll excuse me," she says to that master baker, almost tripping over a cake lost member of Laine's cohort, in order to make her way through the crowd. Don't worry, the plate with the cake on it is firmly attached to her. She might look angry, but she's not about to let go of that slice of heaven.

To High Reaches dragons, Rasavyth's return is equal parts concern and curiosity. « Zadkiel. He's Stood for Igen before. Now he will Stand for 'Reaches. Or Igen. However all of that works out, » it sounds a bit like the bronze doesn't care. But then, they're not his eggs. He had some once, he thinks. Somewhere.

To High Reaches dragons, Niahvth might not remember this Zadkiel, but her rider does, and the recollection of such brings heat to the clutch dam's touch. « We shall send him back. » So simple!

L'sha maneuvers craftily through the crowd toward Ghena, raising his glass to clink against hers. "That clutch is so lovely, isn't it? And the gold! We finally got another one!" He beams at the bluerider and smiles politely to Leova. His eyes then wander around the crowd, lingering for a moment on the tall, handsome hunter who just arrived and finding another familiar face: R'oan.

Laine and her friend, an pudgy-looking boy, will gladly take up that freed space in line, but only Laine has a spark of recognition for the greenrider, and a courteous nod. "I heard there's two gol--" her companion brightly pipes up, but Laine groans and digs her elbow into his side with a low, hissed, "There ain't. That's stupid." The line shuffles forward.

H'vier arrives in a tense mood, a bit later than he'd probably planned on arriving. He's wearing his dress leathers, too, so he probably wasn't planning on arriving in the mood that he does. Unplanned anger and H'vier aren't really the best combination, but he moves through the party, looking for someone in particular. It's not Irianke that he's looking for, but he pauses when he sees her.

Someone could accuse R'oan of being here only for the free drink (and cake, of course!). If those people were to recognize the brownrider as not one of High Reaches' own in the sea of people celebrating Niahvth's clutch, because he does not wear his knot. Oh, he certainly looks the part of a dragonrider, in leathers and settled in a group of other dragonriders that do belong to 'Reaches. He already has helped himself to a glass of wine, lying through his teeth with a cheerful, "Yep, the eggs look lovely. Just lovely." (He hasn't seen them yet. He doesn't see L'sha yet, either.)

Dressed in his dress leathers, cleaned and hair neatly trimmed, K'zin is part of a small knot of riders toward the entrance to the bowl, a drink in one hand, his arms folded across his chest in casual repose. The talk? The eggs, of course. Isn't that what everyone here is talking about?

H'vier senses "Irianke looks striking, a slinky red gown that leaves little to the imagination of how her body curves and turns. But it's the look she gives when their eyes meet that says everything: a cold, unnerving anger that has never been seen on the goldrider's face until now."

The greenrider's brown cheeks color, but she rallies with a dry, "Question is, did he catch any? But: aye for the numbers. Going to be a handful. I've other garb in our quarters, at least," Leova's and Anvori's, "so after this drink, going to disappear and be back. Did you hear there's cake?" Then, with a backward glance and a one-cornered smile for the girls behind her, "Just one. Ghena, have you met... Laine, right? and her friend?"

Leave it to the guard in the crowd to notice anomalies. Snagging her own piece of delicious *cake* from a table brings Irianke's flash of anger into Alida's purview, the bluerider now quietly observing to where the junior weyrwoman departs. This is just about the same time that Ilicaeth's private message enters the blonde's mind...and she suddenly finds herself trying not to wheeze blackest laughter into her free hand. Just maybe it's someone else's turn to become K'del's newest, angry focus. Cake is stabbed, devoured with much delight.

Irianke halts her steps when her gaze catches H'vier's in the way that these things just happen. There's a shadow in her blue eyes, and a brow arches quizzical. Forcing a farce of a smile to her lips, she holds out her free hand to the bronzerider, the rider to the father of her dragon's babies. "Don't you look dashing?"

Faryn's priorities are straight, at least. She's already got a plate of snacks, mostly eaten, and she's chewing thoughtfully on the tines of her fork while she eyes the cake and slips back into the line that has formed for food. It wasn't there a moment ago. She directs an exasperated puff of hair at her bangs?BANGS!?and settles, nibbling on the bits that are left for nibbling.

Ghena smiles at L'sha, nodding in agreement. To Leova, she grins. "Three. Let me tell you, I'm not sure I can take anymore flights." Of Laine, the bluerider nods, lifting a glass in the tanner's direction. "I have; we were talking about dragons being untrustworthy?" Ghena might have that mixed up.

« Will you? » Rasavyth's tenor purr is interested in this development. « By simply telling him he must, when he wished to answer the call of your eggs? » There's a flicker of amusement, familiar amusement, « Are men as easily controlled as dragons? I wonder. » (To High Reaches dragons from Rasavyth)

Laine's companion volunteers with a plump-cheeked smile, "Tonas." But he's swept up by a passing, laughing aquaintance, who snags his hand and drags him away to dance, and Laine is left to defend weakly: "Not that I find them untrustworthy. Not like they're gonna steal my marks," (Farideh) "I just don't wanna put my hand in their mouths. Or by their teeth." She's grateful when she's close enough to the drinks table to scoop up a glass of red wine and drink deeply.

R'oan excuses himself from the conversation about eggs that he's found himself in, moving along and along towards the table that holds that ultimate prize. He snags himself a piece of cake much like a thief in the night, escaping from the table before the person next to him can draw him into another conversation and ending up-- next to the former-guard, now bluerider Alida there who seems to be quietly enjoying her cake as well. He tips a nod, settling in beside her and using her as a shield as he takes a slow bite of his own cake.

