Logs:Turnover Turn 30
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| RL Date: 16 February, 2013 |
| Who: Ainslee, Alida, Azaylia, Barnabas, Brieli, Ceawlin, Devaki, Hana, H'kon, Issedi, Jo, Kaeden, K'del, Madilla, Riorde, Suireh, Taikrin, Peregrine, Vienne, Wakizian, Xhaeon, Z'ian |
| Type: Log |
| What: It's turnover! Everyone has a good time. Mostly. |
| Where: Living Caverns, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 28, Month 13, Turn 30 (Interval 10) |
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| Living Cavern, High Reaches Weyr 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. It's a party! It's a masquerade! The caverns have been prettied up and decorated for the occasion, the glows and candles are low, there's even a dance floor cleared and musicians setting up. There's also a ton of food and drinks for the occasion, because above all that, it's Turnover, and there are clutches on the sands besides. The tensions of the last weeks have people well ready to let off some steam, so even early on, there's a big crowd of costumed (and, yes, barely-to-non-costumed people) wandering around and admiring each other, eating and always drinking. This is High Reaches, it is the winter and it's a party. K'del is... blue? From head to toe, even, and it's a little bizarre, frankly. "Midnight," is what he answers to the first person who asks him what he's dressed at, and, "Sadness," to the next. His smile is crooked: he seems to be enjoying the way people react to his altogether peculiar attire. Swanning through the caverns, he aims for the serving tables, fetching himself a glass of whisky that he can leave blue smudged lip-prints on. Madilla is sans-children, tonight, though she looks almost like one herself, in that girly pink dress, with the cap sleeves and big bowed waist, not to mention the pigtails in her hair, and those shiny black flats. Her grin is brilliant, but there's a watchfulness to her gaze as she scans the room, evidently seeking out - or just searching for - someone in particular. She seems to find herself 'safe' on that first sweep, because she heads off to a corner to stand with a group of Crafters, and chats with them quite amiably. The moons are difficult to see outside with with snowy weather, but there's at least one indoors; it looks like Brieli, by height and hair and other attributes, dressed and masked and shod in silver. She's just found herself a glass of something that could be whisky, or something else, as K'del approaches. She doesn't exactly move away, but she doesn't say anything either - just gives the blue man a glance and looks over the damage to the booze so far. Peregrine stops in the doorway with a smile on her face as she looks around at all the decorations and candles. She realizes after a few moments that she might be blocking the entrance a little, and looks behind her with a sheepish glance before moving out of the way. But once she's done that it's back to looking around again, as she edges closer to the musicians to watch them set up. She tugs a little at the tight lace collar of the dress she's wearing. As she sees all the costume she blushes a little that she isn't wearing one. Like the dress she is wearing isn't embarrasing looking enough. She smiles as she overhears a couple of K'del's answers to what his costume is, but doesn't ask the question a third time. Instead she leaves the musicians and heads to the drink table and waits in line after Brieli, getting juice when there's room for her at the table. The natural hunch to Bones' walk works well with the costume, especially considering how he lords over the refreshments. Maw is slowly but steadily stuffed with all manner of prepared snacks, the ocasional grumble of appreciation for the taste leaving him. With dreads hanging across the sides of his face, the snacks seem to simply dissapear into the painted white mouth one by one. The horrible beast arrived hungry. H'kon was early enough to have secured his glass of whisky, now firmly gripped in his hand, well before any rush. He's since occupied the outskirts, nodding to Avalanche's riders, and the occasional rider from another wing, or anyone who might happen upon him. He's got no chair, content to stand with his back propped against the wall, but it doesn't take much investigation to see the man has little in the way of intentions to leave. Or mingle. He will keep up a continuous scan of the room, watching comers, goers, mill-abouters. Blue people. Etc. Evidently, K'del is disinclined to be rude or distant, tonight, because he sweeps Brieli a bow-- or perhaps he's just mistaken who she is. But - no, apparently not, because he says then, "Weyrwoman. You look lovely, as always." He's smirking, though. "Congratulations on the eggs. We've brought you in a few Candidates already." From suspiciously pro-K'del holds, too, for the most part. Every party needs a pooper! Apparently Alida is the big one tonight, given she wears no costume, no mask... is not even dressed up. This is what happens when you travel on business, and are relatively poor. No matter; the woman simply steps into the main cavern from deeper within the living area, eyeballing the various adorned bodies with relative interest, for once...even if a few of the costumes make her have to hide low snickers behind an artfully placed hand. Observance is her keyword, at this time. On Taikrin's arm sits Hraedhyth. No, wait, she's much smaller and far more timid, Azaylia not quite doing her lifemate justice. Painted jaws spread as she smiles, looking over at her escort as gilded nails reach up to brush fingertips over the necklace she wears. Eyes catch a glint of silver, K'del's own grand gestures bringing her eyes towards her fellow Weyrwoman. But it's a party, and despite sullen days Azaylia is intending to fully throw herself into the festivities. Now where are the drinks? "Thank you. I know." Brieli has her own faint smirk for that and K'del both over her glass, as she shifts out of the way for the girl behind her to get her juice - not that she waits in line, no. So yay for Peregrine! And... they are at the drinks, but at least the other goldrider will lift a hand to her counterpart and date, despite her somewhat wide-eyed look. Directing that back the bronzerider's way briefly - did I see right? - she quirks her lips. "I'd heard. And thank you. I'm hoping everyone will be able to see them soon." There's a pause before, "I hope you're well." It sounds sincere! For her part, Taikrin is doing her best to be as gallant as a coal-miner ought to be. Her pickaxe is tucked into far side of her belt, and she's managed not to get any of the dark dust smudging her face on Azaylia. Yet. Her head is held high, though, and beneath the mask is a smug a smile as any she's ever worn. "What do you want to drink tonight, mm-- Hraedhyth?" There's a tease in her voice as she addresses Azaylia. "Some of the good stuff?" Peregrine smiles at Brieli politely as she gets her drink. She's suddently surrounded by so many people! "Your costumes are really good, um, sirs and ma'ams." She nods her head quickly and moves away from the table to make more room and is that a blush again? She is then one of the people that seems to plan to mill around, but on the outskirts and tries to avoid attention as she watches the people, looks at the costumes, and enjoys the music. K'del, too, shoots a glance towards 'Hraedhyth' and the coalminer, and his brows raise beneath all the blue paint. To Brieli, all he says is, "Imagine most of the Weyr hope so, too. Been a long time since we had so many eggs upon the sands. I'm well." It's a little clipped, but... it's probably sincere, along with his, "And yourself, of course." His white teeth stand out all the more on blue lips (and man, that can't taste good). "Oh," he says, glancing at Peregrine. "Uh, thank you. You look--" He runs out of words. Suireh's idea of a costume is a feathered white mask that's elegantly jeweled. How an apprentice affords such wares would be a question if she were marked as an apprentice this night, but being knotless, she's also judgment free (mostly). She's wearing gather finery; a simple, silken white dress that clings to her less than ample curves and her dark, glossy hair is in an elegant updo. She's midst a gaggle of weyr boys, and for once, behind that saving grace of a mask, she allows herself to smile charmingly, beaming practically, at the court she has surrounding her. "Any stuff." Azaylia answers somewhat weakly, but as she begins to shake off the melancholy, she gives Taikrin's arm a faint tug. "Let's see what they have? I mean, I know, I helped plan but--" Is she nervous? More than likely, doing her best not to bite her lip for fear of smudging her war paint. "I won't keep you for long," She promises, "If you'd rather dance with Riorde or someone." Not to free herself up for dancing with any boys, or anything. Madilla, in her little-girl garb, looks extra peculiar sipping from the glass of white wine in her hand. Of course, she makes a funny-shaped little girl: too many curves. The healer chats cheerfully with one of her crafter compatriots for a few minutes, then, bobbing her head at hime, draws herself up and away from the wall - ready to mingle. After a sip from her drink, "I imagine so. I don't think it should be an issue for too long." Brieli's expression is even more difficult to read than usual with her mask on, but the blink for Peregrine is easily readable. More gracious than for the blue man, "Thank you. Are you dressed as something, or are you not a costume person?" And for K'del, since he asks, "I've been... thinking a lot. I think that's productive. I'll forgive you if you say no, but I'd like to talk sometime. Start everything over with the turn?" Innocent enough, right? "Promised the first dance to you, didn't I?" Taikrin reassures Azaylia as she leads her over towards the bar. Her smirk when she pulls into the end of the line implies that she's only standing there for fun, really. "It's different when you see it in front of you than when you're planning. Relax. Enjoy it. This turnover is for you, and all you done. It's your party." Her focus is entirely on reassuring the weyrwoman on her arm, to the exclusion of all else-- it migth be a little intense. Vienne is hardly a notable addition to the gathering, just a little sailor boy slipping in amongst the revelers, perhaps out of place if one doesn't look to close and actually mistakes her for an underaged male. She's short enough to pull it off and with her hair tucked up into a cap and her skinny limbs, she might really look the part, though the buttons across her chest don't quite hide her gender entirely. With the number of people present, she has to press up to her toes a bit, trying to peer through the crowd in an attempt to figure out where the wine is being poured. Z'ian arrives at the party, fashionably late of course. The simple white mask that he wears obscures most of his face and he's left the knot behind for tonight. Some people are recognizable in their costumes and there's a couple that garner more than a passing glance from the bronzerider. He moves through the crowd, his feet taking him on an indirect path towards the bar. He bumps into other partiers along the way, some he knows and greets while others he merely nods a quick apology and keeps moving. Brieli's request may be innocent, but K'del seems unnerved by it. Perhaps that's not unreasonable. "Perhaps," he prevaricates, at first. But: "You're one of my Weyrwomen. Of course." He sounds thrilled with the idea. Or dubious. Probably dubious. Abruptlly, "Won't keep you, now. Imagine you've guests to mingle with, and all. If you'll excuse me?" H'kon is not ready to mingle. And when the walls start to get crowded as people with loaded plates look for safe places to eat, he shifts from his lean on the wall, and sets out, slow and steady through the increasingly frequent waves of partiers. It might be a ploy, to move away from the wall and into the crowd that's almost entirely made of people taller than him (give or take one or two), a means of camouflage. That exit's far, but never underestimate the determination of a painfully introverted and broody brownrider. Riorde's concession to masquerade is a mask only, black silk to match a black dress. It's the same dress she's worn in turns past; tonight will not be the night she breaks habit. She is, thus, plainly recognizable, even with her hair twisted up off her shoulders. The mask really does nothing to hide her features. With *that* cleavage and *that* hair, is it any surprise that most notable Hailstorm wingriders jeer loudly at the arrival of the fashionably late Ainslee? Red hair is pulled up for a change, a bold stance given the risque-low cut of off-the-shoulder dress: a plunging neckline matches, a simple shift of metallic peach that gracefully hugs curves from bosom to knee. This is definitely more of Ainslee than the greenrider typically shows, even with the charming winged mask of fanciful white. (Who knew she had *that* much cleavage? Guys? Guys? Some poor Avalanche schmuck just ran into a punch bowl. Maybe someone should give her a scarf before she REALLY causes a traffic accident.) Azaylia may wilt some under that intensity, tempted to bury her face into Taikrin's arm if not for her make up. "Yeah." She doesn't sound at all displeased, pulling away to trade compliments with those passing by before her attention focuses back onto the brownrider. "It's not, it's for everyone. Really. But thank you for saying so." Fingers keep brushing up against that necklace, worrying the most center precious stone with her thumb. Is she being a wall-flower? Shells no, but Alida certainly isn't the belle of the damned ball, either, the pale-headed femme simply weaving in and around the gathered throng as she heads straight for the booze table. Those clear, deep green eyes certainly don't avoid anyone on her way to refreshment, taking in mister 'Blue' over there with a bit of darkly-humored gawking, while the gal wearing the vicious gold dragon costume gets a rather toothy grin. Peering like an old Uncle at the little sailor boy-gal as she passes, astute eyes then manage to fixate on pigtailed and waaaay girlish Madilla, managing to tear free (after 'lida once again artfully hides her sniggering behind her hand) and rake over the guy in the white mask and nothing else dressy. "What a f*cking crowd..." the guard mutters to herself as she fords it like a river. Bones leans more intensely over the food, another growl leaving him at the taste of a particularly succulent mini-meatroll. He's playing the part of his costume without realizing, so enamored with the free food that he's half-inclined to crawl right up onto the table. Thankfully there's the pauses required to chew. He can't quite open is mouth as wide as a watch-wher can. It's in the middle of chewing that he notices a familiar face, one that'd helped him pick out his horrific costume. "Vee!" Maybe it's sympathy that sends Madilla hurrying towards H'kon, having caught sight of him across the room. Of course, by the time she actually gets there, the brownrider is gone; she's left looking perplexed. In the process, she catches sight of Alida just barely-- and offers her a trepidatious smile, both wary and attempting to be friendly and welcoming. No, she will never give up. "Of course." Brieli tilts her glass K'del's way with a faint smile, a farewell. And with all these people headed bar-ward and her with a glass in hand, perhaps she does have rounds to make. Drifting off away from the drinks, she nurses the one in hand. As one young man comes too close and speaks to her quietly, she snaps briefly, "Do I look like I'm wearing white?" Likewise knotless, mistakes will be made. Dumb boys. "Happy Turnover," offers K'del, with a final bob of his head towards Brieli. With that, the blue man turns to leave, wandering back through the crowd with an expression that speaks to great apprehension and concern. "Good." Taikrin smiles at Azaylia's gesture, her grip turning momentarily possessive. But then it's time to order, which Taikrin will do with a raised-brow silent request for the goldrider to humor her. "Whisky, no ice, and the Lady Hraedhyth'll have a glass of that white-- no, not that one, the good one. The Benden-- yeah, that one. It'll do." Turning back to Azaylia, she says, "So long as you enjoy the party yourself. Let the headwoman take care of everything tonight. We'll drink and dance and eat." For a moment, her gaze flickers towards Alida -- she must have caught some of the woman's comment, given their relative proximities -- but she doesn't let the frown linger long. "You're the star tonight," she adds distractedly to Azaylia. "You and Brieli." The dumb boy, nonetheless, looks enchanted to be snapped at by the silver-dressed vision and lingers staring long after Brieli's moved on. If Suireh's noticed she's lost one member of her court, well- charitably, there are a lot of weyr boys around her. Uncharitably? She's such a player tonight. Maybe that's what she's dressed as, in all white... with a white mask and sparkling jewels. An angelic, innocent looking player. But a man in blue catches her attention and making the sweetest of apologies, the white-clad teenager departs the gaggle and makes her way through the crowds slowly, pink sugar-rimmed drink in hand. As for her court? Well, there are many other attractive and far more pliable girls than Suireh all too willing to claim this boy or that one, if they're not being completely distracted by the walking cleavage that is Ainslee. It might not be the nickname that tips Sailor Vienne off that Bones is calling for her; largely it's just his volume and that striking... look he has about him. She smiles wide, lifting a hand to wave at him while she tries to twist and duck her way across the crowd until she's close enough to say, "You look terrifying!" With her grin beaming, her tone is utter congratulations, even if she did help him come up with this get up. "The teeth are genius." Z'ian has arrived by the bar, food, beverage whatever area. The sight of another man bumping into the punch bowl is a notable occurence, so it's natural that he would turn around to find the focus of his distracted attention. The jeering and catcalls from a group of wingriders is what finally gets him to shift his gaze towards Ainslee herself. The bronzerider watches her from across the way, smiling lopsidedly as he takes in that uh, dress she's wearing. And what a nice dress it is. So