Difference between revisions of "Logs:Out Of Sorts"

The Snowasis is rarely quiet, and even then, the high-ceilinged former
  weyr is kept from echoing by the fantastical booths tucked into its       
  convoluted perimeter. The secluded seating spaces have been shaped from   
  the truncated stalagmites that escaped the smoothing of the main floor,   
  and are both softened and separated by colorful hangings that are thick   
  and opaque enough to make each corner its own private nook.               
                                                                            
  Some of the smaller stalactites still roam the ceiling, their jagged teeth
  tracing a bumpy, inverted spine to the hearth. There, a thick rug with a  
  low klah table and comfortable armchairs and couches sit, their upholstery
  and cushions changed sporadically to match the season: bright, light      
  colors in the summer, fresh greens and yellows in the spring, warm        
  autumnals in fall, and clear, rich hues for winter. Small tables litter   
  the rest of the cavern, enough to fit up to four people each, while stools
  stand along the smooth wooden bar behind which is the passthrough window  
  to the kitchen. Glass-paneled cabinetry behind the bar provides a clear   
  view of the available liquors, the many colors reflecting the soft light  
  of glows tucked into strategic niches around the cavern.

The Snowasis is doing a brisk trade, though its occupants are either sparse enough or not yet drunk enough that the level of volume makes for easy, casual conversation. Quint's taken up one of the booths, and while he has a glass of wine, it's untouched at this point. There's a handful of hides on the table, but he seems to be set on people-watching rather than pretending to work.

Silva's on a mission. A completely coherent and dedicated mission. She's dressed simply enough right now, without the flair of PARTY that has hung over her for the last few weeks. But what she is looking for doesn't seem to be here. There's a hiss of frustration that moves through her teeth and she turns abruptly, like she's going to leave.

Coming in from the patio, nimble fingers are already working at the toggles of the Snowdrift rider's flight jacket. Cheeks flushed with cold, Edyis goes straight for the bar first, ordering a bottle of something with considerable bite, and eyes the rest of the room for familiar faces. Both harper and bluerider are eyed as she gets her glass and bottle, moving in an attempt to hook Silva's arm and drag her over to the table where the harper is sitting. "Come on let's go pick on the harper." A toothy grin flashed across her face. "Journeyman Quintus. Mind if we join you?"

Of course, the harper notices Silva, even if she doesn't notice him. Quint doesn't much seem to mind, though his expression is thoughtful as his gaze lingers on the retreating bluerider. There's momentary surprise in the harper's face when Edyis intercepts Silva, and he straightens, subtly, looking briefly pleased with himself before he schools his expression. "I don't mind at all," he replies to Edyis, waving his hand expansively at the booth in invitation. "Edyis, Silva. How are you both?"

Silva's startled when Edyis is suddenly there, her focus having been on whatever is making her frown. She's a few steps towards the harper before she shakes her head and refocuses, the frown being transferred to the brownrider. Perhaps she would have shaken her off, except now they're here in front of Quint. Words get stuffed back and while she doesn't smile well, there is a tightening of her lips that could be a smile. "You first Edyis." A gesture not unlike Quint's. Silva will take the outside unless Edyis manhandles her into the seat.

Edyis simply grins at the woman, and if she catches that moment of smugness from the Harper it doesn't show right away. She doesn't seem keen on letting the Bluerider have the outside either. Once everyone is seated the cork on the bottle is popped and she pours a few fingers of the liquid into the glass tossing it down. "Freezing my non-existent balls off, and my dragon is being a pain in the ass but otherwise no complaints." Knocking back the glass before refilling it. "How about you Silva?" The question bearing more weight for all its casualness.

Quint's sharp gaze catches the shifting expressions of Silva's, his head tipped marginally. "Zaisyreth doing well?" he asks, leaning forward once they've both settled in. He doesn't reach for his glass to drink from it, merely to push it to one side. He takes in Edyis' imbibing and the words that follow with an exhale. "Things seem awfully tense today," he observes, tapping fingers on the table's top, gaze drifting across the bar, then back to his companions.