L'sha's eyes bug out at Ghena. "Three? Three?!? Faranth, I'm surprised if he can still move! I'm just glad Rillaeth didn't go up in all this nonsense. Must be something to that "Spring Fever" stuff." He takes another large bite of cake, rolling his eyes in ecstasy. "This is sooo good!"

Anger pulls at H'vier's features. He doesn't attempt to return her smile, but he accepts the hand offered to him by the weyrwoman so he can pull her in closer against him. His head tilts and he murmurs something in her ear that he must not expect her to take well. But it needs to be said.

"Shells." Leova grumbles it, though not without humor, even as she makes a show of sidling away from Ghena as though she might be contagious. If that's also aimed to catch the server's eye and ideally bypass the bluerider to make her order of ale, so much the better. Though then she has to add, "No reason why you should. Apply hand to dragon-maw.

You sense H'vier's arm tightens just so around her waist as he asks, "Did you have anything to do with this?"

His timing is, if nothing else, keenly calculated. The newly knotted hunter's arrival is delayed only by the twin necessities of putting his bag away in the barracks and getting a bath. Once both are accomplished, a freshly scrubbed Zadkiel pads his way into the living cavern. Igenite, through and through, gauging by the bright scarf wrapped around his waist and the matching kerchief on his head. Leather vest, matching trousers, sandals; blame it on his entirely too recent arrival. The knots, though; that might be a peculiarity, with High Reaches on the shoulder and Igen at the hip. Pay him no mind as he prowls the edges and just watches.

Schuyler enters from the kitchen and refills one of the plates. "You go enjoy the party for a bit, Sky, we've got things covered here for now." one of the rounder kitchen ladies calls after him. "Thanks!" he grins back at her. "You send someone to get me if it gets to crazy back there though!" but he's ashtray filling a plate and glancing around to see who he can spot to socialize with.

"Ah, well that isn't inaccurate, you'd probably pass out to see some of what Knioth demands be spent on his care." Ghena snorts, "I always knew he'd be trouble but, I am about to just disappear somewhere south for a month until everyone gets off the same cycle." She snorts as Leova sidles away. "What is up with that anyway?" Her eyes drift to Zadkiel, brow furrowing when she catches the double knot."

What H'vier says so privately is met with an unprivate response, Irianke's simmering anger, the one that is being channeled so perfectly by her dragon, finding reason to be angry in public. A half bottle of wine, sugar highs, and the news her dragon's conveyed combined with this causes the controlled goldrider from Igen to lose it. Cake. H'vier. Face. Splat. "Fuck you," is uttered low, but audible to those near by. "Enjoy the cake. You can apologize to me later." Caking H'vier mollifies her enough so that some of that anger fades as she pulls herself free and walks away.

The still-standing Alida finds the unknown guy sidling in beside her rather an affront to her personal space, and the bluerider stares quite openly at R'oan before moving one step away, thank you. Noted in her mile-a-minute, brusque alto to him, "Ever heard uv' personal space?" And then another communique from Ilicaeth has her green eyes glazing for a second, before the woman actually has to bit her lip to keep from suddenly barking out the black laughter within. Oh; this is *too* amusing! Eyeballing the interaction between Irianke and H'vier makes the guard's knife-like smirk sour a little, but it doesn't make the expression disappear completely. Evil...positively evil. Oh, and there's *cake* too! Om nom! Smirk.

R'oan only flashes an unrepentant smirk as he counters, "Look around, darling. Crowded room, can't blame a man. At least until there's a hand on your ass." And he wiggles his free hand in a gesture. See, not there yet. But no promises. His grey eyes slide after Alida's to take in that exchange, interest written in his expression and his gaze lingering on Irianke, though he doesn't move away from Alida.

Does it take one Igenite to spot another Igenite? Probably not, but as Farideh's eyes scan the room and all of the bountiful treasures it holds, her eyes nearly pop out of her head when she spots the scarf-wearing hunter-turned-candidate prowling the proximity of the crowd. She doesn't bother excusing herself from her friend, doesn't bother saying apologies for the people she pushes and bumps into in her need to get to the tall man. It's after she's elbowed her way through a trio of (extremely) drunken riders, who are busy arguing about the possibilities of one of the eggs being filled with whiskey, that she stops a few feet away from Zadkiel and just stares. Her eyes sweep him from head to toe, like she's never seen such a thing before, and linger on the Igen knot he's still wearing at his waist. "You're--" Fast steps bring her closer, perhaps uncomfortably close, and her eyes lock on the man's face. "You're Igen." Someone should probably get her under control, before she ends up touching him. Ew.

Laine gestures her free hand at Leova, an emphatic see?, an argument with no one but one that Leova's proved Laine correct. The apprentice is about to ease her way back from the table--wine acquired, mission successful; new target: cake--when she pauses, gape-mouthed, at the cake-to-face. And she utters flatly, "What." Aaaaand... drink!

Aw, darn. K'zin's out of drink! This necessitates excusing himself from his fellows to head for that drink table. That one specifically. The one that takes him right past the freshly caked H'vier.

L'sha giggles at Ghena, imagining what Knioth is putting her through. He glances toward Irianke and H'vier just in time to see the bronzerider get cake smashed in his face. His mouth drops open and he looks away immediately lest someone see his face turn bright red with stifled laughter. Snerk!