nice. It's only the sight of K'del in blue that pulls his attention, he lifts his hand and tries to get his attention. But he is quite far away, for now he gives up and orders his drink. Meanwhile, his gaze slides back to the Hailstorm greenrider. What is this? K'del? In blue? Riorde seems to have found her target. She heads for him like a hound on a scent, neatly interposing herself in his path. "Good evening, Weyr--whoops. Sorry. Habit." K'del eventually comes to a halt off to one side, nursing his blue-rimmed drink with a very faraway and sad kind of expression. It's his first turnover as a single man in some time; give him a break! If he's noticed that the girl in white has noticed him in turn, he certainly doesn't pay her any attention: his gaze wanders off through the room, more than briefly lingering on Ainslee, and then falling idly towards Z'ian, to whom he raises his drink. Hi the-- Riorde. His expression is bland. "Riorde." Peregrine has finished the glass of juice she had and makes her way back to the drink table from where she had stood near the musicians. She gets the same thing for herself when there's room for her to get to the table itself. She doesn't stay there however since there are so many other people around to have to watch out about bumping into. She smiles a little when she sees the young man come in. Maybe it has to do with the fact that he looks better in his dress than she does in hers. Every girl knows that accessories make the outfit. And some girl let Wakizian in on this little secret. And so it is with clumsy white lace fan in hand that the young... man? slips into the party, a little out of breath. He takes a moment to rid himself of a thick winter coat and fluff his sleeves and push long brown locks out of his face before he starts further into the cavern, brown eyes dancing across all the faces from behind the black half-mask. Ainslee didn't *mean* to borrow Suireh's fanboys. SUIREH. TAKE THEM BACK. The redhead winds her way through the crowd, stopping as she does next to an inconspicuous sailor just her height, unaware of the converging mass horde on K'del or Z'ian's appreciative gaze - yet. That convergence is going to cause one hell of a pileup, and Z'ian, well, appraisals like that /itch/ after a while! "Sailor," she drawls in the *most* horrible imitation of a South Boll accent, "What's a girl got to do to get a drink?" Her smirk for Vienne is somewhat girlish in implementation. Any smiles directed Azaylia's way will be returned, with genuine cheer to go with the polite gesture. "I do--" But then Taikrin is ordering, so hopefully the mask hides her wince at the brownrider's choice. The wine is inspected, perhaps under the guise of it not being good enough when in reality, the weyrwoman has never been one for wine. But it's alcohol, and the sooner she finishes, the sooner she can have more. "Thank you, Taikrin. I was... yes. Both of us." Said in a rush, new topic: "Why a coal miner?" Even as she asks, her eyes are scanning the room and that wine isn't being properly appreciated. Glug. "K'del," Riorde says with a pretty smile, matching name for name. "Hello. How have you been? It's been so long since we properly talked." Words, all above board. Intimations? Quite possibly less so. "Man, I was worried that I'd have the weirdest costume" Bones admits as he rounds the table to talk to the sailor boy, Vienne. "Thankfully, that guy just showed up." He puts one hand on Vienne's shoulder, and uses the other to point across the room at the other gender-bending costume choice, Wakizian. "Dude shoulda shaved his legs for that one, don'tcha think? Ha!" It's just as he makes that joke that Ainsless approaches, and steals Vienne's attention. How could she not, what with the rack and all. Silvery flashes come from the edge of the room as Brieli surveys the party from the edges of things, picking out costumes, then people, if she can sort out the two. She's not drinking too quickly, not yet - and she's not all that inclined to chat for the time being, still watching K'del as he's being accosted, dark gaze thoughtful. Ainslee's dress - and yes, hair and rack and admirers all - gets her attention, tipping her off to Vienne, along with Bones - and though she's in no hurry, she angles towards the food. Isn't is just like the perhaps-sour guardswoman: leaving someone in her wake frowning at her! Alida misses that expression from Taikrin, but she does happen to catch Madilla's look and nervous bit of a smile at her...the Pars woman actually inclining her pale head to the Healer and tossing her a very half-assed salute with two fingers to forehead. And then it's on through the rest of the crowd, and over to the table of booze and food, where some party chow and good spirits are found, appropriated, and then sat down with. Nompf...sip. Quite randomly, the bitch settles not far from the settled Bones/Barnabas...her green eyes occasionally skating subtly aside to study him and his wher costume. "Imagine you know exactly how I've been," points out K'del, not especially trusting of Riorde. He regards her, levelly, his blue-tinged brows only slightly raised. "Imagine you know that, too. What do you want? Go on, rub it all in. I don't care." He does care, though: that would be why he's suddenly looking so tired and alone. Either Taikrin doesn't notice the wince, or she chooses not to comment on it. Either way, she's happily sipping away at her own whisky. "Grew up a coal miner, you know-- used to play down in the mines. Hide-and-seek? We'd come home so covered in black dust sometimes our own mothers couldn't tell us apart, so it seemed like it might be a good costume." Presumably Taikrin didn't also come home with an additional thirty pounds of muscle on her frame. "I tried to talk the weyrmate into being a fisherman, like, a sexy fisherman? But she wasn't having it. What can you do?" She glances over the crowd again, curiously, to search for the woman. When she's not immediately visible, the nearly-Weyrleader shrugs. "How'd you settle on Hraedhyth?" Sailor Vienne didn't realize Ainslee was standing right there, but it's possible she missed the greenrider's face, all things considered. She turns to regard her friend with a wide smile, infected by all the excitement. "Look at you!" she laughs, reaching out to slip an arm around Ainslee's waist as if that's entirely natural. It's just for a moment. "I think all you have to do is say it a little louder." She cuts a glance past the boobs toward all those eyes that have been on them. And then, back to grinning at Bones, "No, I think the teeth might give you an edge. You're going to give people nightmares." She tries to see through the crowd to the unshaved legs, but it's nothing but shoulders. There's barely time to catch Brieli's glance and send a smile back her way. Z'ian's drink arrives, tall and amber colored. He accepts it graciously from the bartender, leaning with his back against the counter. Does this count as being a wallflower? Probably. But it gives him a good vantage point to people watch for the time being and he seems content with just staying out of the crazy mass of humanity right now. He lifts his chin when K'del acknowledges him, eyes flickering to Riorde when she approaches the other bronzerider. His lips purse but he's soon distracted by continuing the art of making eyes at Ainslee from across the room. Until you know, she notices. Or he gets bored, whichever comes first. Or he looks K'del's way again and catches that expression. Well. Greenrider with cleavage, rescue your friend. Greenrider with cleavage, rescue your friend. So many choices. The Avalanche rider pushes himself to a stand begins to head towards the blue man. K'del looking tired and alone is when Suireh, mindless of Ainslee sudden problem of all her former suitors mesmerized by the cleavage and red head combo, swoops in, sliding her arm in through the former Weyrleader's unsuspect arm from behind. "You look like you could use a drink, sugar." She can even feign a sultry voice, with mixed results. "Why don't I get you one? You don't mind if I borrow him, right?" She's not quite manhandling K'del away from the black-masked woman, but there's an arch little smile beneath that all-encompassing white feather mask. It's a good thing Wakizian didn't go for the heels! He's having enough trouble navigating his way though the crowd in men's work boots as is. Apparently dressing as the fairer sex isn't sitting well with him, as he's shifting the bodice and tugging on the skirt of the dress. His target becomes readily apparent. He's heading towards Hraedhyth's lifemate. Apparently the lack of shaved legs is enough to stave off the attentions of some, but others whistle at his passing - either in play or perhaps as a compliment for the figure he's created for himself. His fan taps Azaylia lightly on the shoulder and he murmurs - sound perhaps lost to some of the crowd, "I think I may have chosen poorly and might need protection." Peregrine is enjoying people watching, or costume watching, though she doesn't know what to do with herself anytime she gets too close to any drama between other residents or riders so she moves away whenever she thinks she should. She moves to the food table and piles a variety of things on a plate and hides in a corner to stay out of everyone's way. Hraedhyth is all smiles, "That's really cute, Taikrin." To make up for what might be construed as an insult, she's pressing even more up against the brownrider's side. "Riorde." She says, warmly. The wine must be kicking in, as her glass is nearly empty already. "I'm sorry that she didn't. That would have been nice. A coal miner and a fisherman..." There's a snap to Azaylia's neck as she does a doubletake- that young, unfortunately shaped woman looks familiar. Wakizian. Not that she recognizes him, turning to look back up at Taikrin, "Oh. I thought of a gold firelizard, but Hraedhyth got a little upset at that." She says with a fond little smile, "So I made the joke that I'd go as her. She was happy. And it's... different." Which is a plus. Riorde stares straight back at K'del from behind her mask. There's very little warmth, if any. "I don't want anything." A pause, and then she reconsiders, "Maybe a glass of wine. I haven't had anything to drink yet. Do you--" She's on the verge of suggesting a drink herself when Suireh intervenes, earning her one black look. There's no point in saying anything when it's to their backs. Ainslee frames a look through dark 'lashes up to Bones, across the way. "I'm not sure we've met," she states, leaning over - oh God - to extend a hand, a pretty imitation of manners. A princess and a wher; isn't there a Disney movie about this, somewhere? "I'm... well. I suppose I can't tell you that, tonight, but I'm very pleased to meet you?" Yes, it's a question. She melts into Vienne's side in that uber-girly fashion that some girls just seem blessed with, a hug returned (look ma, no hands!). It comes about this point in time that some kind of survival instinct triggers, and she scoots away from Vienne and Bones just quickly enough to escape no less than four costumed men chasing her with drinks. "I'll be back!" she likely lies through her teeth, slipping sideways a step to fall in line with a pretty (and also familiar) face. "Oh, look at you." You, in this case, would be Z'ian. "Mind if I?" She's going to take a sip from his drink, now, heedless of the fact that he's still, y'know, holding it. Go back to your ogling, Z'ian: all is probably well! Probably. K'del has to blink several times at Suireh before determining that she is not the other woman in a pale dress and mask, though it's likely he's still not actually sure who she is. "Another time, Riorde," he gets out between half-gritted teeth. "Why don't you go and find your little girlfriend, instead. Unless she's too busy?" Suireh, whoever she is, is clearly the better option: he's apparently quite content to be swept along with her. "Thanks," he says. Azaylia gives a sudden start at being tapped on the shoulder, and instantly that unfortunate girl is there! "Oh. ...Oh!" A sharp gasp, "Oh you poor... what." The weyrwoman is trying not to laugh, really, Wakizian has her sympathies, but... "Taikrin is a wonderful guard. We'll save you from those fresh bronzeriders." Madilla's fingers idly play with the end of one pigtail, while the other continues to hold on to the stem of her wineglass. Having missed H'kon in the crush, she's alone only briefly-- long enough to take another few sips of her wine, but not much more. Her smile, as one of the other healers approaches, is bright, and their low-toned conversation seems to please her. The moon drifts over Sailor Vienne's way - doesn't it draw the tides, anyway? Brieli just comes up to the bluerider as Ainslee's skittering away, and she offers a little wave to the redhead en passant. So it's just Vienne and Bones that she offers a flash of a smile to, a tilt of her glass. "Happy Turnover. You both look good." Even the wher, even hunching over the food and all. In fact, she'll ask him, "What's good tonight?" Oh, good. Because Z'ian really didn't want to break up a cat fight between K'del and Riorde. That would have been awkward. So when he tries to bypass Ainslee and her little group, he's more or less fine with being waylaid by the greenrider. With Ainslee now by his side, he slips an arm around her waist while slowing so that he can more easily hand off that drink to her. He's barely even touched it yet, so it's essentially fresh still. Taikrin makes a face at being called cute, but there's teasing in her voice. "Funny that she liked the idea of you going as her. I ain't ever thought that. Wonder what Szad would say about it." There's not time to ponder that thought, though, because there's a cute girl-- girl?" Taikrin's initial broad smile turns confused when she gets a better look at Wakazian. "I reckon we can manage to save you from bronzeriders, yeah. How did-- who's your friend, Azaylia?" Bones' eyes are locked to cleavage as he takes Ainslee's hand and shakes it with the strength of a man who's survived by hard labor alone. "Preeetty sure I'd remember you." He says with a smirk, being openly and obvious with his gawking. It's as soon as he's introduced that she's chased away, and Bones is left to blink at Vienne the sailor. "Well that was weird. It's not just me right, that was weird?" Brieli jumps in, and Bones eyes jump up to the moon goddess. This one he can actually make eye contact with. "What's good? Ha! All free food is good food. But if I had to pick a favorite? That uhh, brown paste. Put it on one the blue cracker things." He wasn't good with names. Note one chillin' guardswoman sitting at a table, eating her noms, sipping her wine, watching the guests circulate...and then watch said Alida suddenly gag on a swallow of her wine when finally noticing the hairy-legged, dress-wearing Waki in the crowd. More hacking, choking, and then a series of harsh coughs later has the Pars woman lifting a napkin to her lips and nose, finally eyes, to try and cover, wipe away all of that experience of a guy in drag...her snickering giggles drowned behind hand with cloth within it. Yay fresh drink! Ainslee will totally steer this little twosome ove-- oh wait, there's Brieli, and she's leaning around to offer a smile-in-passing, over two joe-schmoe's shoulders and one disturbingly short tanner's head. When Ainslee can see over someone's head, things are bad, guys. She returns to leaning up against Z'ian comfortably. "Think things are going to get bloody before the night is out?" is her question to her companion-of-the-moment, beaming up at him with certain spirit. Or maybe it's the +3 ego boost that Bones just gave her a minute ago. Riorde doesn't bother herself with a response to K'del. She's already turning away, in fact, with what's visible of her expression steadily darkening. The brownrider in black practically stalks towards the nearest drink. Oh, and here -- fashionably late, of course -- is the High Reaches Hold contingent. They're immediately apparent, if only for their finery and their solidarity -- the couple at front entering as if they're owed some sort of attention, trailed by their entourage. The woman at the front -- obviously Issedi, dressed all in pink -- is gasping with delight at all the outfits, and leans in to give the black-clad figure at her side a kiss on the cheek before disappearing off towards a group of women, accompanied by Diendra. This leaves a somewhat bemused Devaki in her wake, glancing back to Hana and offering a hand. "Drink?" Black mask lady gets one last wicked smile cast over Suireh's shoulder, before she makes off with blue man. A very obvious-who-it-is blue man. The harper's voice is, at least, kind behind the safety of her mask. "Looked like you needed someone to hold your hand." And look, there she is, slipping her hand down his arm to his hand to hold it with one delicate gloved hand. "And a drink. Here, have the rest of mine. If you shoot it back in one go, it's much stronger. And the party becomes all the more enjoyable." Hana blinks after Issedi for a long moment - that was not in the plans! before doing the same to Devaki. Preferring something in a blueish-green, the young woman steps up to Dev's side and accepts the hand, "Ah.. perhaps that would be just as well." That said, Han then peeks this way and that to get a look at all the outfits, a bit of a smile taking up permenant residence. Such a variety, tonight! The weyr's newest Smith slips in, an austere figure in autumnal colors of rust and gold and russet, his mask a marvelous contraption of raptorial beak and feathers, nonetheless masculine for the presence of such. Almost of a height with yon blue-man, Xhaeon, though as unfamiliar as the other man is familiar; maybe he's a little more familiar as he ends nearby Wakizian, happening to appraise the apprentice with a leisurely expression. His Telgar accent gives him away, deadpan delivery of his salutation for such greeting as is offered: "Ma'am." "Don't choke!" Wakizian's baritone voice projects over some of the noise towards the choking-gagging-giggling Alida. This before he has a chance to respond to Azaylia and Taikrin. He groans as he looks back to the riders, "Or maybe you need to protect people from me." A glance behind him to where a bronzer who's had a little more wine than he should for so early in the evening is raising a glass in his direction, "No, wait, I've changed my mind. Definitely protect me from the bronzeriders." He shifts