Deeep breaths all around. Nice, calm, deep breaths. Silva tries to wipe the scowl off her face, and replaces it with a slight frown which... is better? At least? She eyes Edyis' drink but makes no comment out of it. Instead she settles her arms across her chest and leans against the back of the booth. "You both want to know if I'm drinking myself senseless and fucking strange men still." Tenseness not commented on.

Edyis shrugs at the Harper's observation, going slower with the second glass now that the warmth from the first is starting to seep in. "Probably a green getting ready to rise. He's usually an ass about that time." The brownrider notes of her lifemate, which might explain the drinking. At Silva's comment, however. Edyis chokes on her drink. "Shit woman. I don't have to ask what you've been up to." The brownrider reminds her mildly irritated. "I just wanted to not be sitting alone while I drink." She mutters something unintelligible, refilling her glass again.

Quint looks momentarily aghast at the inelegant response. "No, Silva," he says, after a beat, keeping his voice even and low, much in the same way one might speak soothingly to a startled animal. "I asked how your dragon was doing. Will you sit and join us for a bit?" His glance flickers towards Edyis as she mentions a green rising, exhaling briefly. "Mm. I see."

Silva's gaze flips between the two people and some of her irritation fades. She does sit, probably out of guilty conscience, but the reasoning doesn't matter. "Zaisy's fine." The mention of the green even gets a response - "He didn't mention any greens, and he usually does." Not that the blue CHASES often, it's jut one observation of many. "Have either of you ever met the sea-crafter who hangs around here?"

Edyis sniffs. "Then maybe he's just being an ass for no reason then." Edyis shrugs off the blue's two-mark bits. Dark eyes lift and brows knit together. "Seacrafter?"

"I'm glad to hear it," Quint replies with genuine sentiment. He's no rider, to comment on the state of the Weyr's dragons, though he does closely watch the exchange, otherwise silent on that topic. "Seacrafter?" he echoes Edyis, surprised. "Not many seacrafters here, if any. Too far from water, I'd have thought. What does he look like?" he asks, curiosity roused.

"Maybe." If Zaisyreth has shared anything else the bluerider will just keep it to herself for now. Her stiffness relaxes a little bit, and she reaches up to brush at a piece of hair in irritation. "Black hair, looks like crap, um... darkerish skin. A nose that just begs for someone to hit him." She says the end with a bit of heat.

Edyis squints, as though trying to place whoever Silva's describing. " The only sailor I know of is the one Farideh keeps as a pet during the winters. Kind of - uneducated?" Maybe she's being polite. "Unless we've had some new folk come in from Tillek."

Quint purses his lips briefly, gaze distant as he racks his memory. "Doesn't sound familiar," he says, at least until Edyis speaks. With a tip of head, he says, "Crooked nose?" he asks, after a beat. "I've seen him around, though he doesn't seem to be much for speaking to harpers, I'm afraid."

Silva perks up when Edyis mentions Farideh, "Him. I want to find him." And if she does her tone sounds like it isn't for a happy how-are-you chat. There's a particular icyness to her tone. "I want to... educate him."

Both brows creep skyward. "I think you had better explain what happened," Edyis notes knocking back her drink with a deep sigh. Quint's expression looks worried, nodding at Edyis' question. "Educate him?" he echoes, like he's absolutely certain that doesn't mean what it sounds like. "Are you uh, sure that's wise?"

Silva, making Edyis and Quint go ???? for the last turn. It's a gift. Tapping a finger along one arm Silva thinks very carefully about her answer. "He is woefully ignorant about a few things regarding dragons. Since no one else is teaching him, I will."

Edyis blinks, squints, and then guffaws. She can't even help it. "Even - if you - could, it wouldn't - be any good." Her words interspersed with laughter. "Pretty sure." Yeah good luck with that Silva.

Clearly, the answer is a lot less alarming than the harper was imagining, with Quint looking thoughtful (and slightly relieved). "It's not always easy for those coming from outside of the Weyr to fully understand how it works. Just, mm, be gentle," he advises. "Sometimes what you want to teach isn't something someone wants to hear." The harper, along with Edyis, are seated in one of the booths, with Silva leaning against the back, deep in conversation.