Green eyes narrow just a touch at the scene playing itself out in the midst of so many others. Zadkiel's mouth twists subtly to one side and he snorts softly. He straightens with a serpentine undulation and squares his shoulders, arms folding across his chest. And he might just stay like that forever, until there's that minor interruption in the form of a young woman who seems intent on elbowing her way toward him. That staring is met with a sidelong look from the hunter, his expression unreadable. But, her proximity doesn't cause him to withdraw - and if she did touch him, he probably won't bite. Probably. Just ignore the slight curl of his upper lip. It's harmless. Really. "Bred, born, and raised." The accent? That should be all the confirmation Farideh needs.

For once, Faryn's tendency to watch in large crowds rather than engaging gives her a view of two things. The first is a stranger, clearly Igenite, who comes into the caverns and immediately stalks around the edges. The second she spots thanks to the sound of gasps from some nearby women, and she turns in time to see cake dropping to the ground, from H'vier's face. Too busy looking, someone nudges past her and she darts forward, filling her plate distractedly. "Holy shit," she murmurs, to nobody in particular, "I guess that makes it a real party."

To Niahvth, Etrevth's intoxicating smoke infuses against her mind, a mere presence there for a moment that seems to be driven more by his rider than his own wishes. He doesn't bother a brooding queen on the sands any further, drawing away like smoke on a breeze.

Leova, stoic Leova, is midway through a swallow from her successful foray when cake meets face, the greenrider having turned away from the drinks table conveniently just in time. Even when she's done choking, her mouth's tight. She glances briefly to Ghena and Laine and then back.

"I ain'cher 'darling,' asshole..." the bluerider notes with almost effervescent sourness, then eating more of her cake so she go for a second round of the sweet, wheaty stuff. As to that potential hand on her ass... "Know what a subdural hematoma is?" It's asked much too pleasantly for her... if the Fortian knew her from jack, that is.

Schuyler is there just in time to see the precious cake wind up in someone's face instead of their mouth and he frowns. "Well that was a waste." he mutters as he spots a couple blue riders he wants to say hello to. He makes his way across the floor in search of either Ghena or Alida, whomever he winds up getting to first.

Ghena just grins at cake-meet-face. "Ok. I like this Lady already." She waves spotting Sky, but doesn't move from the drink table. It's kinda like watching a canine guard a particularly delicious bone.

The sound H'vier makes as Irianke turns to walk away is something between a roar and a yell. He's pissed, in case anyone missed that. A hand lifts to wipe cake away from his face and then he's turning to-- see K'zin. There's no thought in the way that H'vier moves to close the distance between himself and the younger bronzerider. And once it's closed, he's shoving at K'zin and yelling, "You spineless little shit. Who the fuck do you think you are!" Now it's a party.

"Beautiful, I would never attempt to claim you," murmurs R'oan with wry amusement, a slow, sure curve to one corner of his mouth as his gaze slides over Alida even as he lifts a forkful of cake to his lips. But then his attention is stolen away again by H'vier, marking the man and his target only briefly before searching past him.

Irianke ignores. She's already livid enough at H'vier to compartmentalize him into a box he would never want to be in. He could shout till the sky turned green and she wouldn't turn. Like many, now bereft of cake, she's at the drink table having maneuvered herself ahead somehow. It helps to be pretty, pissed looking, and the clutch dam's rider. "A bottle. A glass. No, you want to give me a bottle now with the glass. Opened. The bottle. Not the glass. You know what," the goldrider exhales a serenity now breath and starts again, her usual smile resurfacing, though not completely washing away the irritation. "A glass will be fine. Thank you. And I apologize for cutting in front of you," she says to the next in line. "I... need a drink."

Since she's here, taking up space at the drinks table, since there's that shout of anger: Laine claims another glass of wine, and there's a good chance that second one belonged to someone else's order but, hey, there's lots to go around. The apprentice tanner turns a deaf ear to a muttered protest from the next-in-line, and now tries to edge her way out in earnest. "Pardon me. Leova, Ghena."

L'sha regains his composure in time for Schuler to pass by. Playfully, he calls out, "Sky, did you make this cake? I could kiss you. Can I kiss you?" He glances over at H'vier again as he starts yelling at K'zin. "Uh-oh." He starts to move away from the bronzeriders in anticipation of fists flying.

Everything happening over there, back there, is far removed from Farideh's attention and out of her periphery. It's all filled up with Zadkiel's bulk and that Igen knot of his. She keeps staring at his face, her lips parted in some kind of awe when he speaks and his accent rolls right out. Unfortunately, her voice is too crisp to lay claim to the Igen accent, and she's all but assimilated into the High Reaches' style by now. "Why are you--" eyes drop to the candidate knot riding his shoulder, "You're a candidate? Here? How?" By the end, she's frowning and there's lines forming between her eyebrows, where they've started to come together in consternation.

Schuyler waves back at Ghena but as he veers towards the drink table he notices someone encroaching on Alida's well loved personal space. Deciding to head there instead. Then L'sha's call catches his attention yet again and he lets out a broad grin. "I haven't had enough to drink yet." but he smirks, his response lighthearted.

Oh HELL yeah! Fiiiight! Alida's torn between cake, answering R'oan, and the compelling little scene between Irianke and H'vier... now H'vier and K'zin. The bluerider's suddenly grinning like a wicked wolf, and snerking brightly at R'oan's response, while she stuffs the last of her cake in her yap, and moves off to get more. Note how she's still keeping tabs on the snarky Fortian, drinking Irianke, and the pile-up of bronzers beyond her. Lots of eye bouncing is involved...gleeful eye bouncing.