nervously, "Weyrwoman, with all due respect, I wish I'd never made you laugh. And then had this idea. I look too good." He flips his hair. It's all the hair. And the fan. He flutters it. A plaintive glance is given towards Taikrin in a 'save me please' kind of way. K'del squeezes Suireh's hand in return - and at least he's got gloves on his hands rather than more blue paint, making it unlikely that he will accidentally rub anything off on her. "Thanks," he says, genuinely, not glancing back in Riorde's direction. He doesn't need a second invitation to take that drink, or to down it in one, though afterwards his expression isn't much happier. "There's always someone who's got to try and ruin someone else's night. Go figure. Anything I can do for you in return, uh--?" "It's a party," Sailor Vienne laughs as Ainslee goes spinning away with her cleavage and Bones is left blinking at her. She barely has any time to make further explanation for her buxom friend before the moon is taking Ainslee's place. "Brieli," she smiles easily, eyes flicking up and down the goldrider. "You look beautiful. I tip my hat." And that she does so with a jaunty smile. For Bones, she tries to supply the word, "Pate?" "I thought about going as Szadath. She liked that, too." Azaylia explains with a soft laugh, not oblivious to her own dragon's intense affection. Intense everything, really. "But I look awful in brown." She turns, tipping the empty glass towards Wakizian, "This little smartmouth is..." Did they exchange names? She's forgotten. "...uhm. A crafter I met in the complex." Smooth. Still, her arm wraps around Wakizian's waist and pulls him in, to make sure the lady-lad is protected, of course. From bronzerieders. "Can we keep hi-- her, Taikrin?" She asks with a playful smile for the shorter brownrider. Peering at the 'brown paste', Brieli squints a touch, then just nods. "I'll give it a try, thank you." Maybe she figures there's not much sense in telling Bones the actual names. "I'm glad it's all good though - the kitchen staff have been at it for days, and definitely concerned that people would enjoy the food." There's a quirk of lips; they needn't have worried in some cases. "Vienne. And thank you. You've been enjoying the night as well, then?" With a glance across the caverns and crowd, "Looks like our guests have made it as well. From the Hold." The look back to the bluerider might be significant. "She'll be back," Devaki murmurs to Hana in an undertone of amusement, "Once she's assured herself she's wearing the best dress here. Otherwise," a light pat of hand to Hana's as he rests it on his arm, "She'll drag you off to change again." Behind the black-feathered mask, the Lord's eyes are bright, and he begins to lead the way through the crowd to where the drinks are being served. "This way, if memory serves." Alida pats weakly at the air in Waki's direction when she can't help but overhearing his boom at her state of being at this moment, the woman still holding the leftovers of a grin upon her features, though it's fading. Holy crap, she *can* actually smile. Finally recovering, the palest-blonde settles back into her fare, enjoying the tastes and the bouyant atmosphere in the Caverns. As she's not standing in the packed place, her keen eyes don't make out Devaki and party's entrance. Z'ian follows the line of his companion's gaze, turning to look towards her little group. His eyes flickers over Brieli before letting them slide right back towards the greenrider again. He does pause to wave and call out a quick hell to the man dressed as a wher, "Bones!" But they're moving again now. And while there's still men staring hard at Ainslee and her cleavage, his arm around her waist seems to deter them for the moment. Even if they've just resorted to giving him particularly nasty looks. "I think it might. Do you want to place another wager and see who wins?" He asks her challengingly, tipping his head to present her with a sly smile. The power of being relatively unknown is a heady thing, allowing Suireh to again smile archly at her companion. It's a secretive, playful smile from one angle; a practiced, harperly smile from another. "You can call me lady in white. It's a night for anonymity anyway, right? And even if you know who someone is, you pretend you don't." The subtle dance of her voice that lays emphasis on this choice word or that isn't insulting of Riorde -- not at all, right? "Here, another," they're suddenly at the drinks table, which is relieved of two glasses of bubbly golden liquid. "A toast, sad little, blue man." When the High Reaches Hold contingent enters, Taikrin's spine stiffens. She goes back onto point, though she's making an effort to smile and be pleasant to Wakizian. "You do look cute. Azaylia can be dangerous if you let her start dressing you." She glances over her shoulder again, at Devaki and Issedi and contingent. "Reckon we can keep, um, her. If it makes you happy?" When she looks again-- there's Riorde! She takes a half-step back, stretching a hand out to the other woman, then adds, "Reckon we ought to go and make sure the Holders are feeling welcome, yeah? You're welcome to come--?" It's not long after the High Reaches Hold contingent arrives that a low mutter begins to spread throughout one corner of the room: murderer, they say. Murderer. "Oh, we could. What shall we wager, then?" Ainslee takes another sip of Z'ian's drink, allows herself to be guided for the moment. "Something meaningful." The bloodlust is tangible, after all, isn't it? Sneaking vengefully just underneath the thinnest veneer of civility. Bones' height offers him the advantage of being able to spot most anyone in the room, and he here's his name called from a familiar face, be it half in white mask. "Z'ian!" He calls back, waving his monster arm out to him in recognition. It's as soon as he calls out the name that he notices Ainslee get her hooks into him, and the gardener can only chuckle. He'd catch up with Z'ian later. Besides, Brieli was busy pointing out some hold-folk. A new direction for his neck to turn. Riorde, over by one of the drinks tables, has wound up with a glass of white wine, but she's looking like she regrets it, considering her glass at length. It doesn't slip her attention that the group from the Hold's entered. It doesn't even take the mutterings of murderer to begin. She glances up to find Taikrin there, and in short order, she's smiling again. "Yes. I believe we should," Riorde agrees as pleasantly as can be. "Oh dear. On the other hand, I'm sure we have something.. possibly... to modify.." Well, not so much modify, as just put on. Still, Hana grins a bit at the idea, and follows along to the drink table easily enough. "Ah, liquid courage - well, for one of us. What did you say about your dancing skills again?" she asks, teasing her boss as they go, and to all appearances, missing the whispering going on. A teenage weyr boy, dressed as the hind end of a runner, ventures closer to Ainslee. Somewhere in the crowd, there's the fore end of that runner egging him on with silent cheers of 'go on, go on'. But then Z'ian is whisking her away, and the boy trails after, silently, not conspicuous at all. Suireh's answer isn't, it seems, entirely satisfactory to K'del, but he accepts it with a twist of his expression-- and then a nod. "Lady in white, then," he confirms. "And I'm be blue man? It seems only appropriate." He knows all too well that he's easy to recognise, that his costume hasn't even tried to hide that; it doesn't seem to bother him, though. "Another," he agrees. "Hopefully not so sad, if I can help it. I'll try. Thank you for rescuing me, lady in white." He executes a practiced bow. Apparently Wakizian picked the wrong mask. This one doesn't cover his cheeks! Which fill with a blush at the Journeyman Smith's greeting, "Sir! Evening!" His voice cracks in the middle of the greeting, coaxing a darker hue to his cheeks. "Oh yeah. Never going to live this one down." This is more under his breath, but those closest to him would certainly hear the remark. "I'll be Lady Smith forever." He's pulled close then to the goldrider, and he clears his throat, "Actually, ma'am, I'm um-- a candidate now. Got my new knot just before the party began." Hence his late entrance, more than likely. "And as such, it would be in the interest of your future dragonets to keep me from any tawdry bronzeriders with bad intentions." This is the pitch made towards Taikrin. He glances towards the Holders and then down at himself, "Are you sure I would make-- uh, a good impression on Hold folk? Might this be a little too-- um, Weyr-esque for their sensibilities?" For all that the celebration in the air has Vienne grinning, when Brieli mentions the guests, she tries to look. Only... she is short and there are bodies in the way and the poor little sailor frowns. "I can't see. I don't have heels tonight." As if the two inches would make all that much difference. So all she can do is lift a questioning brow to the goldrider, ready for her expression to fill in the blanks. She also glances aside to Bones, "Would it be weird if you picked me up?" she teases, not at all intending for him to do so. "I don't think we should wager marks again. We never bothered exchanging them the last time." Z'ian remarks, using his free hand to reach over and snag his drink back. Just for a moment, he takes a swallow from the glass but notices the fore end of a runner making silent cheers and egging on motions. He can't tell to who he's doing it for yet, but with narrowed eyes he hands the drink back to Ainslee. The whispers reach their area of the crowd and he casts a quick look in her direction, smile turning from sly to crooked. "Maybe sooner than later." That mutter, that unease that spreads through the cavern is not something Brieli is unaware of, from the way she straightens, looks around the crowd. Her brows might be drawn together under that mask, and as she looks over to Bones, then Vienne, she might betray a bit of concern. "Come with me," she tells the former harper. "If Bones doesn't mind? Then he won't have to stop eating to pick you up." She grins a touch for the joke... but downs the rest of her drink after. "Yeah, it would." Says Bones, but that doesn't at all deter him from doing just that. Without too much trouble, Vienne's hips are snatched up and Bones quickly deposits the little sailor up on one shoulder, carrying her not unlike the planter that she had helped him with a few days prior. "Got a good view now?" Whispers? What whispers? Devaki's been far too well trained to acknowledge anything so crass as a low mutter, his air of certainty and confidence never wavering as he leads the charge. "You'll have to wait and see," he replies to Hana with a lightness, and a sidelong glance. "I won't forget. But first, there's--" he's spotted their destination, and a certain brunette there, too. "Drinks." He's making a beeline for Riorde, now. Well, she is at the drinks table, after all. "Or... never mind." Brieli blinks as Vienne's hoisted into the air. Wakizian's cheeks are the least of Xhaeon's worries, for the moment. The tall man seems more than pleased just to draw that voice-cracking reaction. "Lady Smith," he declares, having heard this, executing a courtly bow with a snappy sharpness to gesture and silly flourish of hand and limb. The Smith-raptor (like a velociraptor but less bitey in public) turns his gaze onto Wakizian's friends: Azaylia and Taikrin for certain, and he's touching the edges of his fingers against his mask, a salute for Lady Hraedhyth and, er, Dirty Taikrin. "Had her murdered. She was in his way," says one whisper, spreading through the cavern. "Then went and married into the Hold. Killed one of his own for the sake of his ambition! And he dares to show his face again?" "And now," Suireh shares, her delicately featured face lifting to murmur, "That you've been rescued, I should take my leave. It's my turn to provide entertainment for the evening, see." But there's a brush of lips to the blue man's cheeks; somewhere, her father is rolling in his undug grave. To K'del: You sense Suireh takes that moment, where it seems she's kissing him, to whisper: "You have friends at the Hall." But how much of it he can hear over the din, well... "Actually," the brownrider corrects, looking past Taikrin to see who's coming their way, "I think they're coming to us. Although I don't see the Lady. Maybe you should see that she's taken care of?" Riorde's smile blossoms for Devaki in a way that it didn't for Taikrin -- but then, she doesn't see him with the same frequency. The grip Azaylia has on Taikrin's arm might tighten just as the brownrider attempts to flag down Riorde. With a patient sigh, her hand relaxes and she's giving the new brownrider a pleasant smile. And the newest addition, Xhaeon as well, "Happy Turnover." Wakizian has a habit of making her laugh, and she starts up again as he jabs at bronzeriders, "Oh my. Well, congratulations. I'll see about talking Hraedhyth into letting the candidates see the eggs." Maybe. At Taikrin's suggestion, "Oh, we should. Yes." The empty glass is passed off to someone, Wakizian and Xhaeon given a bright smile, "You're welcome to join us, unless you wanted to talk about crafter things. Or, Lady-crafter things." As Devaki makes his way towards them, "Welcome. I hope you've been enjoying your stay?" Warmth that's only encouraged by the wine she's had is painfully genuine. There's an inadvertent step back, a surprised one, from K'del, a moment after his lady in white has pressed that kiss to him: there's a question in his eyes, too, albeit one he doesn't ask. Instead, a nod, as he reaches to draw her hand up to his lips to kiss. "Thank you, fair lady," he says. "I'll enjoy your song, I'm sure." Hana laughs quietly as their steps, while not hurried - are suddenly not quite as careless as they were, "An old friend?" she asks curious, rising up on her toes just slightly to try and get a better view of who they are heading for, a bright smile offered as they come into view. "Meaningful," Ainslee states, blessedly ignorant of any horse's asses running around trying to do malevolent things to her or her current escort. She does pause, though, when a murmur reaches her from one side, then again from a different direction: her gaze up to Z'ian is a little uncertain, maybe even a touch unsettled. "Maybe we should go back the way we came." Over to Brieli, then, and Vienne and Bones. Red head shakes, she plants a hip and pivots, hopefully bringing the tall bronzerider with her. "You think?" Charming smile, again, half-furrowed as the front-half of a runner crosses her view. That's not someting you see every day. Vienne is nodding to Brieli, rather seriously, which makes it all the most surprising when Bones' hands end up around her hips and she's hauled up like so much garden equipment. The squeaky, "Oh shit," comes out before she realizes it and her hands end up on the man's crazy hair to steady herself. Laughing brightly, she doesn't really have time to see much of anything other than a mass of weirdly decorated heads before she's twisting to slide back down again. "You are too good at that," she chuckles, shaking her head, a quick glance to see if Brieli is still lingering. "I'll be back, okay?" She tells Bones, her hands still on his chest for a moment before she attempts to follow that whiff of intrigue that calls to her. Murmurs are the oddest things... Even in a room full of loud people, they get noticed... as soon as word circulates or people stare staring. While some ignore such, others note and say nothing, Alida cannot help but cock her head and languidly take note of the whos and wheres of such whispered talk. After some long moments, she climbs to her booted feet and goes to pour herself a new glass of golden sparkling wine, then setting out on a concentrically-spiralling course from the edges of the crowd inward. At a 'mere' 5'7", she might go somewhat unnoticed. It's on her mission of ferreting out things that she catches that 'killed one of his own' comment from some person, their face, form, words filed away in the sharp rolodex of her mind as she takes it all in. The middle-aged man who made the remark about those murders catches Alida's glance, and lifts his eyebrows at her. It could be an invitation-- perhaps he's looking for someone else to share his talk with. After all, people seem to be moving around so quickly. Suireh climbs the dais to where the harpers have set up their instruments and begins to provide vocals to the instrumental music that provides a low thrum to the conversation. Her voice is sweet, and when singing, far too recognizable as the girl who once stood on the sands with Brieli and Azaylia. Her perch affords her the best view of all the goings on, and while she's played a fairly decent part tonight (one her masters could potentially be proud of), she's unable to keep that sliver of smug satisfaction out of her feline-in-the-cream smile. At least the singing is pretty. "Candidates are our future," Taikrin remarks distractedly to Wakizian. She's looking at Riorde with a crease in her brow, but instead of letting the other woman send her off she's stepping forward and inserting herself, with hand held out, to greet Devaki after Azaylia. "High Reaches' welcome to our party." She's got a total-professional smile, completely devoid of the passions she's known for. "Glad High Reaches Hold could make it." The smile includes Hana and the rest of the party, as a matter of course, but Taikrin is focused primarily on asserting herself to Devaki as the man-in-charge. Bones is carefully still as Vienne slides her way down, but makes no effort to keep her for long. "No problem Vee. Go mingle or whatever." He gives a quick smile as the two depart, a nod of farewell for Brieli. Now he refocuses his effort on the food. Time for some delicous brown paste. The next wave of rumors that reach them has Z'ian's lips pressed in a firm line once more. His eyes drift away from Ainslee, catching sight of the holders across the cavern. They're watched with something of a critical gaze, hard to tell from behind his mask though. He tightens the circle of his arm around her waist, going along with the pivet that takes them back in the direction of the other three. "Define meaningful to me." The bronzerider must know what it means generally, he's probably more focused on what she's leaning towards more specifically. Brieli has lingered, and is just shaking her head a little, her smile faint. When Vienne has slid back