"Oh, he'll hear it." Silva's tone doesn't bode ANY GOOD AT ALL. It's probably a good thing Drex is bigger than her or she would actually maybe hurt him. "And I don't really care if he wants to hear it or not." That's a challenge she's just tossed at Edyis.

L'sha walks into the Snowasis and shakes some of the rain from his jacket, then heads to the bar, greeting a few friends as he makes his way through the crowd. He nods to one of the bartenders, who smiles and nods back, then begins to make L'sha's regular drink, an enormous blue fruity cocktail with a tiny paper umbrella stuck in it. As the bartender is mixing, he looks around the room for familiar faces, then grins and waves as he sees Edyis and Silva.

Anyone facing the beautiful (awful, horrible, ugly) weather of High Reaches today has a reason to frown, but non-native Kh'tyr has taken that frown and paired it with the general grumpy disposition of a soaked feline. He must have enough experience in his life to know better than to drip across the floors so he pauses just as he steps in from the Garden Patio Ledge in soaked leathers to wipe his muddy boots. This is a man in need of a stiff drink, a man who, as yet, doesn't seem to make note of much despite the sweep of the room his brown eyes make as he cleans those boots.

Edyis snickers, "Girl I can throw you over my shoulder like it's nothing. What in the blazes do you think you are going to do to teach him?" Cheeks flushed with more than just cold now as the brownrider further undoes the toggles on her flight jacket. "Though I'd love to see that maybe. What did the oaf go and do?" She catches the wave and returns it a little. Except that now the place is filling up and it is harder to keep track.

The watch dragon bellows a challenge from the star stones, answered with, « T'zur and Tziveth, of Benden, » and apparently accepted in kind. The bronze that descends doesn't seek to touch the thoughts of the dragons of the Weyr, keeping to himself as he circles down and settling onto the bowl floor. It's some time before T'zur, a now rather drenched Benden rider walks in, tugging off helmet and goggles and pulling a hand through unkempt hair that seems to spring free once released. He's tramping in the wake of Kh'tyr's steps, adding to the wet floor, but trusting that another newly arrived, soaked rider will be seeking the same thing he is: a strong drink. "Recommendations?" he asks the Fortian, not much bothering with cleaning his boots.

Quint makes a noise, somewhat between a cluck of his tongue and a stifled sigh. "Well, mm. Perhaps have that conversation somewhere public, yes? Or at least have someone like, oh, Edyis, with you while you do it." Because the harper is now in the habit of volunteering the brownrider for things and expecting she'll just do it. He doesn't seem so curious about what the sailor did, though he does lean back to listen.

"I've got a plan." Silva works her way out, stung by Edyis' laughter. Whatever he plan IS she'll keep to herself - along with what Drex has done to earn the small bluerider's ire. "Edyis has done enough already." Cryptic Silva? Yeah, and then she makes her way out. OUT. Drex. Dead. Or something

L'sha takes his drink from the bartender with a warm smile, then sips it and once again fights his way through the crowd. Eventually, he gets to Edyis and Silva's table and waves. "Hi there! How are you two doing?" He nods to Quint, "Evening, Harper, we haven't met, I'm L'sha, green Rillaeth's." He quickly steps aside for the angry, exiting Silva. "Um, see you later!" He shrugs and turns back to the others, smiling cheerily.

Blond as death J'nason waltzes his way right into the area, blue eyes sparkling and jacket undone. Clearly, he's insane and doesn't care what the weather outside is like. His dragon, bronze Hephaisth, has settled himself outside with a grumble for the gathering snow. The knot shows the pair of Ista, so this is REALLY weird weather. Nevermind that, this is a bar! And bars are for warming up. Plus he's going to assume everyone in this room loves him, his blond hair, and his blue eyes. "Well met High Reaches' finest!"

Kh'tyr's boot taps once more on the floor before his eyes draw to the Benden rider. His shoulders roll in a careless shrug, "I'd take damn near anything just now that would put some feeling back in my fingers." Obviously, the brownrider is a man of refined tastes. "I recommend something from the bar," is dryly delivered with an inviting flick of his fingers for the bronzerider to join him in heading that direction.