It would, arguably, be better for all involved if K'zin fit the description H'vier gives him, but muscular former forge fanatic K'zin is nothing of the kind. The glass is dropped as hands reflexively come up in the defensive pose of one who's no stranger to brawling. "I know you have trouble keeping your hands to yourself, Wingleader, but really? In front of all these people?" The lift of brows that wrinkles K'zin's forehead so profoundly paired with the tone of his voice are provocation.

Ghena grins at the weyrwoman as she claims her bottle or, glass as it turns out to be, nodding to Laine as she edges her way away. "That, I would pay a hundred marks to have that event commemorated" To Leova, Irianke or anyone listening.

Leova gives Laine a brusque nod, glancing from the bronzeriders to... hello, goldrider. Cupping her hand protectively around her mug, she makes her way towards the inner caverns, sidestepping where she has to. There's got to be a healer still on duty, hasn't there? Just in case.

Well, shit, Alida. That is the expression on R'oan's face as she abandons him, his wall from the rest of the party. He looks bereft, certainly, as he takes another bite of his own cake, but he doesn't move away from the spot that he's claimed. (At least he isn't holding up a wall.) His own attention doesn't seem focused on anything in particular after Alida breaks his heart and leaves him, besides his cake often.

All of that over there business is definitely a point of interest for Zadkiel. His attention cuts sharply from Farideh to the bronzeriders, only to be drawn back again at her string of questions. His answer, then, is to unfold his arms and attempt to catch her by a shoulder, if only to spin her around and point her in the direction of K'zin and H'vier. And if he can manage that, he'll bend down to explain, "K'zin, that one. His dragon asked. I answered." His half-smile is a terrible thing, inspired by the sight of the brawl. It fades quickly. "Igen's blood calls to its own, my grandfather would say." Of people? Dragons? Maybe both.

To Etrevth, Niahvth recognizes him. The touch, the feel, and above all, how her rider feels when told of the brown's presence. The sands-bound mother, however, shares only a wearied drift of petals.

Laine's still there. Double-fistin' at the bar. It's crowded, she's kind of little, and her hands are both full. So: with a mildly pained look, the apprentice offers that hard-earned second glass of red wine to Irianke, if she'll take it. And if she won't: more wine for Laine!

Unless R'oan wants to 'make her acquaintence' again, Alida's going to be shifting through the crowd once again (after nabbing another big-ass slice of cake and a big goblet of white wine)) in order to get an even better viewpoint of how things between bronzers transpires out 'there.' She's like a buzzard, really... circling, waiting. And then someone's pointing at K'zin, and green eyes take in Zadkiel, and try and interpret his lip movements.

The glass of wine offered from the bar and then from Laine has Irianke double fisting it. "Thank you. I am entirely too sober for what's happened tonight." Made aware of something, in the way dragons and riders do, the goldrider's gaze scans the crowd and fixes onto the bereft R'oan. One of her wine glasses lift, then fall. Just in case. "Ever have those moments," she says to Laine, "When you know you recognize someone, but you don't want them to know you know, just in case they don't recognize you in return because unreciprocated greetings are embarrassing? Yes?" She takes a sip from one glass and then the other.

Faryn spoke far too soon. She spins back at H'vier's roar, a real grin on her face at the prospect of a ruckus. But a crowd has gathered at her back, where the goldrider has stoppered up the line for drinks. The herder is small though, and while it means she can't see a whole lot, it does mean she can weave through the crowd easily, especially after she abandons that hard-earned plate and mustn't worry about spilling it. Eventually, the woman finds a chair, drags it off a ways, steps atop it and perches on the back. Much better. Now she can see it all, so long as her chair isn't taken.

Tension spans the laundress' shoulders when she's manhandled and spun around, to confront the reality of H'vier and K'zin preparing to fight. Before he starts to speak, it could be that quirk of lips downwards is the start concern, but it's paralyzed by the candidate's familiarly-accented voice so near her ear. Farideh stiffens and, at mention of Igen blood, closes her eyes, lashes fluttering lightly, while her lips purse in carefully-controlled emotion. She doesn't wait to be released, doesn't wait to see the outcome of the impending fight, but when her eyes open again - clouded by an unreadable emotion - she starts forward, to get lost in the crowd.

L'sha grins at Sky. "I didn't hear a 'No' there..." He winks at the baker and continues backing away from the fracas between bronzeriders. He nearly bumps into R'oan as he backs away, and turns around quickly. "Oh! Hello there! Nice to see you again, uh, R'oan!" He pauses a bit to remember the rider's name. "How are you and Etrevth?"

It's better for K'zin, anyway, that he can defend himself against H'vier's rage. There's a lot of it right now, and it's only ignited further by the younger man's provocation, just as it's intended. H'vier surges bodily at K'zin, no doubt meaning to take them both to the ground in an attempt to put him in a position where he can break his face. That's the idea, anyway. Not much subtlety here.

Tossing back another mouthful of wine, Laine swirls the red in the glass then follows Irianke's gaze out into the crowd, although her grey-eyed scrutiny just wanders through the living cavern without fixing on anyone or anything in particular. "Sure do, weyrwoman. Want me to run interference? I could do a distracting dance." She says it absently, jokingly; surely, the altercation in the middle of the party is distraction enough.

Laine sports a short-cropped, thick and glossy head of dark hair that seemingly defies gravity, standing stark and upswept, unkempt. Her small, pert nose sits between high cheekbones, and her skin is fawn and fair, reddening and freckling in the summer. Slate grey eyes are bright under thick, dark eyebrows and her mouth is small with full lips and even, white teeth.

