Difference between revisions of "Logs:AU: Know The Rulers"

Invitations began to arrive at the Holds of dignitaries across Pern -- specifically those that Anatolia found worth her time and consideration -- a full two months prior to the date of the event. Ornate gold and emerald lettering scrolled the length of parchment, inviting its recipients to a party to be held in honor of the wife of the younger brother of Big Bay Hold.

Events held at Big Bay Hold are always a bit pretentious, owing in part to the temperament of its resident lady-in-charge-of-everything, and the night of Anatolia's turnday bash is not different. No expense has been spared, from the shimmering wall hangings and extravagant flower arrangements to the luxurious dinner offerings and infamous set of harpers hired to play. Guests arriving to the Hold on the eve of party would be welcomed by the customary proximity, sights, and smell, of the Bay, down the way, but inside the windows are shuttered against the sand and coolness of the night air.

Amid the bright colors, garish styles, and excessiveness of the Igen set, meandering sullenly through the crowded hall, filled with guests come to celebrate her mother's turnday -- or enjoy food and wine at Big Bay's expense, anyway -- is Farideh. She walks beside her sister, avoiding eye contact with the dignitaries that her sister makes a point of smiling at. "Stop slouching. Smile," Teoma instructs, even as she smiles toward Lord and Lady Ista as they pass. "How do you expect to get married if you look like a petulant child all the time?"

"I don't want to get married," came out of Farideh's mouth, for the hundredth time, and for the hundredth time, her sister's eyes rolled. "Collect yourself before mother sees?" It wasn't a suggestion, and Teoma left her sister's side to mingle with their guests. Farideh resolved to stand by the beverage table and continue to sulk, because.. Farideh.

The west coast dignitaries don't often mix with the east coast -- not necessarily for any sense of rivalry as due to the distances. A dragon, of course, makes such distances mean nothing, and Tillek's relationship with its Weyr seems cordial of late. The response to the invitation is written in precise, flowery handwriting -- Tillek would be thrilled to attend, and would be bringing its heir, one Thedrin, as yet unattached despite his having reached seventeen.

At the door, the trio of Tillekians discard the thick coats that bore them in between, Lord Potipher attending Lady Edeline, while their son trails behind. Thedrin's clothes are clearly newly made, and stiff still, bearing the blue and white colors of his Hold. Tillek heir he may be, but he is still a teenage boy, and he scratches and shifts until his mother casts him a wordless look, after which he scowls and stares at the ground, hands in his pockets. "Why do they all dress like they fell into a pot of mixed paints?" he mutters.

"Shush, Thedrin," Edeline murmurs, leading them directly to the Big Bay holders. There's the usual exchange of pleasantries, during which Thedrin looks bored, until he's nudged by his mother into muttering something by way of greeting. And then it's onto Anatolia, with a similar set of greetings. This time, however, Thedrin is thrust forward as if for inspection, with a, "And this is my son, Thedrin." The look plastered onto the boy's face is a practiced (though not very well practiced) look of haughtiness, though there's a definite undertone of discomfort.

"I cannot tell you--" As the Tillekians come forward, Anatolia's attention swivels from her former company as easily as if she had not been mid-conversation as all. Her greetings and affectations are as polite as necessary, and indeed, her eyes are keen when the boy is thrust forward. "What a handsome boy, Lady Edeline," as if he isn't even there. "This is my daughter, Farideh." It was easy enough for the Igen woman to motion to the help to locate and drag the brunette to her side, and on the tail end of her words, that's exactly what happens. Farideh stops resisting when she sees whom she's being brought before, and she bobs a respectful curtsey to the Lady and Lord Holders. Thedrin gets a baleful look. "It's nice to meet you," she murmurs, in a voice too quiet for Anatolia's liking-- the latter's expression says.

"It's always nice to see such a well-mannered daughter representing one's hold," the Lady Edeline replies, with Potipher nodding alongside her. The baleful look from Farideh -- of all people -- earns a lift of the boy's chin in response. Then: "Say hello to the girl," Edeline entreats. "In fact -- why don't you show her the new dance that that harper Ramion has been teaching you?" The brief flash of rebellion is just that -- brief -- and passes as Thedrin murmurs, "Yes, ma," and obediently holds out a hand towards Farideh.

That Anatolia eagerly agrees to Lady Edeline's proposition is likely hardly surprising, and nudges her daughter towards Tillek's heir. "What a splendid idea that is! Go along, dear." Farideh cuts eyes briefly towards her mother in an ambiguous expression, but quickly places her hand in Thedrin's and offers the other, slightly younger, teenager a polite smile. "I'd be delighted," doesn't sound quite as enchanted, really.