Edyis knocks back another glass, which makes it a whole hell of a lot harder to hide the glare at the Harper. GLARE. GLAAAARE. "Um. Good." She mutters squinting after the bluerider as she departs. "Quit volunteering me for things you tunnelsnake you." Is she addressing Quint? Hard to say as she gets to her feet, noticing the other riders and squints again. "Hey... is there like a convention going on?" Dark eyes searching out the foreign knots.

"Sounds like a man after my own heart," the younger Bendenite says, grinning. "T'zur, of Benden," he adds, offering a now-gloveless hand as he falls into step with Kh'tyr, gaze flickering around the Snowasis as they walk. "I'm told brandy is good for just that -- not ordinarily my choice of drink, however."

"Why does that sound," Quint begins, voice going faint and rueful as Silva departs, "Alarming?" he glances at Edyis, wryly. "Well, it's only because you appear to have done such a good job of it, so far," he says, without a trace of remorse. Exhaling, the harper starts to reach for his glass of wine -- untouched until now -- and takes a generous gulp. "Good eve, rider," he answers pleasantly to L'sha, gesturing towards a seat in apparent invitation. "Journeyman Quintus, of Harper. Pleased to meet you. Join us, won't you? And, mm, don't mind Silva. She seems a little out of sorts, this eve."

"And strangers!" J'nason cocks his head to look around the bar, his cocky-grin only growing for the diversity on view. There's two choices - the natives, or the strangers. Drumming his fingers along his leg the Ista rider finally chooses the foreigners. "What brings you both to the land of ever-present snow men?" He's wide open with that smile - almost guileless as he settles himself between the two heading for the bar.

L'sha certainly loves J'nason's blond hair and blue eyes, from the way he's ogling the Istan rider as he sips his cocktail. He turns back to the table and smiles warmly at Quint, taking the offered chair. "Why thank you! Well met, Harper Quintus." He waves a hand. "Oh, I know Silva, she's always like that." He looks around at all the commotion in the bar, then turns and shrugs at Edyis. "Dunno, but it's always nice to see new faces. "

Ink dark eyes narrow, and Edyis is full on staring at the man with the Benden knot, eyes narrowed as if in concentration. "Yeah, yeah you are an ass Quintus." But it isn't entirely meant as she's getting up. "One of those faces - is really familiar." The brownrider is standing up now. "Guard my bottle for me will you?" She eyes L'sha and Quint, as she stands to make her way in the direction of the newcomers.

"Kh'tyr, of Fort when I've been good." The older man returns with ease at odds with the still sour expression that remains after the hand is met and only eases once he's put in a drink order. "Brandy'll do," comes with an extreme lack of care for exactly what fills his cup so long as it's strong enough. He could ask the obvious - make the obvious small talk - instead, he leans his back to the bar and casts his eyes around before inquiring, "What do you reckon, a normal day for them?" as if he were trying to assess the growing numbers in the local watering hole.

Aidavanth senses a familiar presence is here, nearby. He is subtle, as always, just a dimming of the mental landscape at first, slowly but surely quashing the noise of other thoughts as his grows more noticeable, dark trendrils seeking her. Tziveth watches, hidden in the rain. (Tziveth)

Quint, if anything, seems to perk up at L'sha's answer. "Oh, you do? Friends?" he inquires, lightly enough, and yet the intent way he watches the greenrider for an answer suggests the question has more weight than it appears. His brows go upwards at Edyis' words, a noise -- like he's stifling a laugh -- concealed by the tip of his glass to his lips. He regards the brownrider bemusedly as she leaves. "Definitely something off today. Rising green?" he asks L'sha, like he might have some insight.

"Make that two," T'zur tacks onto Kh'tyr's order. He leans against the bar, watching the bartender work for a moment, before the Fortian's question draws his attention to the remainder: "I wouldn't know. First, uh, time here," a little ruefully. If the Bendenite is taken aback by J'nason, he recovers swiftly enough, turning amiable grin on the Istan rider. "Curiosity," he answers, with a smile, and then -- as an amendment, "It might have been a challenge, too. I'm not sure. But mostly curiosity. Drink?" he half turns to the bartender: "Make that three."