If it's any reassurance to Farideh, Zadkiel has no plans to keep her where she is. His fingers release her almost immediately after she's turned, leaving her free to depart as she sees fit. Regardless, the hunter says nothing more. In her wake, he straightens, his arms fold, and he watches the evens as they unfold with a distinct sense of indifference for whatever fate is being woven. Food? Drink? Neither hold his interest for the time being.

>---< NorCon: Dice Roll 20-sided die x 1 by K'zin >--------------------------< 12 >-------------------------------------------------------------< Failure. >---<

Schuyler chooses to ignore the impending fight to enjoy the party. Making his way towards the drinks he smirks at L'sha's answer. close enough not to have to shout now. "Wasn't a yes either." he chuckles good naturedly. He's not so small though and so he winds up stuck in line.

"No. No. Here." They're holding up the line so Irianke threads one wine-laden hand through one of Laine's arms and guides her away. "Distract me with stories. Tell me about," about to wave another hand, but only just remembering there's wine in it to, she says, "This. All this. You. I would ask you to kiss me so everyone is looking at me instead of whatever they are doing over there, but that would be inappropriate and likely the bottle of wine I had before showing up. Did I overhear correctly someone calling you Rain?"

>---< NorCon: Dice Roll 20-sided die x 1 by H'vier >-------------------------< 17 >-------------------------------------------------< Exceptional success! >---<

There's so many 'delightful' wonders for someone like her to take in that - sadly - Alida misses a few of them in her preoccupation with bronzeriders, junior weyrwoman, and cake. Like L'sha identifying R'oan, though she does catch Irianke's pointed stare in the Fortian's direction. Hrmmm...very interesting. They seem to potentially know one another. And then there's mucho testosterone from the pair of bronzeriders, H'vier's surge making the bluerider's eyes slice over towards *that* scene again, her grin widening into something like a shark's.

Laine, content being led by a linked arm, tilts her head askance so she can get a better look at the junior weyrwoman. There's a sudden grin, then, bright and lopsided, for the woman's request, and thick eyebrows drawing up in surprise--or delight. "Laine. I mean, I'll kiss you if you want me to, but I think it would be some dreadfully inappropriate. I'm here because I do leather stuff for you rider-types, and also because you serve very good wine at your fancy weyr 'dos."

With her rider caught up with another, it's up to Niahvth to bridge that gap, albeit with a streak of unwillingness heavy in her thoughts. She's distracted too, even as she shares, for her rider, flashes of cleavage, a jungle far off where, a pretty dress, two bodies. (To Etrevth from Niahvth)

L'sha looks a bit dreamy at the mention of the eggs. "So lovely, yes!" He prompts R'oan's memory "Rillaeth. And shards, no, I think if one more green rises, the whole place will explode. Thankfully, I missed all that." He sips his wine and sees another familiar face in the crowd. "Well, nice to see you again, R'oan, see you around!" He moves through the crowd gracefully, ending up with an arm around a handsome Avalanche bluerider.

K'zin braced himself, but there's something about being rushed by someone bigger and stronger that gives them an advantage. It's a short distance between them, and perhaps K'zin had expected (despite his provocation) that H'vier would get his temper under control. Whatever the reason, the sound of the men going down onto the floor isn't a pretty one, but there's no blood yet, so that's probably good. The younger man's first priority once he's on the ground is to protect his face. His chin tucks and his arms come up. His next goal is to wait for the anticipated strike, meaning to deflect the blow his forearm to H'vier's wrist while the outside hand comes in to grasp above the elbow, the smooth movement meaning to unbalance him enough that K'zin might roll free, if he's lucky.

To Reisoth, Niahvth's attention runs every which way tonight. Her eggs. Other dragons. Rasavyth. But it's her mate that carries the largest chunk of it, after her eggs. « There is nothing you can do, is there? »

>---< NorCon: Dice Roll 20-sided die x 1 by K'zin >--------------------------< 20 >-------------------------------------------------< Exceptional success! >---<

>---< NorCon: Dice Roll 20-sided die x 1 by H'vier >-------------------------< 13 >-------------------------------------------------------------< Failure. >---<

The thoughts and images that are shared in turn do not come directly from Etrevth either, bidden by his rider to share not a jungle but a dimly lit storeroom nearby, the faint sounds of a party and a fight, and again, two bodies alone. (To Niahvth from Etrevth)

R'oan would answer that, L'sha, he really would; except that there's a sudden distraction, the faraway look of a dragon interfering in his thoughts. He's too late in his, "See you--," before the greenrider is already off on the arm of someone else and he's left in his claimed spot alone again.

There is only so much a goldrider with as many turns as Irianke can ostrich. One wine glass is downed in a gulp, and the other is... well, it's set down on any nearby surface. "We'll have to share a bottle later then for I'm afraid I cannot. Shells. I can't not do my duty even if I am trying my damndest. Forgive me, Laine, which is a far better name than Rain." Yeah, still kind of drunk, which might be why she's drifting away from the tanner back towards the two grounded bronzeriders. Grounded.

The only way this fight between bronzeriders could get any better would be if K'del made it into a triad...or an orgy of violence. Maybe this is the thought that inspires Alida to a low bout of thoroughly dark and delighted laughter, quickly cut off behind a deep gulp of refreshing wine. No blood yet? Damn it. Having both be bloodied would be the best, of course. Now *this* is a fucking PARTY! And the look on the bluerider's face quite unequivocally says such. Oh Faranth DAMN IT, Irianke! You've spoiled her fun! The Igen goldrider's call to the tussling bronzers now has Alida looking sour and glum.