down from Barnabas' boost up, she gives the big man a quick grin before starting away, quite as if she's headed for a refill along with the little sailor... girl. That her path will connect with the little knot of Hold and Weyr greetings is likely not a coincidence. Quietly to the bluerider, she'll admit, "I don't know enough about all of... what they're saying." The murmurs. Wakizian visibly winces as he unwittingly gives himself a new, fun nickname. And all too soon he's near enough to the Holder grouping that the best he can do is whip his fan open and hold it up to his face, sliding enough steps behind the others that his hairy legs might not be noticed. Time to test if he can pass for an ugly woman! To Xhaeon his words are quiet, "Settling in alright, sir? I swear I'm not normally... it's just that Weyrwoman Azaylia and I had a joke about-- and then--" And a hand gestures to the dress as though these things just happen. "A very old friend," comes Devaki's murmured response to Hana. His arm slips free from Hana's smoothly enough, his path for Riorde halted abruptly by the greetings from Azaylia and Taikrin. He rocks to a halt, the mask serving to hide any frustrations. Though there's no recognition in the former exile's gaze for Azaylia, he nods to her politely, "Very much so. My Lady, especially, has commented on the hospitality." Taikrin, however, is a far more familiar figure, and there's a smile -- professional, to match hers -- as he responds, "I hear congratulations are in order -- to your dragon?" a lilt at the end. "Meaningful? Ah... I don't know." Ainslee's gaze is filtered through pale lashes again, up to Z'ian-- her attention is captured by Vienne going off that way, and then Brieli that way. "That's where the blood's going to be," she points an inconspicuous finger over towards the growing knot of people, ends up back where she started: in proximity of Bones. "Sir, what do you feel is a /meaningful/ thing to bet, in a friendly competition?" This is to Barnabas, this time, her friendly smile likely going -completely- unnoticed. Woe. This is why she doesn't wear this dress. A rather open and guileless little smile are (surprisingly) all for the middle-aged man raising his brows at her, Alida slipping into place next to him...while surreptitiously using one of her arms to try and artfully cover her scabbarded sword. With the press of bodies, it might not be that tough. She'll let him make the intros, however. Hana aaahs quietly, then offers a deep sweep of the skirts to the savage looking Azaylia, eyes slightly wide as she takes in some of the more daring parts of the woman's outfit, before being distracted by other, more embroidered parts of the outfit. However, for all that, nar a word escaps her lips at this point. "Not really done, wearing a weapon indoors," says the middle-aged man, giving Alida a lingering glance. Clearly, she hasn't been successful, despite her attempts: he's a sharp-eyed type, it seems. "Especially when you're not a local. Name's L'vand." Xhaeon doesn't seem to mind, clapping a broad hand to Wakizian's shoulder, unconcerned by his state of undress. "It's a party. What happens here stays here?" Hopefully Wakizian isn't planning on being posted at High Reaches for an awfully long amount of time... Now that he's in the midst of this growing knot, he belatedly offers Devaki and Hana (and Riorde) murmured acknowledgements, sipping on his drink and seeming more than amenable to standing right here, listening to Suireh sing and watching the plot thicken. Er. People go by. "Maybe next time," he can't help but comment to Wakizian, nonetheless: "Shave your legs?" For authenticity, of course. They've paused. The horse's ass stops short and giggles like the teenage boy he is. He takes aim. And a single full mark piece goes flying, aiming straight for the center of that ample cleavage. Both ends of the horse visibly hold their breath, waiting to see what happens next. Oh, boys. Suffice to say that Riorde is not among the mutterers. "Dev," she says, dispensing with all titles and formalities as she comes up alongside the two women representing the Weyr to the Hold. Just the nickname. That's all. Sailor boy. Vienne is a boy tonight. That's why her hair is pulled up in her cap. That's all it takes. Really. And as that 'boy' parts company with Bones and settles in alongside Brieli, Vienne's expression sobers a little, and she nods. "I'll try to listen," she replies, as if that's some tacit understanding between them. It's difficult, though, to catch much from the murmurred comments of people as they pass through the crowd. Bones is just about to put a cracker full of delicious into his mouth when Ainslee comes back, asking a sudden question with zero context to consider. "Meaningful but friendly wager?" He's able to catch her eyes this time, the male not entirely driven by hormones. Hunger is sometimes a factor too. "Well I'd say-" He's cut off by a flipping mark that lands square in between in her tits, and he gives a short glance to Z'ian before just reaching in and snatching it. "How about one mark?" "Not usually..." Alida's light alto intones in an almost humored fashion, her green eyes dancing a little as she murmurs her answer quite softly to L'vand. "Well-met, rider. Enjoying the costume ball?" The remaining exiles, riders and residents, seem divided as that murmur of murderer. Some are casting baleful looks towards the Hold contingent, while others seem to find the man in blue to blame. There are recurrent whispers of Seani and how rank somehow lets people get away with murder. "I've been meaning to properly welcome Lady Issedi," Azaylia says, with what little, polite confidence her knot grants her. Not that she's wearing it at the moment. "We should have tea, soon." Hana is included in this offer, smile just as welcoming. "Your dress is very pretty. A dragon's happiness?" She takes a guess for the blue-green ensemble. Not skilled in the art of hiding her emotions, as the whispers finally reach her ears there's a flicker of something. Confusion, most likely. The savage mask makes it hard to tell. L'vand gives Alida a searching glance, then shakes his head; he seems amused by her, somehow. "Tough scrap of a thing, aren't you? I'm just sayin'-- someone sees it, works out it's real, you could be in some trouble. Dangerous, when people're drinking. Ball's well enough. Be better, if we didn't have a murderer in our midst, of course, but-- politics say otherwise, it seems. Blood, pah. What's your name, girly?" With Brieli and Vienne gone, they're back to just Bones again. Z'ian steps forward and punches the wher-gardener in the upper arm. It's not enough to hurt or be aggressive, it's just hello. "Hey again." He shoots the other man a broad smile, blinking when the full mark piece comes flying towards Ainslee's chest and down into her clevage. The bronzerider really doesn't have much other reaction other than to turn and look, catching sight of the two boys. He points one finger at them, then turns two towards his eyes and points at them. I saw you. It's pretty much a silent threat, they may want to scatter. Meanwhile he returns his attention the greenrider just in time to see Barnabas put his hand down there. "Stay classy, man." K'del seems somewhat frozen by the glances aimed in his direction, at least at first. Perhaps his woman in white's earlier encouragements are enough to ease his tension, however, in retrospect, because a moment later his chin is in the air, and he seems quite content to engage in a low conversation with another rider. What the FU-- Ainslee's expression is probably the most priceless part of the whole situation: first, listen, that wasn't expected; in some poor alternate universe storyline, that richocheted off a boob and straight into Z'ian's face, gouging out an eye all anime-style and causing irrepairable damage that eventually leads to death, despair, and the end of all life on Pern. Luckily, this isn't THAT timeline. This is the timeline where Ainslee's jaw drops: first that mark, then the presumption of Bones' fingers ON HER RACK, guys, her RACK! - and then she's inhaling the swiftest, "Why I've 'never'!", followed by a resounding THWACK! of her palm dashing across Barnabas' face. Harpers sing and play. And observe and those slate eyes try to remain dispassionate, but having caught sight of the arcing mark, where it lands, and the resulting hubbub, Suireh chokes on a note and what was once a solemn ballad turns into a choking festival. "Appreciated," Brieli tells Vienne, favoring the sailor boy, fine, with a brilliant smile. A brilliant smile which is then aimed Devaki and Hana's way before including the brownriders and the other weyrwoman as well, as if she's surprised to come across them. "Evening, all," she offers, quirking lips as she raises her empty glass. And she'd say more... but then there's the sound of a SLAP, and the moon-masked woman is turning swiftly to stare. Oh, that wasn't good. Between 'Stay classsy, man' and taking his next breath, Ainslee has thwacked Bones in the face. Z'ian goes from one arm around her waist, to the other strongly gripping her shouler and pulling her immediately away from his friend. "He didn't mean it, he just gets excited." Will that help diffuse the situation? Only her wry, though now slightly-flinty gaze is offered in answer for L'vand's 'scrap' comment, Alida brushing past such in order to digest more information with restrained interest. Finally... "I heard uv' the...difficulties the Weyr's been having for over a Turn. Sad happenstance, that...especially when a queen passes as well." Of her name, nothing is spoken. "Szad's plenty pleased with his newest brood," Taikrin acknowledges of Devaki's congratulations. "It's been a turn of big changes for all of us, I reckon. May the new turn bring us as much fortune and then some." That pleasant social smile must be painful, though Taikrin's tells are small enough that only Riorde -- and perhaps Azaylia? -- might notice. "Wingleaders and Weyrleaders and babies and clutches and-- Lord Holders, or so I hear?" Her question is light, social, though the quickest of looks she cuts to Riorde has a weight to it. "I know you're fairly new to 'Reaches, sir, but have you ever been to a Turnover party where what happens at the Turnover party stays at the Turnover party? In this Weyr everyone has the highlights by breakfast." Wakizian comments quietly to the Journeyman. "Truthfully, sir, I was going to, but then I ended up having to run between talking with Journeyman Thraland and the Headwoman to get my candidate's knot and--" And it's not until he gets to this point in the commentary that he realizes it might not have been the wisest move to reveal that he had intended to shave. The sound of the slap carries, and Waki flicks his fingers to indicate Bones and his curvy companion, "That'll be in the highlights for sure." The hard strike to Bones' cheek slaps the smile right from of him, taking a few steps back not of pain, but of shock. The mark is dropped to the floor, and he raises an eyebrow as he rubs his cheek. "Hey, Ow." It's spoken calmly, more emotional hurt in his tone than anything else. "Sorry, just thought I'd save you the trouble of going fishing." The mark is flipped towards Z'ian, enough airtime to let the bronzerider snatch it with ease. Hana's smile turns up a notch, at Azaylia's guess, "Does that mean I got it correctly? I haven't actually been that close to a dragon, enough to tell when they're happy, but I wanted to try anyway, without asking for details." Oh, right. She was going to remain quiet while Weyrleadgroups and Dev was talking. Oops? The smile doesn't fade, but it turns a touch rueful. At this rate, L'vand's brows will be raising just about forever-- Alida seems determined to draw them from him again and again. "Been more than one Turn we've been having troubles," he remarks. "Four turns ago, a little more now, that man had someone murdered in the Weyrleader's Weyr." He's pointing directly at Devaki, long thin finger outstretched. "Ri," the black-clad Lord replies in turn, something warm and familiar in the address as Devaki gazes at the brownrider. It's only belatedly that his attention shifts back towards Azaylia. "Tea? Mm, yes, she'd like that very much, I think. Maybe tomorrow afternoon?" he glances at Hana with a wry smile; she knows Issedi's schedule better than he, after all. Then, for Taikrin, a tight smile: "I can drink to that -- if I had a drink." He doesn't get much of a chance to acknowledge Brieli's greeting, when she turns away -- but never one to miss a chance, he uses it as an opportunity to step sideways past the group, closer to the table, to secure a couple of glasses. Well now, isn't *that* just as interesting as all get-out? A flick of eyes - not her pale head - in the direction of that pointed finger gives Alida a quick glimpse of Devaki, the woman's own brows lifting for a sudden second before she returns that now quiet green gaze back to the brownrider. A small tilt of head and open expression are offered to him in silent encouragement to continue. Ainslee doesn't go for the kill, er, physically - Z'ian definitely has her well-in-hand by this point! - but still looks just this side of OUTRAGED. "Going-- fi--" Oh shit, the redhead may be going nuclear if Bones keeps talking. "Are you trying to imply," she demands in a none-too-soft tone of voice, "That--" She starts to work herself up to a heraculean rage, but abruptly shuts down any further comment. She can't do it. She chokes as hard as Suireh does up on the stage, whirls on one flat-shod heel, and storms away, leaving both bronzerider and brown wher to it. Exit one Ainslee, center stage. Brieli is attended by a little sailor, this evening, or at least that's the part Vienne plays, standing quietly at her side as they approach Devaki and Hana, her smile echoing the goldrider's feigned surprise, an uncertain kind of welcome. At least until all eyes are back on Bones and Azaylia, she misses the groping and only catches the recourse of the slap, blinking quickly. Of course, when she looks back to discover part of their target has slipped off, she can only turn another quiet look at Brieli, ready to follow her lead. Riorde's smile is a slight thing now that they're past the initial greeting, lingering past the point that Devaki's turned his attention to Azaylia. She glances sidelong at Taikrin then, briefly taking in the would-be Weyrleader. It's long enough apparently, and when Devaki steps away, she reaches over, curls her fingers around Taikrin's upper arm, and gives a light squeeze before her hand drops away. "We haven't met," she remarks, addressing Hana. "Riorde. And you are?" L'vand seems more than happy to expand on his tale; this is clearly more interesting than the music, or even the sight of marks being thrown and grabbed, wherever they land. "Night of one of our hatchings, it was," he says. "Or day of. One of them exiles-- one of his own people. He and his red-haired guard disappeared overnight, weren't seen again for turns... until he showed up at the Hold, and look where he is now? Amazing, how people go unpunished for these things." With the greenrider pulled back out of the range of further smacking, Z'ian lets go of her shoulder to deftly catch the mark in one hand. But so soon she's twisting and storming away. The bronzerider can only stare over and up at the gardener. "The next time I'm with a woman and a mark goes down her huge, ample cleavage? Can you let me pull it out and get smacked? Just mentioning, you know. For if this ever happens again?" Did he get his drink back? We'll say he got his drink back. It's now time to take a long swallow as he pockets the mark. Brieli is... clearly astounded by the whole Ainslee-Bones situation, but really, she shouldn't be. Maybe it would have been less shocking should the greenrider have punched him. With a little shake of her head, she turns back to tell Azaylia, smiling, "Thank you. That must have taken some time." She gestures to the other goldrider's costume with her glass, then to Taikrin, with Riorde's busy with Hana. "Interesting choice," she says wryly. More generally, "Happy Turnover. Vienne and I were on our way for more drinks." The set ends sans singer, who is struggling to catch her breath just off stage. A younger apprentice comes to the rescue with a glass of something or other that a now maskless Suireh sips and takes in deep, calming breaths. Hana pauses for a moment, eyes looking upward as she goes over the schedule, before nodding in agreement. Azaylia gets another bright smile, and a "Very very good - I wasn't sure I would finish it in time," before Riorde's introducing herself, and Hana's reply is simple enough, "We haven't - Hana, ma'am." So many people, it's quite the job to keep up. Bones winces hard at Z'ian's scolding, shoulders bunching up a little. "Sorry Z'ian. Didn't mean to shut you out. But hey! There's plenty'a ladies here. Night is young right?" He's still wincing slightly as he gives Z'ian a pat on the shoulder. "Granted they probably won't be as stacked but.." "No," Xhaeon returns baldly to Wakizian; "No, I haven't. Happens that Master Senshan at the main hall once stripped naked and danced on a table at Turnover... oh, that had to be at least a decade ago. They still talk about it. In graphic detail." The Smith, at this junction, can't help it: he leans to a side, laughing; "You *meant* to shave, ma'am?" He's not even focusing on the mounting drama... visibly, at least, though the slap (and the breasts) draw his attention as the whole thing goes down as it does. "The Hold?" Alida inquires with growing excitement and interest to L'vand, though she keeps her emotions all carefully tucked away within. "Can you tell me how this all came about?" is noted in clinical tones, a small nub of charcoal and a piece of wood-pulp paper coming out of one beltpouch, readied as the woman makes slightly wide eyes at the tale teller. Apparently Devaki's settled, for now, on snatching the nearest two glasses. He isn't so crass as to abandon Hana entirely -- and it's not much longer before he's at her side again, offering her one of the glasses. "Trouble?" he asks, pleasantly and belatedly, glancing vaguely in the direction of the outburst and departed red-head, more as a distraction than out of any real interest. The brief contact with Riorde has a spasm of a real smile passing across Taikrin's face before she cna help it. She steps aside for Devaki to pass, though the gesture is not strictly necessary. "That's