L'sha smiles and nods, "Yes, I knew Silva when she was a weyrling." He slides Edyis's bottle over to himself and guards it like a bulldog. "Something going on, yep. Don't look at me, though, Rillaeth isn't glowing. I don't know of any other proddy greens, although statistically there probably are one or two. Quite a few foreign bronzerider knots about. One of the queens about to rise, maybe?"

J'nason settles himself at the bar, the stool pulled under his body with the help of a foot. Rather then follow the lead of the others though, the Istan bronzer orders, "Whiskey, actually," and winks at the person behind the bar. Turning halfway he leans an arm on the bar so he can see the other two while resting at his ease. "Well, it's cold. That's pretty much HR," yes, he says the letters, "is famous for. And what about us?" A finger twirls to point at all three, "What are we doing here?"

Those with dragons in the Snowasis may gradually begin to grow aware of a low, curling tension that's wholly separate from what the weyrfolk are experiencing tonight. Has it been there all day? It's hard to tell, although it increases rapidly into the very palpable sensation of something warm and bright that telepathically spreads itself over the Weyr. In the living cavern, an increasingly preoccupied Jocelyn stops pushing food around her plate to go very still, expression suddenly startled. Those in the bowl are about to get quite the show; Aidavanth, brilliantly luminous with more than just the frequent oiling of the past several days, awakens and appears on her ledge stretching luxuriously, even provocatively with arching neck and spreading wings. Her rider doesn't have much time to give a panicked look around, to grab the sleeve of the nearest rider and tell them to make sure Irianke and Farideh leave before she makes a run for the bowl. There will be time later for apologies and 'I told you so's'; for now, the redhead sprints through the rain, barely reaching the stairs up to the weyrleader complex before the queen is suddenly airborne, barreling toward the feeding grounds where several resident males have already begun their hunts.

While Quint doesn't seem particularly interested in acquiring the bottle, neither does he seek to protect it, leaving that up to L'sha. Instead, he takes another sip from glass, and inhales in surprise about when L'sha speculates. "Ah. Oh dear." He clears his throat, gets his breath back, while eyeing said foreigners. "Any idea who it might be?"

Edyis manages to step up near the foreigners catching a snippet of the conversation. "Hey, don't I know you." Stepping up to the outside of the group, reaching to tap the Benden rider on the shoulder. Except that, her eyes go distant and an "Fuck" Escapes. "Fucking brown." Whatever had drawn her attention she's now darting out into the rainy bowl. In the Bowl warm waves dappled with sunlight are shared the taste of the ocean coloring the adventurous brown's thoughts. « You look lovely. »

There's the characteristic pause and unfocused eyes from L'sha that indicates that he's speaking with his dragon. "Rillaeth says that Aidavanth is about to rise." And sure enough, riders are suddenly scrambling outside. He sees Edyis rush outside and calls to her, "Good luck, Edyis! Hmmm, should I go out and watch from the patio? It's coming down pretty hard out there. Maybe we can get an umbrella or something."

It's always hard to say if being ignored in an increasingly busy drinking establishment is an intentional slight or accident. Kh'tyr's eyes draw to J'nason only after T'zur has the good manners to reply to the other rider. His eyes swiftly rake the younger man, "Tightpants," he dubs the other rider with a slightly narrowed gaze (nevermind if his pants aren't especially tight), "Pay attention," as if he'd been with them all along, "We are scoping out the room," he spreads his hands in an unnecessarily large gesture to frame different tables - including, briefly, the one at which the harper and greenrider sits, "in the guise of assessing business. But now that I've explained..." His tone implies it's all ruined. "Where's my drink?" he demands of no one as he turns back to the bar. "Aw, shell," is a half-growl that has him dropping his head toward the bar top, only to straighten before it touches. "Where is my drink," is no longer a question, but a plaintive hope.