To Niahvth, Reisoth's cool presence is calm despite the chaos of his rider, even attempting to be soothing to his mate. This isn't unusual behavior for H'vier, presumably, though less usual of late. « It won't last long. »

To Reisoth, Niahvth's rider's irritation vibrates in every petal that dances erratically. « No, it shall not. She does not want him punished for something that angers her as much as it does him. We, » she adds, if Reisoth cares, or if Reisoth tells H'vier, « Had nothing to do with this. »

A low, melodic grunt-hum escapes Zadkiel. He finally steps out of his statuesque posture, but purely to drift onward and away while the chaos consumes most of the crowd's attention. Back into the belly of the Weyr - but for what and why will remain a mystery.

Schuyler finally gets to the drink table and gets himself a glass of wine. He catches sight on the angry, drunk, gold rider and turns in the other direction. Not going near that mess with a ten foot pole. He glances around to see if anyone else has chosen to ignore the fight and makes his way towards the musician. Perhaps someone will want to dance.

Laine finishes her own glass of wine all in one go, then covertly reclaims the other that Irianke had put down (what? It was probably her own to begin with!) when the goldrider moves away. "Good luck~!" Laine warbles after her, then protectively laces her fingers around her glass and moves off to find a safe observation point.

The storeroom is replaced with a canopy bed weyr, drinks, a hearth for the still chilly spring nights. But later. It's not her beckon and the dragon makes the distinction quite clear. She would have nothing to do with this if she could, but she can't and... (To Etrevth from Niahvth)

H'vier is, perhaps, a little too sloppy once he's got K'zin in the position he wants him. And no doubt some underestimation, both because of his rage and because he thinks very little of K'zin in particular, plays in the younger bronzerider's good luck. Iceberg's Wingleader is unbalanced to the ground, but he's quick in his recovery, lunging back to grasp for K'zin's shirt as his other fist rounds toward the other man's face. It leaves the rest of him relatively defenseless, but he's still working through this anger stuff.

<OOC> K'zin says, "For the sake of later fun, I opt to fail any attempt to block that punch. Let there be blood." <OOC> K'zin says, "FOR ANYONE KEEPING TRACK."

Faryn, for all her interest in the fight, grimaces sympathetically as the two bronzeriders hit the ground, resting her elbows across her knees and leaning forward. It looks like it might be a good one, a really good one, right until she sees Irianke on her way towards them. "I guess we're not betting, then." Which is no fun, and someone in the room is a spoilsport. Three guesses as to who. "Nobody's even hurt, yet."

R'oan watches the goldrider's approach to the bronzeriders, but he also multitasks. With both plate and drink empty, he makes his way to refilling them both. After all, they are free.

That distinctive smoke only curves and curls against her mind in agreement, for both the suggestion on behalf of his rider and for her distinction. And then, he finally offers his own, « Congratulations, » before his presence fades against hers. (To Niahvth from Etrevth)

There's a crowd and it's hard to get through, even for someone of Irianke's rank and poise, what's left of the latter with how much wine she's imbibed. There's no automatic parting for the goldrider when a fight is involved, leaving her on the fringes. Wineless, ineffectual and increasingly frustrated.

To Niahvth, Reisoth is silent for some moments, attention split between the queen and his rider. « He knows, » he assures Niahvth, and her rider in turn. He knows now that Reisoth has told him. « He doesn't think as clearly when he's angry. » Much to his dragon's frustration.

H'vier isn't the only one who has underestimated. K'zin stopped short after his roll and it puts him in easy grab range. Yanked by his shirt, it's not a great distance from H'vier's on-rushing fist and K'zin's pretty face. Those close enough will hear the audible pop as the larger man's fist barrels into the younger man's nose; it's surely broken and some moments after the fist is pulled back again, there is blood seeping into view.

Blood! From the bloodsport of...bronzeriders. No matter; Alida's enjoying the sounds, sll,hts of violence, and when Irianke's words, presence go unheeded, the bluerider finds her shark-like grin returning. She's even so pleased as to maneuver herself back around to the best viewing space again, which - at the moment - happens to be nearer R'oan once more. There's a heady, perhaps slightly crazy little gleam in the blonde's eyes, by this point, though she doesn't ever cease observing.

"You aren't going to help her?" is what R'oan questions when Alida does end up near him, all of that flippancy from before gone and replaced with a quiet intenseness of his own. Grey eyes narrow on the bluerider, his drawl holding a subtle annoyance with her as he leans towards her to murmur, "She is your goldrider." He pushes his glass into her, letting her take it before he moves towards Irianke, apparently intending to help where she doesn't.

There's something very satisfying about that sound to H'vier, but as he draws his fist back to hit K'zin again while he's down, he hesitates and looks up instead, toward the bowl. It's only a second before his attention is back on K'zin, but instead of hitting him, there's a jerk and shove back against the ground before he's pushing himself up onto his feet and stalking his way out of the caverns without so much as a curse to that one guy who doesn't get out of his way fast enough.

Keysi is rarely ever on time for anything, usually with shifts in the infirmary to blame, but at least she's apparently on time for a combination of her favorite things- fighting and trauma triage. Too bad this is one of the last places it should be found. The healer apprentice pauses at the sound of the strike of the fist-to-nose, and like a light switch, an excited gleam is stoked in her eyes and a curvature on her lips into a grin that really shouldn't be there. Though she says nothing, she positions herself amidst the crowd to attempt to visualize the participants of the brawl.