It's like as not this is not the first girl that Thedrin's had to endure politeness for the sake of his position, and while the slide of his gaze towards Farideh suggests he notes that lack of enchantment, he's at least well trained enough not to draw attention to it. Instead, when they reach the dance floor, he says, "Follow me, if you can. It's a fairly complicated dance; I don't expect you to pick it up." He's voice manages neutral, and he begins to lead her in a series of complicated steps. Not that far away, the Lord and Lady Tillek watch, while continuing to chat with Farideh's parents.

Anatolia and Korek appear genuinely pleased to talk to the other two, while their children dance, though the latter is more keen on talking work than the state of their childrens' affairs, as his wife seems to be. "I can follow just fine," Farideh informs Thedrin, haughtily, but following through on that statement isn't as easy. Her cheeks flood with color when she trips over his feet-- once, twice-- and she looks up, accusing, "Can't you slow down? That's not very gentlemanly, you know." And once she remembers, she bats her eyes and smiles, so it doesn't look, to their parents, that she's as cross as she actually is.

One could get the impression that Thedrin is deliberately trying to show the Big Bay girl up, for there's a slight, pleased smile when she asks him to slow down. But slow down he does, marginally -- but probably enough for her to get a better sense of the complicated pattern. It's the batting of her eyes that earns a furrow of brow, and the first hint of a hastily suppressed scowl, like he thinks she's mocking him. "I'm sorry," Thedrin says. "I guess I shouldn't expect a girl from such a small place to know all the dances."

Eventually-- very slowly-- Farideh comes more at ease with the steps, and she might have even been pleasant about the whole exchange before his low-blow. "Excuse me? I know the dances that matter, not something so complicated it takes a harper to teach you how. You're very rude. Did you know that? Being from a place like Tillek doesn't make you better than anyone else," she says, chin lifting higher.

The dance steps start to falter as Thedrin's grip tightens, jaw clenching. "I'm rude? That's why you gave me a look like I was foisting myself onto you? I don't want you," he hisses in an undertone. The break in the music gives him the excuse he needs; he drops her hands and bows, just like he's been taught, before he turns and heads off the dance floor without a backwards glance at her.

Still, Farideh looks taken aback by his outburst, with surprised eyes that, all too quickly, find the disapproving stare of her mother in the crowd. "Wait-- you can't just run off," she tells him, as she chases after the erstwhile heir. People will probably gossip-- what a shameless wanton she is, chasing after Lord Potipher's heir like that-- but in the moment she's only focused on not bringing the wrath of her mother down upon herself.

Thedrin doesn't look back, but he does slow down, just enough that she doesn't have to chase after him as such. "Why not?" he asks, sullenly, in response to her words, navigating through the crowds towards the drinks table. He snatches up the first glass he sees and thrusts it in her direction, "I'm going to have failed to do something right anyway. Here, pretend I'm getting you a drink." Which is... kind of what he's doing, except he's hastily taking another glass and gulping down near the entire contents in one hit.

"Because they're watching." Farideh gets straight to the point, her voice full of duh in the moment. "I don't want to get yelled at because you're rude enough to walk out without finishing the whole dance-- or whatever." She flourishes a hand, but accepts the drink, giving him a suspicious, narrow eyed stare from the side. "Thank you, for the drink. You're so kind," she says, extra loud, for all the people lingering about. "What? You don't want to be here?" she asks caustically, eyebrows arching upwards; her own voluntary attendance seems to be in question.

Thedrin affects just enough belligerence to indicate that he doesn't much care, even if the way he starts to gulp down his second glass of wine might suggest otherwise. "What, and you do?" He shakes his head, gaze going across the crowd, avoiding his parents. "Everything's so bright. It's like walking into a weaver's tent. Don't you people see color properly?"

"It's my mother's party. Would your mother give you the choice to attend or not, if it was hers?" Farideh makes a face, effectively hidden by the glass she lifts to her lips. She doesn't manage to take a sip before his commentary drags her gaze from the contents of her cup to the assortment of people, many Igenites in colorful array. "Why not? No one wants to wear only gray all the time, or black, or white. It's fun. It's happy looking, not dreary and--" She rolls her eyes, then. "Are you always this cheerful?"

"I don't see anyone forcing you to chase me around," Thedrin points out, dark gaze going to her, now. "You've done your duty." There's a not-quite-concealed roll of his eyes at her defensiveness over the color choices, timed -- completely by coincidence -- with her own roll of eyes. "Are you always this nosy?"

"You obviously don't know my mother very well." The shifting crowd of party-goers gives them some protection from prying eyes, or enough that Farideh feels confident in the glare that she gives him. "I'm trying to be nice to a guest. You're a guest here. Not a very nice one, but still a guest." Setting aside her glass, without having consumed any of the contents, she lifts her chin, and nose, in the air. "Have it your way. Enjoy your evening, Thedrin," and off she goes in a huff, in the opposite direction of their parents.. because even she's not that brave.

The exhale that follows her departure sounds like a sigh of relief. Thedrin downs another glass before he ventures away from the drinks table, not heading in the direction of their parents, either.