There's something bemused about the way that T'zur regards J'nason, though whatever causes the expression is kept to himself. Instead, he tucks gloves neatly into his jacket, eagerly waiting for his glass when the bartender returns -- at least until he gets that tap on the shoulder. "Mm?" curious, blank expression is turned on Edyis; there might be a flicker of recognition -- but it's gone instantly as gaze goes distant. "Ah," he exhales, mouth twisting. When the bartender sets down the glasses, he snatches the first one (sorry, Kh'tyr!), practically gulping down the contents of the glass, tosses just enough coins onto the bar to make up for it, and pushes straight. "Follow the crowd, I guess?" to his fellow foreigners, trailing in the wake of that female brownrider. Tziveth is, for his part, largely silent -- there's no bellowy challenges or such. Instead, his thoughts creep out, subtly, extending outwards, making his presence felt in the movement at the corner of the eye, and the dark that lurks at the edges.

As Hephaisth makes his move unfolding his bulk like a wind-up toy, J'nason throws back his head and starts to laugh. "Oh that bastard F'reah is going to get it in his eye. 'Punishment Duty'." A snort for that as he shoves himself up from his seat and winks at the bartender. "You just keep hold of that whiskey for now, aye? If I'm not back in a hour just give it to some poor smuck, coutsey of a lucky, lucky, lucky man. Shall we men?" And he'll keep in pace with the other two so they can follow the native brownrider. Hephaisth bloods a kill, his mind a maze of machinery, and his voice like the clank of gears turning over one another as if counting down to the real event.

"Aidavanth?" Quint echoes L'sha with an exhale, fingers tightening momentarily on his glass. "Ah," he adds, in a low whistle, like something suddenly makes sense. He regards the foreign riders in a new light, eyes narrowing like he's assessing them differently, now. "I'd-- yes, that's a good idea. Mind if I join you? Perhaps you can tell me who the chasers are?" he asks L'sha, starting to rise. "And -- maybe take the bottle? I think we'll need it." He's taking his glass, for certain.

L'sha heads to the patio ledge. L'sha has left. You head to the patio ledge.

L'sha braves the freezing rain to place the umbrella in the center of one of the tables, lock it in place and open it. His drink is now a bit diluted, but he shrugs and sips it anyway. The umbrella seems to be doing a decent job of keeping most of the rain off him, so he sits and pulls out a chair for Quint. "Well, it'll be tough to see them in the air, but they'll be out of sight soon anyway."

While Quint hunches into his jacket, he's not so unused to the weather that he retreats. Immediately, he tips his head upwards, but there's little to be seen from here other than the occasional glint of light of dragons' hides from the feeding grounds. They're not the only ones that are braving the weather for a glimpse, either. Setting the bottle near the middle of the table, the harper glances at the offered seat, and shakes his head in thanks, gesturing for L'sha to take it instead. "I've-- I feel a need to stand. That energy is... infectious," he admits, with a grimace, lifting glass to his lips.

L'sha closes his eyes and smiles, feeling the emotional tension in the air. "Mmm, yes, there's nothing quite like it. Unless you're actually in the flight, then it's much, much more intense. So you wanted to know which dragons are participating? Well, there's Akluseth and Edyis, of course, then..." He pauses for a moment to consult with Rillaeth. "Kh'tyr and brown Mograith from Fort, T'zur and bronze Tziveth from Benden and J'nason from Ista. Rillaeth didn't catch his dragon's name, nor did the watchrider, apparently."

Even if the greenrider's eyes are closed, by habit Quint nods in answer to L'sha's question. He frowns briefly, thoughtfully. "Mm. Interesting -- many out-Weyr riders. Some posit it boasts well for a good clutch, to mix the bloodlines like that." When the dragons soar upwards, he watches the glints off their hides until the rain obscures them entirely, exhaling a sigh.

L'sha leans back to watch the dragons rise, getting a faceful of rain in the process. He doesn't seem to mind, though, and ducks back under the umbrella when they're out of sight. He sips on his drink and glances at Quint curiously. "This isn't your first time watching a gold flight, is it?"

"No," Quint answers with a grin, as if pleased by the observation. "Had postings at Ista and Honshu Weyrs before this. I'm glad I make it look like I'm an old hand," he chuckles, all but draining the contents of his glass. That perspiration on his forehead might just be rain, or it might be something else, but the harper still stands straight-backed.