"You aren't from 'Reaches..." Alida notes like a knife slicing through butter at R'oan's inquiry, the woman flicking her gaze to him, then back to the fight. "Keep yer nose outta' wha'chu don't understand." WHen the brownrider seeks to give her his glass, the bluie steps in front of him, shaking her palest head. And voila! The fight's over, as H'vier exits. As the woman looks about again, she takes note of Keysi...and there's another little wolf's grin for the known factor of the apprentice Healer.

R'oan appears at her side just as Irianke is about to try and kick her way through and the absolute relief that marks her face is comical. "If I weren't handicapped," the sprained ankle encapsulated in an ugly, outfit marring boot, "This would be a matter of just pushing through." Well.... that and not being mostly inebriated. "And Reachians," begins the native Igenite, abruptly stopping short of insulting her present day home.

The coughing is likely a result of how the floor is, oh, you know, rock underneath K'zin where he's shoved. Unluckily for him, his head bounces this time. It's not a good sound, although since there's no keening that follows and there's that coughing, K'zin isn't dead. Even if he'd wanted to suffer through the broken nose, the head on rock will certainly have him hauled off to the infirmary before too long. For now, though, he'll look slightly dazed as he's abruptly left alone - too dazed yet find something to staunch the trickle of blood that's sliding over his lips and having him taste metal.

To Cadejoth, Niahvth projects « They fight. » Does she need to elaborate who they are? The image she shares of chibi-sized Rasavyth and Reisoth in riding leathers for dragons should be enough, right. « Come. »

To Niahvth, Cadejoth is far away, but then, what is distance to a dragon? Family called his rider away, earlier, and now-- « Fight? » But that's not right. All wrong. It takes only a moment, accompanied by the most quiet of metal chains. « We come. »

K'del has arrived.

R'oan isn't in the mood to fight, but nor does he seem to be in the mood to listen to the bluerider. Hopefully she lets him pass once the fight is over, or he intends to shove past her anyways. At Irianke's side, his fingers only reach to brush against her elbow, a light touch there as he leans in to murmur something to the goldrider, that hopefully goes better than the last one. "I am taking you away; do you need to say any goodbyes?" is the murmur, a warning, before the foreign rider sweeps the goldrider into his arms and off of that injured ankle.

Shrug. She warned him...in her own odd way. Alida cares not about R'oan or his 'gentlemanly' aide of Irianke, the bluerider gulping the last of her wine, eating the last of her cake...and slowly stalking towards the downed, dazed form of K'zin on the bloody floor. For a long moment, all the woman does is gaze down at her clutchsib as if he's a fly speck...and then looks up and over to Keysi in pointed fashion. Eyebrow-lift. 'Healer?' is mouthed to the girl before Alida steps away...now observing Irianke and R'oan. Smirkie.

Suddenly glad she didn't bet, Faryn rocks back from her perch on the chair, watching H'vier's broad back leave. Her brows knit together and she has the good sense not to sigh in disappointment. Instead, she dismounts her chair, takes a couple steps forward, hitches a pants leg, and crouches beside the stunned bronzerider who remains. She studies him a bit curiously, then, deciding he probably won't die right here, shoves the towel she was carrying at him. "For your face," she says, in case he can't figure it out.

Keysi had all but to see the bronzerider storm away and K'zin smack his head on the ground and stay there to do more than just stare at him. The journeyman who she had overheard talking about the situation in the living caverns was not a particularly fast man, and she'd arrived well before him. Alida had been noted, and the mouthed words were seen as she was moving, answered with a sharp nod. "Excuse me." It was far more a very loud and short demand than a request as she places her hands on the arms of two in front of her to part her way- forcefully- into the center circle. "I'm Keysi, a healer. What's your name?" Is spoken loudly as she kneels at K'zin's side. "Do you know where you are?"

Irianke is suddenly not on her feet and not trying to force her way through the crowds that watch the fight. Instead. "What? What do you think you're doing?" She's not fighting yet, the amount of wine she's imbibed and the awkward heaviness of the boot makes it hard. Or she just is tired, as she has been for the weeks culminating to the clutching. It's not her voice that pipe up, but the words of a young kitchen server, given directives by Lycinea, who points the way out, not through the pouring rain, but the lower caverns. "Lya told me to make sure she always had a drink in her hand and to watch after her and you're," R'oan garners a most appreciative look, all starry-eyed and knight in shining armor-esque. "That way."

K'zin's brown eyes touch Alida briefly, but Faryn comes closer and the movement and proximity draw his attention. His flinch is reflex toward defense until he realizes that no, no, Faryn is nothing like H'vier and in point of fact, he doesn't even know her, so she's probably not here to finish the job. His hand reaches for the towel and his, "Thanks," comes out sounding just a little bit off - but then, his nose doesn't look right and already the bruise is beginning. Then Keysi's talking to him, and he turns his head, still against the ground, now with a towel pressed over his face (that probably helps him breathe). Instead of answering her questions, he tells her, muffled but in a way that carries some urgency, "I need Madilla."

Enter K'del. Enter K'del who was called away late in the afternoon to an undisclosed 'family emergency.' Enter K'del who now looks like he threw his clothes on in the dark (it's late, at Southern!) and ran-- flew-- for home. He's puffing as he appears in the doorway from the bowl, rain-drenched, but not so much that he can't take one look at the room and just... stop. "What," he says, his voice carrying, pitched to carry, "the fuck is going on?"

"Thank you, lovely," offers R'oan to the young kitchen server, not answering Irianke where he so obviously answered her before, his lips curving into a crooked smile for her and her alone even as he adjusts Irianke in his arms. He doesn't pause for the Weyrleader's (not his Weyrleader, though whether he'd stop for his own, either, well--) question, even if the goldrider tries to protest that she should, if she hears it. Instead, he only strides that way, towards the lower caverns.