my girl," she murmurs to herself, though-- which girl is she referring to? Riorde? Azaylia? Wakizian? She adds her introduction to Hana, since Devaki has escaped for the moment. "Taikrin, Glacier's Wingleader," she adds in reference to herself for Hana's benefit, before gesturing to Azaylia and adding, "Weyrwoman Azaylia." She doesn't seem all that distressed about the goings-on with Barnabas and Vienne, and has no bones about saying so. "Regular party business," she says to Devaki. "Nothing to worry about." If L'vand is concerned about Alida's sudden growing excitement, he certainly doesn't show it: mostly, he seems terribly pleased to have gotten someone's attention for his conspiracy theories (nevermind that they're probably true). "What do you want to know, exactly?" he asks in return. "I'll tell you everything I know. You know about the exiles, right? Found out on the islands, brought back here?" Azaylia glances down at her outfit, "The corset is new. The skirt... I found scraps in the stores. I got excited." Is her soft, somewhat clip explaination for the half weaver, half homemade effort she's wearing. "Taikrin gave me this, tonight." Fingers touch the necklace, stroking over the center most stone, clearly fond of the gift. Since Bones' assailant has left in a huff, she can focus her attention on the Holders. Still on the brownrider's arm, she is reminded to introduce herself, "Azaylia. Well met, Hana. And- Vienne." Not so smooth, suddenly just realizing that the lad isn't a lad at all! It certainly is a night to be someone else. "... and Weyrwoman Brieli," because Taikrin in no way intended to leave Brieli out of the introductions. Really. Z'ian sighs, "Probably not. They won't be redheaded either." He rolls eyes before finally allowing a slow smirk and just shrugging his shoulders at Bones. He briefly glances in the direction that she departed but it's obvious that he doesn't think she's coming back any time soon. "Don't worry about it, really." And he seems to be pretty genuine about it, easy nature taking that tension out of him quick enough. Sailor Vienne has a little wave for Azaylia, a smile and a flick of her eyes that flatters the goldrider's dress, before she shifts, ready to follow Brieli. "I haven't had one yet," she adds in, of drinks, like they need the excuse to look for libations. "Happy Turnover." And her pleased grin might just be enjoying the doubletake she gets from Azaylia. And those boys? The ones that caused the spectacle? They're dying of laughter and rolling on the floor, literally. Probably got stomped on by a few pairs of boots but neither seems to mind much. Score! Tomorrow, when they're sober, they'll realize they're out a mark cause of it. Will it be worth it then? "Mhm; the Exiles are pretty much known everywhere..." Alida murmurs very quietly to L'vand, her gaze flicking into his own unerringly. "Tell me about how you think things came to such a sad state of affairs from around those 4 Turns ago onward, please." So many names, so many titles. "Happy Turnover, Wingleader Taikrin, Weyrwoman Azaylia - and you did a wonderful job, ma'am, Weyrwoman Brieli," Hana replies carefully, before turning with a hint of relief as Devaki returns. After all, he's gone after this sort of thing, while she did slightly the opposite! "Tell you what.." Bones starts with Z'ian as he reaches for a ready-poured glass of... drink. Something alcoholic, that's all Bones knew as he handed it to Z'ian. "I owe you.. three drinks next time we hit the snowasis. She seemed like she was about three drinks worth of fun, right?" Judging from Bones' grin, he was intentionally aiming low. The art of haggling on display. "Please. Riorde. They're the ones to call ma'am," the brownrider says, deferring to Taikrin and Azaylia. The latter gains a look -- her necklace, specifically. "Lovely," she comments, leaving it there, with a look at Taikrin to follow. She turns away when Devaki reappears with drinks in hand, saying dismissively, "It's Turn's End. People do and say all sorts of stupid things. It's not worth the breath it takes to mention it." The look she gives him is more meaningful than boys' pranks and poor decisions. "He did? They do?" Wakizian demands of the Journeyman and then a wail that starts at an impressively high pitch and runs the range of notes to a low timbre escapes the former apprentice. "I'm going to be the new Master Senshan of High Reaches." His free hand runs through his hair nervously; a gesture that does not help his manly status. The candidate peeks over his lacy fan to eye Brieli's choice of dress and then Vienne's, but he doesn't offer overtures to either as he's still trying (fairly successfully) not to embarrass the Weyr to the Holder contingent despite his proximity. It's with interest that Devaki glances between Azaylia and Taikrin, then gives a significant look Riorde's way in turn. "I'd forgotten," he says, after a pause, picking up the thread of conversation, "How... strange... things are, at the Weyr. I hope my Lady isn't unduly unsettled. She's probably," a smile here, "Already found her way to the dance floor." There's a brief stretch of his hand for Hana's back, an absent, steadying presence in response to her relief. "Happy Turnover," he adds, using it mostly as an excuse to take a deep drought from his glass. "You don't want much, do you?" says L'vand, though he's clearly teasing: the creases around the corners of his mouth certainly say as much. "Bit demanding, too, aren't you? What are you, some kind of investigator? Haven't even told me your name." None of which implies that he won't warm to the subject even further. "Hard to know what really happened. Sometime between the start of that hatching, and sometime during the party, Seani was murdered. She was working as a nanny, blending in. Good girl, from all reports. Then she was dead." "Well," Xhaeon placates, "He is well-known, at least." A hand lifts, a finger taps on bold chin, clean-shaven for the evening; "What /was/ his specialty, though?" Ahem. The raptor-masked Smith leans forwards, seeming fine with eavesdropping upon the conversation of Hold meets Weyr; even though if his attention is momentarily captured by Vienne. "Is he," this is to Wakisian still, "-a woman?" He points. Who cares about murderers when crossdressing is afoot? Z'ian already had a drink. Now he has another. One plus one is two. So in order to get back to one he has to subtract the other. He downs the rest of the original and passes it off to a person with a tray that goes by. There, better. He sniffs it and blinks, whatever it is, it's quite strong. "She's worth more than three drinks. The woman is a solid... eight or nine on a scale of one to ten. Points deducted only for being much shorter than me." The bronzerider grins wolfishly, falling into the male-bonding-over-women thing, "Eleven drinks." Intentionally high, which he knows, because he's got the glass gifted to him up to his mouth already. With a flicker of a look from necklace to Riorde, then back to Hraezaylia, "Lovely." A near echo of the brownrider. "And excited is fine for this sort of thing. What it's meant for, really." Brieli has a ready smile for the introduction, though it might be superfluous. "Vienne, yes. Oswinth's." She gestures to the sailor boy with a grin, then tells Hana graciously, "Much appreciated, though much of it is Azaylia's doing. I'm particular about certain things." There's a glance Devaki's way for his comment, then; "I do hope she's settling in well? I'll have to check in. Or bring her by." Into Brieli's inner sanctum?! Unheard of. There's a flicker of a glance for the boys. Indeed, Turn's End is indeed a time of excess. Alida's keen senses take in a few choice words here and there whenever possible, though she must focus on L'vand, primarily. "No, not really..." the woman twinkles to the rider's words of her being difficult...and his words of her being a potential investigator. "I like to... collect interesting conversations, and disseminate them interested parties whenever I can. Must be a shade of some Harper in me, I guess." A flash of a bright grin that could melt ice caps presages her smooth nod, and a swift darting of thin-tipped charcoal nub to paper, the femme's own shorthand coming into being. "Tell me about Seani, and about all involved parties." "Sir," Taikrin corrects, with a dirty look at Riorde. So she gave Azaylia fancy jewelery-- so what! "To turns' end." She's happy enough for the salute, and the chance to drink some of the whisky she's been clutching in her off-hand. "To new opportunities in the new turn." There's a glance towards the dance floor after Devaki mentions Issedi's location, but it's cursory. "It must be strange to be at the Weyr, after being in the Hold for so long," she says to Devaki. "Reckon we forget, sometimes, how it must seem to the outside-- especially seeing as Lord Holders are for life, while Weyr leadership must seem to change on a whim to you all, yeah?" "ELEVEN!?" At that, even Bones is a little flabbergasted. "C'mon now, y'can probably snag any girl in the damn weyr with your stupid pretty face!" He reaches up to give a playful pinch at Z'ian's cheekbone. "And I bet she ain't even a lost cause if you hunt her down. What am I, made of marks? Five!" "Oh." A second glance has to be taken at Vienne, "Oh! Yes. I met her. She taught me geography." Wakizian responds to the Journeyman. "You know, it seems only appropriate..." He trails off, "If you'll excuse me, sir?" and he's maneuvering around the back of the bunch towards Vienne. His lacy fan is snapped shut and the tip of it is used to tap the shoulder of the sailor boy. "Excuse me, sir," The candidate pitches his voice to falsetto. "I think I would be remiss if we didn't share at least one dance. Even though it's tradition for the man to ask the woman, may I be so bold as to claim a dance?" A hand is foppishly offered into the air. In for thirty-second mark in for a mark? If he's going to be known, he might as well be known for making a sharding fine damsel! A polite smile is offered to Weyrwoman Brieli, Hana and the others in the cluster. It might sound like bragging from someone else, but honestly Azaylia is doing her best to let people know how generous Taikrin is. Isn't she amazing? "Happy Turnover." She echoes. "Thank you." For Riorde and Brieli's compliments, though she adds, "I was making plans with Hana to have tea with Lady Issedi." See? The weyrwoman definitely want to make sure she's comfortable. It's a joint effort, as is Turnover, "I hope you'll enjoy yourself, Hana." Taikrin's observations on weyr life versus hold has her falling silent, looking thoughtful. Something catches her eye, and she finally retracts the claws she's sunk into the brownrider this evening. "Excuse me. I've been hogging 'Sir' all evening." She's at least self aware, "I should see how the rest of our guests are doing." With a little dip for Devaki and Hana, mini-Hraedhyth turns to make her rounds. That sound of hand meeting face isn't Ainslee going apeshit on someone else before she hits the fringes of the party and disappears for real: it's Xhaeon's face hitting his hand. The Smithcraft is not going to recover from this evening soon, obviously. Hana can almost be seen making mental notes of who to call which title, regardless of gender, and everything else. And once that's straight, the woman keeps very silent - and takes a slightly larger than recommended drink from her glass. No choking is involved, but the clearing of passageways is a handy excuse not to babble on. Though that's finished somewhat hastily as Azaylia takes her leavetaking. "Do you now," says L'vand, keeping his tone level, though his smile? It's suddenly brighter, even to the point of matching Alida's own. "Nice to have someone interested in what I have to say for once," he adds, with a long roll of his shoulders. "Never knew Seani, myself. Bet if you asked around, though, you'd get plenty of talk about her. People liked her. Lot of people hurt when they found her with her throat cut. At first, some people suspected the Weyrleader - that would be K'del - but when Devaki and Raum disappeared... it began to become pretty obvious. We've known for turns, really, who did it. Devaki - he never wanted to just fit in at the Weyr, so I'm told. Higher aspirations. Guess he lucked out, in the end." This has the potential to end poorly. When Bones pinches his cheekbone, Z'ian reaches up and gives the man an equally playful pull on his beard. "Okay, oka- What? You think I could go chase her down? I think it's a lost cause for tonight, you already manhandled her tits." That they're in public seems to have little importantance for the bronzeriding half of the pair as they continue this conversation. Taking another swallow from the glass, "Six. I think that's a nice even number. We don't even have to do it all at once. Spread it out, you know I love your company." It's natural that the covict riders are so-called 'fashionably late'. The three of them - Jo, M'ron and Kaitlin - all walk into the room together, actually dressed. Jo, in a pale yellow halter dress and Kaitlin in something pale blue with a plunging neckline. The three of them pause on the threshold and check out what's left of the crowd before M'ron could be heard grunting out, "The booze. Let's get to it. Gonna needs a whole lot after this night." Jo lingers a little after them as she scans the crowd with narrowed eyes, then not having found anyone yet, she's heading after the pack towards where she could get her drink on. As the evening wears on, K'del takes his leave, meandering out into the chilly bowl. Clearly, he has other places he intends to be, tonight. Hopefuly he won't show up blue to those, too. A nod for the other weyrwoman, "I'm sure that can be arranged. The Weyrwoman Azaylia's asked the very same thing. I'm sure you'll all have a grand time together." Devaki says, easily, assuming of course the whole thing will be a staid affair. There's not a huge amount of interest in such arrangements for him; it's Taikrin's comment that makes a smile flicker across his features. "It is, certainly, a lot to take in. Many of the islanders who've settled in at the Hold have found it much more familiar." An easy nod for Azaylia, and a glance back to Taikrin, as if interested: will she follow, too? Introductions are made, but Vienne manages to pay little attention to them, her eyes finally setting on Hana long enough to recognize her from a random encounter over lunch some time ago. It makes her smile a little more meaningful, waiting to see if the girl places her in turn. She misses the speculation over her gender entirely and it's not until there's someone addressing her in that falsetto that she turns to blink at Wakizian. A laugh follows quickly, her grin wide. "Aren't you a forward girl!" she teases, uterly amused by the proposition even if she doesn't seem to be accepting it. "And aren't you looking lovely this evening." There's only a little glance aside to Brieli to let the goldrider know she's still paying attention, at least as well as she can. "Sir," Riorde echoes with something of a smirk, corrected. "Excuse me." Moving right along; the woman turns away almost abruptly to address the Holder when she can get a word in edgewise."Dev," Riorde begins, "I'm sure there's plenty of other people here with claims to your time, but I hope you'll save me a dance later. It isn't often we get a chance to catch up these days. I'd like to hear more about how the islanders are doing -- I wouldn't want to bore them all with details about people they don't know, though." A small wink and laying of her finger alongside her nose are L'vand's answers to his first inquiry, Alida continuing to jot down the important points of the conversation between asking questions. "Where'd Seani originally come from, if you know?" A jerk of eyes over to the boom of a male voice is followed by the faint roll of the woman's greens, which soon return to the brownrider once more, and she's inquiring around a slight frown of lips at the words 'throat cut,' "And Devaki's roots are...questionable, then? How about his claim?" "Six.." Bones repeats in thought. Spread out? Fine. "Alright you damn conman, six it is. Now, lemme eat some friggen snacks. All this bargaining is making me hungry." As if anything could make him not hungry with there still being mountains of food available. Finally, a blue cracker thing with brown pastey stuff gets to call Bones' mouth it's home. The would-be-Weyrleader's drift of conversation has Brieli's dark gaze shifting Taikrin's way. Quietly, "There were people here that rather thought that too." It sounds as if it's mostly meant to be to herself, but it can't be a coincidence that her attention shifts Devaki's way for a moment. But then Azaylia's explaining and leaving, and she nods, including the Lord Holder in her; "Azaylia's much better with tea, anyway. I'm mostly good with clothes." It's self-deprecating, to be sure. With a little wave to the other goldrider, she looks over to Vienne and her would-be suitor before, "Don't you need a drink before you even think of dancing?" Is Taikrin being possessive when she reaches out to curl an arm around Riorde's waist, or making a point to Devaki? Either way, her gaze doesn't much leave Devaki's features. "Reckon I can see how they might be more comfortable in the hold. We're happy to do our best by those who choose to say, though. The lot of you have come a long way from when me and Szad found your island." Because the two of them definitely, totally did it all on their own. "Must be strange to be back here, after all this time? We're happy to host, of course-- and happy to have you dancing with our riders." Taikrin's smile is bland, totally unthreatening. Really. This is all just casual conversation. "Z'ian." Is that Azaylia sounding stern? When did she get that empty shotglass, and a half empty glass of wine. "You can't say tits. That's rude." Comes the light scolding from Hraedhyth as she approaches, plucking the blue cracker with brown paste just before it can reach Bones' mouth. "Oh, this is good." Comes the soft murmur, happy to plant herself, all female-like, in their manly conversation. "She was one of the exiles," prompts L'vand, giving Alida a peculiar glance, as if he expects her to know this already. "Born and raised out there, same as Devaki. That's why it was so strange-- why murder one of your own? Just goes to show how ruthless he is, him and that red-haired guard of his." He reaches for his beer, merely content