"No," Quint answers with a grin, as if pleased by the observation. "Had postings at Ista and Honshu Weyrs before this. I'm glad I make it look like I'm an old hand," he chuckles, all but draining the contents of his glass. That perspiration on his forehead might just be rain, or it might be something else, but the harper still stands straight-backed.

L'sha's brow furrows briefly and he opens his mouth to say something, but thinks better of it and sips his drink. "So how do you like High Reaches after Ista and Honshu? I guess the weather is nicer there. Warmer, anyway. I've never been to Honshu, though." He looks up into the umbrella in the direction the dragons are going. "Sure you don't want to sit?"

"It's different," is the immediate, and typically non-committal harper response. After a beat, Quint chuckles: "Though granted, the weather does make a difference. But I've grown to rather enjoy High Reaches' winter, too. The children get such a thrill out of it; it's hard for that to not be infectious." He follows the rider's gaze upwards, exhales as he can't see anything, and nods a concession, moving over to take the seat opposite L'sha's. "Think she'll mind if we...?" he gestures to Edyis' bottle.

L'sha grins. "Yeah, I love the winter, too. Warm weather's nice, but I can only take the sun and the heat so much. I don't know how Istans and Igenites can stand it all day." He shrugs and sips his drink. "I don't think she'd mind if you took one drink. I'll stick with mine, though, I don't like hard liquor too much." He raises his glass. "Here's to a good flight and a good clutch!" He takes another sip.

"I imagine," the harper says thoughtfully, "It's whatever you get used to. Day time naps and lots of cold drinks worked wonders for me in Ista -- habits I picked up from the locals," Quint confesses, with a grin. With his companion's blessing, he reaches for Edyis' discarded bottle, pouring himself a half glass of the contents, in a display of self-will. The twitchiness with which he does it suggests he's not entirely immune to the emotions of the gold's flight, exhaling slowly as he takes a slower sip of the contents of his glass, now, murmuring, "To a fine clutch," he echoes.

L'sha clinks his glass with Quint's in a toast, then sips it and looks skyward again. "So, do you have anyone to spend the night with?" He asks this nonchalantly, as if merely curious.

The harper's too poised to look embarrassed by the question. "Not yet," Quint says, although he adds immediately, "But I'm afraid I'm rather partial to female companionship. I'd bet there'll be plenty of losing riders coming through here, soon, though," he says, with a smile. Up there, far distant, Aidavanth might be poised on the verge of being caught, though all the harper can tell is that it's suddenly warm, a flush going through him as he drains the rest of his glass.

L'sha nods. "Okay, I don't mind." He suddenly looks up towards the sky. "Oh..."

The greenrider's expression earns a sharp look from Quint, who, too, looks at the sky. Not that he can see anything. "Has she...?" he tilts his head, not so much listening as waiting.

L'sha continues staring upwards for a moment. "She's close...she's caught! It's Akluseth! I don't believe it!" He stands suddenly, his chair pushing out and nearly toppling over. He leans out and shouts into the air and rain, "WOOHOO! Way to go, Akluseth!"

"Akluseth?" Quint echoes. "Edyis' brown? Interesting. Perhaps, like her rider, Aidavanth prefers High Reaches' bred," he likely isn't even aware he's saying it, muttered ruefully under his breath as he exhales. "I should," he waves vaguely, and stands awkwardly.

L'sha grins up at the sky for another moment, relishing the sensations washing over the entire Weyr. "Sure, why not? Best to keep it in the Weyr, in my opinion." He glances over at the slightly unsteady harper. "You okay there? Need a hand? I won't take advantage of you or anything."

Quint makes a sound that could be a stifled laugh, or, you know, something else. "No, no, I'm ah, fine. Thanks for the company, L'sha. Have a good evening." He's going off to find... something to satisfy this itch.

L'sha smirks. "Okay, have fun, then! I think I'll go track S'rin down." A mischievous grin slowly spreads across his face.

With a set expression, the harper heads out without a backward glance.