"Shit." K'del's voice cuts through her tipsy fog. The word, "Hide," induces a giggle at the ridiculousness, "No really, oh you are leaving." And then they're leaving before K'del can spot them. Irianke was never here. These are not the droids you are looking for.

Schuyler slips back into the kitchens. It's far less...traumatic in there.

At the farther-away serving tables - lifting another glass of wine up, to be followed by a plate of flaky, savory pastries - Alida gives one final, evil grin to herself before donning her more usual habit of near-total indifference as K'del calls out. Once her food is well in hand, the bluerider also takes her leave of the caverns, not far off of R'oan and Irianke's heels...letting the swell and ebb of the crowd disguise her leavetaking. She's had her fun for the day, after all.

Faryn's dark eyes widen at the familiar voice, a voice notoriously absent from the party, and she says, "Welcome," as an afterthought, slipping smoothly to her feet. Something says she doesn't want to be in the berth of whatever is going to come down from K'del now. She gives a concerned glance Keysi's way, an apologetic smile, and backs off herself. Any exit will do now, and she takes the nearest.

H'vier doesn't stop for the Weyrleader. He's out of here, off to clean the cake off of his face, no doubt, and brood in the galleries once that's done. Someone else will have to clean up K'zin's mess. K'zin's mess.

Keysi shook her head, "She's not here right now, but there's a journeyman on the way." Methodical as a book, but she hasn't lost that.. twitch of excitement. She leans one arm over her knee as she balances herself. "I need you to answer my questions to see how badly you smacked your head." Noses are easy to fix. And blood, well, blood is good. Although about to repeat herself, she pauses at K'del's voice. But, unlike the sudden evacuation of the riders and 'folk alike, she doesn't move and seems reserved to stay there.

"What?!" It's possible that Keysi's statement of fact is more upsetting to K'zin in this moment than the sound of his weyrleader's voice. He tries to sit bolt upright unless he's stopped. "But, no, no no no no no. My nose." Clearly this isn't his first broken nose since the feeling seems to be familiar to him. "She does noses perfectly," he babbles to Keysi, reaching out a near desperate hand to try to grab one of hers to physically impart the importance of what he says next: "We have to find Madilla," he insists. Maybe he did hit his head a bit hard.

For a moment, it looks as though K'del aims to stop H'vier from leaving-- but he doesn't. He doesn't stand a chance at stopping Irianke, either, if he's even managed to catch sight of her amidst the chaos. But K'zin? K'zin's an obvious target, healer-attended though he is, and so the Weyrleader - shuffling, somewhat, given his boots are unlaced - crosses towards him, expression falling just short of outright rage. His arms cross, as he comes up behind Keysi; his eyebrows raise. He doesn't say it, this time, but it's there in his expression for anyone to see: what. the. fuck.

Keysi would grab his shoulder to stop him from sudden movements if possible, "Unless you want it punched back into place instead of fixed properly by whomever, I suggest you take it easy." The words came out quietly, but sharp, and gave further essence to her lack in the bedside manner studies. However, as the sudden shadow of K'del looms over her, and the what-the-fuck can be felt immenating in their direction, she adds to her statement to be abit more appropriate. "Your head is more important than your face, even if you don't think so. Now sit back."

"My nose is broken," K'zin tells K'del, helpfully, through the towel and blood that muffle his voice. "Irianke hit H'vier in the face with cake." Also totally helpful. He's giving him the most relevant pieces of information. Right now. At least he does as he's told and leans back. "My head is probably fine. Nothing in there anyway," he informs Keysi with what is probably some kind of smile thankfully hidden by the towel.

In another situation, K'del might be amused by Keysi's words, especially when it involves K'zin, but... he's clearly not in the most charitable of moods, right now. "K'zin," has a warning note to it, the kind that suggests he's rather short on patience, too. "Or should I see you in my weyr, first thing in the morning, to explain? Don't want that pretty little face of yours to suffer." The sarcasm is a little heavy-handed. Just a little.

Keysi sighs at his response, shifting to the other knee as she's appeased by him settling down. At the very least, he's recounting bits of what happened which... kind of.. answers her questions. Given K'del's words, she falls into a short moment of silence or two to remove herself as an acceptable distraction for K'zin to answer him. In the meantime, she motions over at an assistant she recognizes nearby.. for the short future in which they'll probably end up carrying the drunken rider to a cot for observation.

K'zin tries to focus on K'del; he squints, "I'm sorry, sir," the words come slowly, as if dribbled out of his mouth. "I don't know what happened." To Keysi, he manages, "I'm K'zin," just before his eyes flutter and he passes out. The smell of booze isn't so strong, really, but between the booze imbibed and the trauma... he's down for the count. Explanations (from him anyway) will have to wait.

And now... all the wind has been taken out of K'del's sails; he stares, blankly, at K'zin for several seconds longer before, to Keysi, he offers an apologetic glance. "Get him out of here," he suggests. Explanations are going to have to wait until... tomorrow.

"K'zin?" Is asked loudly by the healer. A glance goes to K'del for a moment, and she nods. "He won't be up at your weyr in the morning though, sir, I'm sorry. Not with this mess." The loss of conciousness gets the apprentice to shift to her feet in an obviously well-trained motion and a couple of assistants move beside her to heft the rider up... carefully. The escort moves slowly but deliberately in the direction of the infirmary.

K'del does not look thrilled. But... well. What can he say? He shrugs, and then turns to leave. He rushed all the way home for this?