to hold it within his hand for a few more seconds before he says, "From what I understand, he claims he's blood, blood from way back, his ancestors who were exiled. Doubt there's any way to prove it. Marrying Lord High Reaches' sister certainly puts him in a position of power, eh? Especially while Lord Braeden has no children of his own." "How about right now?" Devaki counters, to Riorde's offer. "That is, if," he glances at Hana, questioningly, "You'll be fine in the ladies' company, won't you?" He doesn't ask, perhaps pointedly, if Taikrin would be fine with it; she did just suggest the very same thing, after all. "Deal. Conman?" He repeats that, trying to appear hurt. But Z'ian is helplessly amused by this turn of events. He begins to smirk, but that's cut short when he hears his name being said. It's enough to make him look around, first catching sight of Jo. In a dress. Women and their dresses tonight, damn. But then Azaylia is suddenly there and she's scolding him for saying tits. He finishes the rest of this second glass, perhaps becoming a little buzzed off of it. Just enough to be cheeky with the goldrider, smiling wolfishly, "It's only rude if the company was objecting." His eyes dart to Bones. "And the company didn't seem to be objecting. Are you objecting?" Hana actually looks relieved at the question, "Certainly, my lord - in fact, I should find my lady sooner rather than later, and make sure that everything is going well." There is a pause, then she's looking over at Vienne, "And we'll have to chat later." Of course, she doesn't suggest dancing, but Taikrin gets a quick smile, "I am glad to hear that - I haven't had the chance to dance very much in far too long. Happy Turnday, Sir, Ma'am, Wingleader, and all." And then, yes... she's totally getting lost in the crowd. Gracefully, of course. With her wine. "Well, you know what they say," Nothing like a drag-dressing politically unsavvy Smith-apprentice-turned-candidate to distract from complicated political maneuvering! The falsetto continues, "The forward girl regrets nothing until morning!" Do they say that? Maybe in some circles. "Come on, we're practically matching." If only from one very rudimentary point of view. "If we don't dance at least once, we'll never be the talk of the town." Wasn't he moments ago bemoaning his dress choice to Journeyman Xhaeon? Teenagers and their mood swings. "One dance won't hurt. I promise. And if it does, I'll rush you to the infirmary." "Of course," Taikrin says, all geniality, as if Devaki had been asking her permission. "Happy to have you off with my weyrmate. Bring her back all in one piece, yeah? I did promise our Weyrwoman Azaylia her first dance." Her smile is all of a sudden /wicked/, and she's deliberately avoiding Riorde's gaze as she reaches to firmly claim Azaylia's arm. "We'll take good care of everyone here." She must mean Hana, from that glancing smile. "Love to." Riorde's quick to accept, dashing off a kiss to Taikrin's cheek in compensation. "See you later?" she says brightly. "You owe me dances, too. I won't be a minute." Lies. Bones' cracker is snatched cruelly from his hand, another costume-appropriate grumble eminating from his thick chest. "Tits." Bones uses it as more of an exclamation of his frustrated nature, but it answers Z'ian's question quite clearly. "Damn Zee, that corset makes your ti- breasts look awesome." Spoken so casual one would be convinced he was her gay best friend. Time to prepare another cracker. "One cannot assume anything in circumstances like this..." Alida murmurs thoughtfully to that look L'vand gives her, one of her charcoal-stained fingertips waggling slightly at him while she smirks softly for a moment. "The guard's name?" Alida's own champagne has long since been abandoned, handed off to some surprised and pleased weyrfolk who glided past the current conversation towards the fun in the room. "All set to inherit the Reaches, then, eh?" is murmured with a hint of well-feigned testiness. A tap of her pionkie finger to bottom lip, a long look at the rider, then a quick glance at Devaki under her long lashes presages a low, "And how is Braeden these days?" Also. What. Weyrmate? Riorde stares at Taikrin as she partners off with Azaylia. "Dev." She speaks his name with a low sort of urgency, reaching for his arm. Now is when she drags off her fellow exile who's come up so much in the world. Vienne laughs brightly, unable to keep her expresion serious in the face of Wakizian's begging. But she lays a hand on the 'girl's arm in apology. "I'm actually on my way to get a drink," she says, so helpfully reminded by Brieli. "Have you had anything? Miss?" she asks the candidate, brows high as she gestures toward the wine not far away. And for that very helpful Brieli, she leans in just enough to shake her head, to flick her glance toward Devaki in a silent 'not gonna happen'. Slippery Lords are slippery. And Vienne might as well get a drink while it's convenient. Azaylia chokes on that cruelly snatched cracker at what's said. Her shot glass lost to a server as the weyrwoman reaches over to swat at both bronzerider and brown watch-wher. "If you can't be charming, no lady is going to want to leave with you." Perhaps telling of what the goldrider's own goals are. "I heard a slap." Didn't see, heard. "What did you do?" Now she's playful in her accusation, aiming it more Z'ian's way than Bones'. He's clearly innocent! With a pleased smile for the departing Hana, Devaki takes another gulp from his glass before depositing it on a nearby table. "Ladies," a half bow, glinting, amused gaze darting in Taikrin's direction, clearly not missing the brownrider's comment. He's quick to lead Riorde towards the dance floor, his arm slipping familiarly around her waist on the way, as he leans in to murmur to her, "I see a lot has happened in my absence. You'll have to bring me up to date." Brieli offers a wave to Hana as she heads off into the crowd, then turns to mostly regard Vienne and Wakizian, the cross-dressing pair, with an amused light to her eyes. Azaylia's eating, Riorde and Devaki are off to dance, Taikrin is distracted. Tilting her head to regard Wakizian for a moment, she tells Vienne, "I'm dying for one. And... attention must be paid." Her tone is wry, as she looks around the room before telling the hairy-legged, booted 'girl', "You can come with us if you like." So generous, the goldrider. The convict rider trio made it to where the booze is with little fuss - Kaitlin all flirty to those male riders they pass by and Jo at least trying not to act surly. She's the first to the table and is about to take up a whole bottle of something until she eyes the crowd and their glasses. Blend in, right? She fidgets with the halter dress and snags a glass instead, beckoning for the other two to do likewise with a look. M'ron looks reluctant, but Kaitlin is only too happy to appear a little civilized tonight. So their glasses get filled with whiskey and the three stake out by the table to really scan the crowd once more. Kaitlin's making the occasional comment to her companions, with Jo appearing far more interested at the moment in draining her glass and refilling in between short responses to them. L'vand's smile is amused. "I suppose not," he allows. "R-something, was the guard's name. Rame? Red-- Raum. Redhead. Believe he's back here with 'Lord' Devaki, even. Bastards." He exhales, turning his gaze out towards the room, but without focusing in too much on anyone - not even on Devaki himself. "Could be. If Braeden and his bitch-wife don't produce, in time. Me, I don't much keep up with Hold stuff, not so much as Weyr matters." When another server passes by with a tray of drinks, Z'ian manages to pluck his next off. When Bones says the word again, the bronzerider can only shrug at Azaylia. "See? It's completely acceptable at this current moment." He fake winces at the slap to his arm, gesturing now to some point off in the distance. "My drive to be charming went down the drain earlier. Some kids shot a mark into a very attractive woman's ti- breasts that I was with. So our friend here retrieved the mark for her-" He makes the motion of putting one's hand down a woman's shirt. "And she took it poorly." He laughs then, "She slapped him real good too." He lifts that glass to his mouth and looks past the two he's with, scanning for sight of that yellow dress again. Maybe he hasn't entirely given up for the night. With Devaki and Riorde off, Taikrin makes good on her threat to chase down Azaylia. She's not looking back, either, despite Riorde's stare. Or perhaps because of it? Either way. She does offer a faint, crooked smile for Brieli, along with a softly murmured, "Dance later?" After, of course, she chases down Azaylia. "Azaylia, love. There you are," she says brightly as she comes up behind the goldrider to join the group. "It's getting wild in here, ain't it?" "Not a drop." Waki's voice drops back to his usual range, apparently finding his dance beseeching a futile endeavor. "But a little would go a long way in taking the edge off." He boasts a brave smile towards Vienne, but the tug at the dress shows the lad is clearly a bit self-conscious. Brieli's eyes on him have him fidgeting even more, "Thank you, Weyrwoman, I'd be delighted. And there's something I think you should look into. There are no dancing slippers in my size in the storerooms." His feet are rather large for the usual ladies sizes. He feigns genuine distress over the fact, gesturing down to his work boots." "You mean you haven't got spies already in place?" Riorde shoots back -- quietly, though, given the rumors already in circulation. Wouldn't do to add another to the arsenal. This leads to another comment as she makes off with the Lord, easily directed away from Taikrin and the rest. "We don't stay in good enough touch." "It'll come out soon enough..." Alida murmurs of the name of the redhead, her lips offering a thin hint of a smile that doesn't touch her cool eyes. "Hrm... I figured that - with your deep interest in who's currently holding at Reaches - that you would have *some* compelling reason to feel such a way. Er, aside from good Seani, of course." Bones raises an eyebrow at Taikrin's very affectionate approach to Azaylia, though it doesn't deter his smile all too much. What does interrupt it is a crunch of cracker and brown paste, one that thankfully isn't snatched up by anyone else. He hopes. "You call this wild?" For Taikrin especially, the description seems off. Vienne turns as Brieli and Wakizian do, toward the wine, and in some sympathy for the candidates discomfort, she shares a tale of her own. "I found my boots in the boy's section. Not these boots," since her whole outfit is a boy's tonight, "But my regular boots." She lets out a light sigh, for show, for solidarity, sister. To Brieli her eyebrows lift again, brief but full of questions she'll no doubt ask another time. Then she glances back toward Bones, having not quite forgotten him in all the commotion. Plus he's easy to pick out. "I have you," Devaki murmurs, though there's amusement showing beneath black-feathered mask as he finds a space for them on the floor. His hands settle comfortable at Riorde's waist as he waits one, two, three, four beats of the music before joining in -- leading with an adeptness that suggests plenty of training. "You should come and visit the Hold more -- although we're planning to stay at the Weyr until after the Hatching, at least." A beat, gaze flickering past, then back to his fellow exile, "Weyrmate, hm? She seems pretty keen on the young weyrwoman there." Ceawlin has been here the whole time, promise. The Candidate, dressed sharply in the nondescript and not-standig-out colors of winter in greys, whites, and blacks, is a nimble and silent mingler. That or he's just, thus far, not drawn attention to himself; focusing, instead, on taking notice of the who's who of the gathering and how they all play together. Totally here, though. Azaylia gives a patient sigh, though she looks a touch lost at Z'ian's explination. "Bones..." It's a one-word reprimand, before she gives up. What's left of her wine is slowly sipped, likely numb to the foreign, sour taste due to the amount she's had by now. "Other than his chasing off your date... having a good night?" For the bronzerider. Taikrin's hunting her down has the goldrider surprised, but pleasantly so. "Taikrin," Not quite a coo, "Sorry. I had to check up one him." Bones. She had to. "Exiles," spits L'vand, with a shake of his head. Apparently, that's enough of a reason for him - enough to follow all of this, enough to share it to a random strange he's only just met. His beer is empty, now, and though he seems to enjoy having a captive audience, he also seems to enjoy having a drink in hand. "If I were you, I'd go talk to people. Find out what they think. Skulking around listening won't get you very far; direct talk, that's the key. And take that sword off - it makes people nervous." There's a nod for Taikrin; Brieli can consider that at least. That is, until Wakizian's request has her distracted - glancing back at the young man as she heads for the drinks. There's a tip of her empty glass for Vienne's problems as an explanation. But not empty for long! "That is just something you'll have to bear, I suppose. Unless you have them made for you. That's true commitment." A long look for bare legs before she's looking for the rum. "Tights might have helped. If you were Vienne, you'd be dead of the cold." "Indeed..." Alida murmurs low to L'vand's spat-out word, jotting something more down, then nodding in sage fashion to his opinion. "Have any other names I should seek out? I can't really just walk up to nearly anybody and start inquiring away, after all..." Smirk. "What, this old thing?" the blonde chuckles lightly, glancing down at her scabbard. "It's just an old wooden thing...keeps the holdless rabble and renegades farther away so I can hightail it to safety, first." Ah, such a little rogue 'Harper' she is. "Of course," Taikrin allows with a winning smile for Bones. "Can't have him getting himself into trouble on his own. Reckon that'd be boring." That doesn't stop her from laying an almost-possessive hand into the small of Azaylia's back as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "Was that you causing all that ruckus? Thought I might have caught a glimpse, but there was an Exile-Lord-Holder in the way." Or close enough to one, as the case may be. "I figured if it was getting wild, might be that I should come and take a look. Looks like we might be on that road? Not as good as my turnday yet, but then-- Azaylia ain't thrown as many parties as me." Z'ian flicks his eyes over Taikrin, his gaze remaining cool and neutral in light of her arrival. The bronzerider merely nods his head in her direction, not quite the friendly greeting. But not exactly unpleasent either. Instead he takes another long swallow from that glass, beginning to step away from the group. "It's been alright. I've had better. If you'll excuse me?" And even if they don't, he's going to be exiting their little party anyway. He begins to pick his way through the crowd towards Jo and her convict rider friends, side-stepping thouse who have had too much to drink already. "We'd have to be in better contact for me to count," Riorde counters, sharp even though she's smiling. She doesn't have the same fluidity on the dance floor, but she can follow, and a practiced partner makes it all that much easier. "I could do that," she agrees, hand light on Devaki's shoulder. "I miss-- people. I forget. And then I see someone like you--" She stops right there, the lines at her mouth suggesting concentration. "First I've heard of it," the exile rider states of her 'weyrmate', in no hurry to claim that attachment before Devaki. "And you know how it is. It's important that they have a good working relationship. Show a united front. Et cetera. Can we not talk about that?" Wood. Of course it's wood; L'vand seems relieved by that, and maybe embarrassedly amused, though he covers that up with a firmer nod. "Good. That's less of a concern, then, I guess." He stretches, standing, and glances around the room thoughtfully. "You could get in good with the little Lord," he offers, after a moment. "Make nice. Or with K'del, or one of the others who've been around for turns. Be friendly, people'll start talking. Works every time." Beat. "Introduce yourself, sometimes. That could help, oh nameless one." Bones gives another eyebrow raise at Azaylia, waiting till Z'ian had left to ask the obvious question. "So are you Taikrin's woman now?" He was usually quite good about not prying into Azaylia's love life, but.. well. "Cuz it's alright if you are. I'm just checkin." Not a subtle bone in his body. "I feel like I feel hot from the forge even when I'm not there. But apparently I should have shaved." This time Wakizian does not choose to mention that he had intended to but just didn't have time before the party started. "And unless you have any commission projects you want to give me, I'm afraid I'm not in a position to commission dance slippers." There's a tone of playfulness to this. There's not much chance that he would seriously consider commissioning his own pair of women's dance slippers. He picks up his own glass of wine and helps himself to a few sips. His eyes go to Vienne's feet, considering. "Well, you do have little feet. I can see why you'd have to look in the boy's section. Have to be careful though. Sometimes the soles aren't as sturdy since boys tend to out-grow them faster than the average adult wears through regular boots." Helpful, isn't he? "We can change that," Devaki counters, then, "I'd like to change that." A tip of head, as if waiting for Riorde's feelings on the matter. It's followed by a long exhale, "Sorry," he says, although he's probably not that sorry, given the interest in his voice. "You should see Tom, he's loving it at the Hold. Back to his old tricks; I think we all gave up trying to get him to do anything, and I've settled for getting him to agree to marry some relative of the Lady Tillek's. Well, I haven't actually told him that part, yet," the islander's smiling at the notion. If Azaylia has issue with Taikrin's possessive nature, she's pretty damn good at hiding it. In fact, she'll be leaning into the brownrider's side with a soft smile, though her own arms stay where they can be seen. "I had one party that got out of hand, right before I graduated from Weyrlinghood." Or was it after? "Too many people showed up." It might still be talked about. As Z'ian leaves, she looks surprised, but gives him a polite enough fairwell. The wine doesn't leave her lips in a spray, choking back from a complete spittake, "BONES." She dabs at her lips, "Bones... I... no. She, and Riorde..!" He gets several more slaps to his arm, the weyrwoman clearly flustered. "Ahh, friendly..." Alida muses aloud, trying not to sound disappointed, and managing neutrality instead when looking back up to L'vand's face. As for the 'nameless one,' "Harpers and such have a certain tradition of anonymity in such cases. Keeps the ass safer from being mobbed and potentially strung-up, don't you think?" Another flash of a grin, and a wink is addended, 'lida then closing with a bob of her fairest head and a sotto, "It may take some time to get any results, if things come to fruition. Nobody can be hasty...you understand?" Cue a quick, "Have a grand Turn Over, brownrider, and may your sleep be eased." L'vand considers Alida for several long seconds before, finally, he nods. "And you, of course." And thus, he heads off into the crowd, in search of that next beer, looking most... what? Thoughtful? Surprised? Pleased? It's so hard to tell. There's a suggestion that she's probably been drinking before they had walked in, for her bursts of laughter are loud and getting frequent. If her strap slips down just a little, all the more fun to her! M'ron's the one trying to calm her before attention actually comes their way, while Jo's leaning against that drinks table with her whiskey, clearly finding it amusing. She's not saying anything to deter her! She turns her head in time to spot Brieli approaching the drinks table, and she tries to catch her gaze, nodding a greeting to her. Then, further study has the familiar gait of Z'ian approaching them, the bluerider downing a good portion of her drink first before she raises it in a greeting to him since he's still a ways from her to speak. Riorde, who now looks quite comfortable in the arms of the murderous exile Lord. "Tom." She packs a lot into that one name. Amusement, incredulity, some disgust. "And what will he do then, sponge off their goodwill? Well. Better than yours, maybe. But yes." The smile's back, thin and not altogether happy, but pleasure isn't entirely absent. "Let's change that. I think it's time." "I'm just taking care of her," Taikrin assures Bones with a lopsided smile. "Ain't got to be weyrmates to do that, yeah? It's only honorable to take care of a woman when your dragon's knocked hers up." That hand on the small of Azaylia's back doesn't budge and inch, and in fact she seems to welcome Azaylia as she draws closer-- smoothly comfortable where the goldrider is discomfited. She looks to meet Barnabas' look with an arched brow. "It's important to take care of a lady. Reckon I'm sure you agree?" Vienne turns a look of surprise on Wakizian as she takes up her glass, eyes merry over the rim when she remarks, "Forges and boys' shoes? So many talents for such a pretty girl." It's a pale joke, his crossdressing, but she laughs anyway and admits, "I would be freezing." Her shoulders hunch in her little uniform, just for dramatic effect, but mostly she takes a sip of her wine. Meanwhile, another glance across the room spies Jo and she presses her lips together thoughtfully. The harpers play, without their singer, who has taken a seat near the stage to scribble idly along the edges of what appears to be a set list. And by scribble, doodle funny drawings. But this doesn't last long and Suireh's elbow is accosted by a sandy-haired man, and the indignation of those gray eyes turns pleased, and the pair sneak out to the inner caverns. As you do at parties. Dryly, Brieli feels she must point out, "You would not like growing it back in." Things people don't tell you about shaving. For some reason, the goldrider is feeling charitable tonight. Maybe it's the fact that she's keeping the bottle in hand. Still drinking from the glass, but bottle in hand - a bottle she'll raise in salute to one ex-con bluerider as her gaze is caught briefly. "Jo." If her voice carries. With an apologetic glance for Vienne - business - "Are things well at the forge? Anything anyone needs?" By the time he's made it through the throngs of people, Z'ian has more or less drained this other glass. It's lost along the way so that by the time he makes it to the trio of riders, he may smell like alcohol but he's not actually in posession of it any more. How helpful that they're at the place where you get refreshments anyway. It's getting late in the night, so the bronzerider ends up pulling the mask from his face and letting it dangle from his fingers by the strings. He holds it out to Jo, "I hear you're supposed to come in costume?" He offers, smile crooked as he flashes a glance towards Kaitlin and M'ron. The brownrider with the plunging neckline gets a wiggle of his fingers. Hello. Bones looks Taikrin up and down, still smiling of course, but a touch of suspician in his face. "I just like to make sure Zee is in good hands." Not wanting to entirely treat Azaylia like she's not there, his gaze turns to lady Hraedhyth, reading her face. Seems to him like Azaylia isn't uncomfortable, and he decides he shouldn't be either. Smile grows two sizes as he continues. "And I reckon' she is." There's a definite smile under the feathered mask of the totally-not-a-murderer-guys exile Lord, Devaki chuckling at Riorde's reaction to Tom as he sweeps her around the dance floor. "He'll do what Tom does best; play up his Blood." With a little shrug and a kind of what-else grin, he adds with a sudden warmth, "Good. I do, too, Ri. Missed you." Azaylia is all too comfortable, tucked up against the brownrider like she is. "Aw." She has to coo for her roommate, and it seems he's forgiven for getting himself slapped. "Taikrin's thoughtful." She promotes her 'date', doing her best not to squirm all girlishly at the attention. Knocking back the rest of the wine, she moves to hand the empty glass to Bones. "I think I want to dance now." Which has her hand reaching up to give Taikrin's arm a squeeze, "But if a handsome man cuts, maybe..?" Not that she sounds totally sold on being stolen away from the brownrider. Conflicted goldrider is conflicted! Wakizian gives a little shrug to Vienne, "What can I say, I'm talented and pretty." The hand not holding the wine glass rises to flip his long brown locks. See? Pretty. "You'd be freezing because Igen's hot." He pauses to consider, "I guess Igen heat isn't the same as forge heat. Or maybe I just imagine I'm warm when I'm actually cold." He glances down at his legs, perhaps searching for signs of goose pimples, but finding none he shrugs again. His brows raise at Brieli's kind advice, "Really? Does it itch?" Then there's talk of the forge, "Journeyman Xhaeon, who was around here somewhere, would know better than I if there are needs at the forge. But as far as I know all is well." He pauses, "I just traded my knot in so I can stand for your lifemate's clutch. As I understand it, I'll still be plenty at the forge, but a little less than before." Finished with her grilling and far more interested in her surroundings than ever before, Alida wends her way through the crowd towards a table once again...and finds herself frowning as it's completely occupied, by now. The sheaf of paper with what looks like symbolic gibberish on it is fastidiously folded, it and now-stub of charcoal tucked away inside her belt pouch, the thing sealed securely before the woman moves off to fetch herself a large glass of wine. Hard work is thirsty work. At that, Riorde simply smiles. And dances. And eventually relinquishes Devaki back into the care of his wife -- for now. "Brieli," Jo gives in return to her with an equally raised glass slightly tipped in her direction before she drains it again. She passes it over to M'ron without even looking his way, and he goes to refill it just as Z'ian arrives. Her arm still extended for her drink, when the bronzerider holds out his mask, she moves that extended arm around to take the mask up and hold it to the light briefly. "Oh yeah," she says, clearly well aware that she was suppose to come in a mask. Jerking her chin towards Kaitlin, 'I blame her. She was more interested in getting' me into this damn dress." She looks a bit uncomfortable in it, adding as she looks around in a mutter, "...missin' my jacket." As for Kaitlin, she's all bubbles of laughter as she throws a wink Z'ian's way and a bright and slurry, "Hey there, handsome! Come to take this parched damsel away from my guards?" M'ron's throwing Z'ian a look, but he at least says dryly to him, "You in a mask, huh?" There is perhaps something reluctant in Devaki's demeanor as Riorde departs, though he remains on the dance floor, paired soon enough with the pink-draped Issedi. What can Taikrin do, but follow on where Azaylia leads? There's a smile that's not-really apologetic for Bones, but Taikrin is wrapping a hand around Azaylia's as she says so. "You and me, we're gonna have to have a talk about the handsome men. While we dance." Because if it's a dance Azaylia wants, it's a dance Taikrin will give her. Stepping off to the side, Ceawlin finally makes his way towards the area where his fellow crafters play for the weyr's denizens. Somehow, along the way, the Candidate-crafter snags a drink and some finger food or something. Whatever is available. Nibble, nibble. If little-girl dressed Madilla distracts herself from her various conversations long enough to glance at the dancefloor, she only looks approving when she sees Devaki with Issedi. It's better that way. Vienne holds her glass out for Brieli to top it off, even if there's only a sip missing so far. It's all the better, though, to have a full take before slipping away, and the sailor boy is still glancing at Jo across the way. She doesn't scurry off immediately, though, turning to grin at Wakizian instead. "That's right," she says of his understand of Igen's heat and her own tendency to have chattering teeth. "It's not quite a forge, no, but it does make High Reaches' feel very cold by comparison. If you'll excuse me." She smile widely to the candidate and more wryly for the goldrider before she heads off in Jo's direction. "You should probably have her arrested for such a heinous crime as putting you into a perfectly nice dress." Z'ian responds, the corners of his mouth curving. He's distracted just then by the other two and he gives the female brownrider a polite but slightly confused laugh, "If you mean you, maybe sometime later." He responds to her wink with one of his own, tossing an easy smile M'ron's way. "Yeah. My face got obnoxiously hot, I wouldn't recommand it." He shrugs helplessly but amused now as he turns his full attention to Jo again. Hopefully before she can pick up another glass of booze, "Seriously, you look great. And you're dancing with me before I'm too drunk to remember how to move my feet." It's uncharacteristic of him, not exactly a request as he reaches out to tangle his fingers with hers. Sipping from her glass, Brieli only moves a little away from the drinks table, bottle still in hand as she flashes Jo a smile - and missing Z'ian's arrival as she turns back to her little group. "It can," she tells Wakizian - though she's not terribly interested in the whole shaving issue in the light of everything else. "I'll keep that in mind. And congratulations. I imagine whatever the Headwoman's decided is the right thing." There's a pause, before; "How long have you been an apprentice again?" Because Iesaryth's kids are like to be smart, yes? Mostly to Vienne, as she refills her glass, "What did you think... oh. I'll catch up with you later." She waves the bottle at the bluerider. Bones gives a sigh and a roll of his eyes as his roommate is snatched away by Taikrin. He trusted the brownrider more or less. No reason to fret. Besides, that meant he was finally alone! Food glorious food! "What? It's a party..." Azaylia is careful about not seeming too argumentative as she leads Taikrin onto the dance floor. "I'm not leaving alone." That would be wrong. Especially since she's had enough liquor to forget all the woes that will chase her in the morning. Still, Taikrin gets the first dance and Lady Hraedhyth manages not to do anything to embarrass the Weyr for the rest of the night. Shame. On the other hand, Taikrin has no shame, aside from the basic sense of propriety that she's trying to maintain. Weyr propriety includes close-clutching and maybe some familiarly-placed hands, right? Especially after a dragon has known to be involved? And while Taikrin might not completely monopolize Azaylia, she's certainly determined to do more than her fair share, especially when Riorde is otherwise occupied. Wakizian nods towards the departing Vienne, and to Brieli he responds, "Five turns, Weyrwoman. Coming up on six in a few months. Although I guess this time doesn't count towards my apprenticeship for the time being." He gives a little shrug and finishes off his glass of wine, placing the empty glass onto the tray of a passing server. "Speaking of all this apprenticeship and candidacy and all that, I've got a bit of moving yet to do before I get to sleep tonight. If you'll excuse me, ma'am. Happy Turnover." And with that wish towards whomever is close enough to hear it, the she-he works his way out of the crowd, thankfully unpursued by any zealous bronzeriders. Jo's gaze lingers on Brieli as she moves off before M'ron's pressing a filled glass back into her waiting hand - once she switches the mask to her free one. "I should," the bluerider says a little too loudly in Kaitlin's direction, and the blonde's waving her off. Kaitlin's all smiles despite Z'ian rejecting her, and so she simply drapes herself on M'ron with a purred, "Then you'll whisk me away! Come, come, dance with me..." There's a snort for Z'ian from M'ron, but the man seems quite occupied right now by a whole lot of Kaitlin. As for Jo, she inclines her head to the compliment and is finding her hand being taken for that dance. Passing her drink over towards her clutchmates as she straightens up, "I'm not exactly a dancer," she seems to warn the bronzerider in her amusement, a brow slightly lifted as she steps to him. She turns in time to catch Vienne approaching - is that Vienne in the costume? - before she lifts two fingers in greeting in her direction. She hopes it's her! Brieli just kind of... stares after Wakizian, then shakes her head a little. Finding herself bessedly without company and with a full bottle, the moon-masked young woman slips off into the crowd - and though she's likely stopped a few times in her progress, she makes her way towards the exit. Apparently, she has other plans. Vienne slips nearer to Jo, just a little sailor boy with his head tipped down so as to hide his features behind the brim of his cap for an extra moment. At least until 'he' can get close enough to catch the other bluerider's eye and let her know, with the appraising flick of her gaze, that Vienne has seen what Jo is wearing. Rather than interrupt her conversation with Z'ian, she just gives her a cheeky little wink and matching smile before heading past. The only plan ALida has for the rest of the evening is to get quietly buzzed - not drunk mind you - and then wander back to her cot in order to curl up and get some deep, sound sleep. She might even oversleep, for once, and indulge herself. Kaeden has been around the events in the living cavern for most of the evening, sticking mostly to the perimeter, only occasionally joining the dancing. It's right around this time, however, that he makes his way around toward the harpers, empty cups in one hand, and a flagon of wine in the other. He gestures slightly to ask if there's interest, then starts filling at least one of the cups in the meantime. "Good luck." Z'ian shoots after to M'ron, definitely more amused now than he was previously, watching as the two riders go off to dance. As for that whole thing about her not being exactly a dancer, the bronzerider cants his head to the side and glances upwards. "Well." He begins slowly before sweeping his gaze over to her again. "If you can suspend your disbelief, I'm actually very good at it. At least, I think I am. I don't trip the other person too much." He notices the look that passes between blueriders and he stares at the former Igenite as she goes past. "Vienne?" Might be time for him to learn to suspend his disbelief as he shakes his head. Being over by the harpers himself, Ceawlin also holds out his glass for a refill, small smile playing on thin lips. "I'll take more," the apprentice-candidate says, before falling silent when one of the harpers speaks up. "It's been a lively party," he comments, either to Kaeden or to the harper's question; it's ambiguous. With M'ron and Kaitlin occupied and not even quite on the dance floor yet, Jo eyes that sailor boy enough to realize that - yet, that is Vienne. There's the flash of a suggestive little smirk for her as she winks her way, and then she says to Z'ian's guess, "I believe so." Turning to face him now, "I'll hold ya to bein' good at it," she says wryly, willing to let him now lead her on the dance floor. "Who knows. Maybe I won' slam my heels into yer feet, too." It would hurt, the way she's saying it. From there, she's willing to take in a dance or two, talking him up and even passing brief greetings to those she knows on the dance floor. "Folks are dancing," Kaeden answers the Harper as he hands the man a cup of wine. "That's a pretty good measure, I think." He finishes by topping up Ceawlin's cup before filling another for himself. "Prefer the faster ones, myself, but the night's getting a bit long in the tooth for that, maybe. Time for the giddy little rutters to pair off and all that," he continues, grinning as he mimics a bit of slow-dancing with his hips, while careful not to spill the wine. "Aye, it has been," confirms the harper, downing much of that wine in a single gulp, then wiping his mouth off with the back of his hand. He's more restrained with the rest of it, sipping quietly. "You're probably right," he confirms, tipping his head forward towards Kaeden. His smirk is indication enough of what he thinks of the young man's remarks. "They always say, start the turn how you mean to continue it. Why not do so in the arms of a pretty lady-- eh, Ceawlin?" Jaskar, for that is his name, laughs merrily. "Strange costume. But then..." There other ones, worse for sure. Z'ian keeps her fingers tangled up in hers and pulls the bluerider out onto the dance floor. He'll monopolize her time for a few dances and he won't complain that loudly when she steps on his feet. As long as she doesn't break any of his toes. And eventually when the time is appropriate, he'll let her sneak away to get back to her friends while he makes a quick departure out of the crowds. With no place for a knot on a costume of winter, Ceawlin's rank remans ambiguous, except maybe to his fellows who might know a familiar face. "Night's definitely getting long," he agrees, watching as people slowly mingle out of the party, "But I'd not say it's too long in the tooth for a fast tune." Says the boy who's not danced one inch on the dance floor. Belatedly: "Thanks." Jaskar's observation gets a dry laugh out of Ceawlin; though toasting the harper, his response is, "I suppose that's one way to celebrate the turn." Pause. "For some people." Less ambitious folk. Kaeden rubs a hand over his face and chuckles before drinking down some wine, dark eyes regarding those still milling about, some still dancing despite the Harpers' pause. "True enough," he says, agreeing with Jaskar before giving Ceawlin a quick sideglance. "You going to play us one, then?" Kaeden asks, his smile crooked until it's covered by the wine cup once more. "Ceawlin? Hah." Jaskar chortles at that remark, though the glance he aims at Ceawlin is affectionate. "We could've used his voice up here, earlier. Suireh-- who knows what happened to her in the middle of that song." He shakes his head, stretching out tired muscles as he repositions his instrument. "We could do another fast one, but I doubt there'd be many takers, not this late in the evening." He shifts his gaze between one and the other, then adds, "Clearly, our new candidate here has loftier goals than mere dancing, or fucking." It's hard to tell given the light and the fact that the harper apprentice turns his face away, but Ceawlin's features harden a split second before answering, "Hah." Diverting attention from his singing capabilities, the candidate latches onto Kaeden's suggestion with, "Sure. I'll play you a rousing tune if they," almost sweetly poisonous smile to Jaskar, "are too tired. And yes, I have loftier goals than merely dancing or fucking. Actually, getting embroiled in the women in this weyr seems more likely to devour you than fuck you." Pale brows inch upwards, "Suireh? Didn't she escape off that way?" Kaeden knocks back the last of his wine, then gives himself a refill before turning away from the dance floor to give Jaskar another glance. "Candidate?" he asks, then turns to regard Ceawlin. "Maybe you'll take over as Weyrleader, then? Settle all the..." He trails off, gesturing at a random knot of riders before he has to finish with a laugh. Changing course, he shrugs, saying instead, "Nice to see folk out and having a good time, right?" The detour in conversation is broken by another laugh, however. "Shells, man. Nothing wrong with a little devouring sometimes." "Devouring can be fun," confirms Jaskar, with a smirk. "I like a good, strong woman. Eat you alive, but man the payoff is worth it." He plays a note on his lute, strumming it with idle interest; evidently, he's not yet ready to actually start playing again properly. "I'm not too tired. We'd rather you sing, though. Suireh was halfway through a song, and-- no idea what happened there. Just lost it, I guess. Stagefright?" Teeth grind. "No one wants to hear me sing," Ceawlin mutters with finality, giving Jaskar a not-so-nice look. "Shells," the harper curses, "I wouldn't want to be Weyrleader. That job sucks. You only get it by chance and you can get bumped out at any given flight." He lifts his cup, drains it, and holds it out for Kaeden. "Sucks. I'd rather earn my way to Master and have my own, never-taken-away rank." Expression turns humorous, "Devouring might not be worth it if you come out messed up in the end." As to Suireh, he shrugs, "Not sure. Something's up with everyone these days." Kaeden arches a brow at the thorny candidate, though he does go ahead and refill that cup. "Chill, man, I was just yanking your chain," he assures Ceawlin, dark eyes twinkling as he gives the blonde a wide grin. The same grin is turned on the other Harper as Kaed gestures with the wine flagon, as long as he's still holding it. "Maybe the girl had a sudden bout of indigestion," he says to Jaskar before settling in with his own cup of wine again. "Me, I'd be happy just being in a nice, stable position. Know who I am, and who those around me are. I'm with the blonde on the weyrleader thing, though. I mean, even when things go right, they're a mess." Jaskar has probably had just enough to drink that he's willing to push Ceawlin. "Everyone wants to hear you sing," he says, in reply. "Or they would, if they knew what to expect." He extends his cup for refilling, and continues without much of a break for breath. "Maybe she did. Crazy girl, that one. Ambitious. Her parents were Weyrleaders here, of course. Makes a difference. I wouldn't want to be Weyrleader, either. But I didn't accept Search, eh. You a local, then?" He's eyeing Kaeden, curiously. Ceawlin's fingers tighten on the glass, and it's really only Kaeden who keeps the candidate from decking Jaskar right then and there. "People can want all they want, it isn't going to happen." It's possible that Ceawlin has some alcohol running through his blood as well, if his flushed cheeks are any indication. "I didn't ask to Stand to try for weyrleader," he mutters, icy blue eyes firmly on Kaeden, "I'm after becoming a harper master." Or, the harpermaster of Pern, if he has any say. Kaeden lifts a hand briefly to wave to a small crowd of younger folk heading into the wintery night or deeper into the Weyr, then nods once to Jaskar. "From the Hold," he answers before taking another sip of wine. "Work on the docks. Had a couple crates that needed to get here without their innards smashed to bits, so..." He trails off and gives the Harper a wink. "I escorted them here, then figured I'd stick around for this fancy party. Maybe get to slow-dance a few times, if you get my drift. The Weyr sure is different. Shells," he adds with a short laugh, "if my mum'd seen one of those weyrwomen all cozy with some chick, she'd be packing for Fort or Telgar. Me, though? I kinda like it. Might drink enough wine tonight to make sure I need to spend another night or two. Headaches are bad for riding runners, right?" He takes another sip, just to make sure, then points at Ceawlin in a "shooting" sort of motion. "Hey, it's good to have a plan." Oh-ho. Jasker picks up on that: "You asked to Stand. And yet you want to be a harper master. That takes balls, kids." Balls, his expression suggests, but probably not brains. He's more interested still in Kaeden, acknowledging that explanation with a low bob of his head, one that is followed quickly by a laugh. "Weyr-women can be pretty different to hold-women, that's for sure. You should hang around for more than a few days-- I can guarantee things'll be worth watching, one way or another. Anyway, travelling in winter? There are bound to be delays. You could stay until spring. Find a pretty girl to slow-dance with for a while." "Might as well play all avenues, right?" Ceawlin answers, sly. "Besides, I need more work for my projects, and nothing sells quite like Hatching Sands songs." Rhyme and reason, my friends. Kaeden's historical explanation earns some of the harper's attention, but when there's a lull in the conversation, he adds, "Stick around; there's bound to be more interesting things happening." More interesting than the weyrwomen getting it cozy with another woman, that is. To the dock worker's comment of plans, "Well spoken, friend." It comes with the toast of his cup, which conveniently needs another refill. "All very true," Kaeden reflects with mock solemnity before giving Jaskar a grin. "With all that wind and snow, well... the more slow dancing, the better. Keeps a man warm at night. Faranth knows I can't get away with it at Hold, what with my mum checking in every sharding night." Yes, his life is that hard. He returns Ceawlin's raised cup and takes a long drink before going ahead and topping up any cups that might need it. He then hooks a chair over with his toe and finally takes a seat, apparently done with the dancing idea, at least for the time being. "More interesting, you say. Like finding out what's finally going to shake down with the leadership and stuff?" "Poor man," chortles Jaskar. "It's definitely time for you to move on and out, then. You're no Apprentice-- I mean candidate! -- like Ceawlin, here. You ought to have plenty of time and space for your lady friends." Sipping at his wine, he lets out a long, low, contented sigh. "Current events, they're pretty much the perfect thing for a Harper, don't you think?" He's asking Ceawlin, in part, though his gaze remains on Kaeden. "Whoever heard of two Weyrwomen, two Weyrleaders. Two brownriding Weyrleaders at that. I wouldn't be posted anywhere else for the world, that's for certain. Brieli made K'del prettttttty unhappy, earlier. I wonder why." "A toast to that," Ceawlin says, for the first time looking favorably on Jaskar. "I wouldn't be anywhere else in Pern at all," he comments, looking to both Kaeden and his fellow harper, "It definitely delivers here." Cold eyes narrow on Jaskar, careful words following, "Did she now? I wonder what that was all about." With that thought ruminating, he lifts his freshly filled cup once more. "I'm off. Gotta mingle." Or slip away and see what else he can find out. "Enjoy the party." One squirrely eyed look to Jaskar, "And shut your trap about me singing." Though words are woven of dry humor, a lasting threat forms the bedrock of the tone of his tenor. Then? He's moving off, blending in, being nosy. Exiting, stage left. "A toast to that," Ceawlin says, for the first time looking favorably on Jaskar. "I wouldn't be anywhere else in Pern at all," he comments, looking to both Kaeden and his fellow harper, "It definitely delivers here." Cold eyes narrow on Jaskar, careful words following, "Did she now? I wonder what that was all about." With that thought ruminating, he lifts his freshly filled cup once more. "I'm off. Gotta mingle." Or slip away and see what else he can find out. "Enjoy the party." One squirrely eyed look to Jaskar, "And shut your trap about me singing." Though words are woven of dry humor, a lasting threat forms the bedrock of the tone of his tenor. Then? He's moving off, blending in, being nosy. Exiting, stage left. "No, that's just it," Kaeden explains to Jaskar, laughing, "I haven't lived with my folks since I was fourteen. She just stalks me, man. It's maddening." He pauses to tip a casual salute to Ceawlin as the candidate-Harper makes his leave, at which point it's possible he's spotted a potential dance partner. "Um... I think I might see about making some of those lady friends," he informs Jaskar, voice dropping as his smile goes crooked once more. The last of his cup is drained and set safely aside. "Thanks for the chat. I'm Kaeden, by the way." The young man gets to his feet, stretches surreptitiously, then winks at the remaining Harpers. "And thank you all for a lovely night," he says in parting before heading into the thinning crowd to see about some dancing stamina. "Jaskar," says the Harper, with a salute-- one that follows both young men as they depart. He smirks. Again. And all the costumes! PeregrinePeregrine looks to be in her low to mid teens, though it's hard to place her age more exactly than that. Her blond hair is thick and long, and is held together in braid intwined with a blue ribbon that ends at the small of her back. She is wearing a dress that could have been handed down from her grandmother due to the severe and outdated style. The lace collar is all the way to her throat and the dress itself has little embellishments except a little bit of lace at the end of the sleeves and hem. The hem ends below her ankles so all you can see of Peregrine's feet are the bottom part and tip of her shoes. Her apprentice knot is in the colors of both the glasscraft and her posting, High Reaches Weyr. AzayliaStrapping. At a height of 5'9", Azaylia manages to stave off angular awkwardness with solidity. Bronze complexion is rounded just about everywhere, muscled limbs aiding in the fact that she's robust rather than overfed. Black hair is slowly recovering its length, typically worn in dual buns, though wavy locks often escape to frame her face. Beneath thick brows, doe eyes dominate her visage, brown gaze revealing a notably gentle nature. Rosy lips are shadowed by a slim nose, straight bridge coming to point. Her physique still carries obviously feminine curves; a delicate flower within the body of an amazon. Fearsome regalia has claimed her, transformation a mix of the savage and the sensual. Corset's grip is possessive, tawny leather shaping femininity into something even more enticing. Bronze flesh peeks through shimmering gilded lace, embroidered sleeves trailing well past her wrists as opulent, though ragged, sails. A wild menagerie of dark umber and brighter metallic hues make up a layered skirt that comes to a jagged, uneven end near her ankles. Visage is framed by pale fangs, cheeks painted a similar ashen gold as mask's proud headknobs sweep back into riled black curls. Eyelids flash brilliant blue and green with each blink, hints of purple whorling in jeweled, festive fashion through the masquerade's gaze. A long necklace carries sizable oval stones, veined turquoise and marble quartz reminiscent of eggs. BrieliLong chestnut hair is worn in a high knot atop this young woman's head, tendrils escaping in easy curls that gently frame her heart-shaped face, along with the shiny silvery mask she wears. It covers only the upper half of her face, etched with a starburst pattern and topped with a silver of the moon, rather like a crown... or horns. The brown of her tresses also lightly warms tan skin and colors long-lashed dark chocolate eyes. Cupid's-bow lips curve into a smile often and easily, if sometimes enigmatically. Tall and slender, she has the lean lines and long toughened fingers of someone accustomed to working with her hands. For the occasion, she wears a floaty floor-length column of a strapless silver dress to accent her height and warm tones of her skin, accented with shiny beading at the waist, much like this: K'delK'del is BLUE. Blue clothes, blue gloves, blue boots. His hair is blue, too, and his face has been painted: he looks downright creepy. TaikrinThere is something perpetually sullen about the set of this young women's pale face, an impression that lingers regardless of her actual expression. Perhaps it is the lips, thin and with a naturally downward cast. Perhaps it is the eyes, slightly narrowed, in an inexpressive shade of flat brown. It could be in the way overly thick brown brows meet, pointing together harshly over an otherwise unremarkable nose. Her haircut certainly contributes: the dark brown stands have been sheared short rather severely in a boy-cut that's no longer than a few inches. Most tellingly, however, are the lines of scars -- some pink, and some long-healed white -- that trace over her work-hardened hands and lower arms, and even a few across her right cheek and into her hairline. Here stands a coal miner, albeit the most well-dressed coal miner Pern has ever seen. Her pants are not sackcloth but well-textured black leather bearing thick grey stitches. The black leather jacket that goes with it is also heavily grained and obviously stitched, but beyond that the dimensions have clearly been padded out. There's no way a woman of Taikrin's build could have shoulders that broad, or arms that hefty, or such a decidedly unfemininly broad chest. It's not cartoonish, but the difference in physique is marked. On her face, Taikrin's black leather domino mask calls to mind smudges of coal dust in its irregular shape across her forehead and cheeks. To complete the costume, she has a blunted pick-axe hung from a loop on her belt, next to which is a pouch filled with glows-- and a flask nestled amongst them. On her shoulder, Taikrin wears the complex knot of a wingleader at High Reaches Weyr, threaded with a ribbon of pale brown. She also wears the badge of Glacier wing. H'konThe early onset of grey has been most successful in the man's short beard; his more youthful browns still manage to claim the bulk of short-cut hair, except just above a forehead wont to show furrows. Green eyes are softened by the beginnings of crows' feet at their corners, but still stand out against pale skin and a simple, straight nose. His are the callused and scarred hands of a worker, though the marks of punctures, scrapes and cuts are only well visible on the rare occasions when they're held still. He stands shorter than most men, with toned, if not overly broad, shoulders held back in a strict, though not strictly proud, posture. A heavy, corded sweater, with a good, high, turtle-neck, is maybe a little bit too big for the brownrider's arms, though it seems to fit him through shoulders and chest. Rolling of sleeves, of course, fixes that. Otherwise, basic brown pats with ample pockets, and a warm pair of boots, keep him ready for a High Reaches winter. Or, you know, a wet fishing boat. Whatever. MadillaSoft, comfortable, cozy: these are all adjectives that might be used to describe Madilla, whose taller-than-average frame is gently padded in a pleasing way. She wears her curly, red-brown hair cut to shoulder-length, though it's usually pulled away from her pale, oval face. More 'interesting' than outright pretty, her nose is too large and wide for beauty, and her lips too oddly quirked; still, her pale green eyes are full of life, and there are few who'd call her outright unattractive. Tonight, the healer is dressed in the kind of dress most eight-turn-olds would love to wear: pale pink and frilly, with little cap sleeves and a big sash tied at the back. Her hair is in pigtails, one on either side of her head, and she has tiny little lace gloves on her hands. Her shoes are black and shiny, with no heel. BarnabasA mess of hair and ink, the grungy man stands at a tall 6'4. Unkempt brown hair hangs down past his shoulders in a wavy mess, framing and in part overlapping the edges of his face. Brow is heavily pronounced over sunken, burnt umber eyes, casting a shadow across them in all but the harshest of light. Bushy and uneven facial hair covers his mouth, chin, and upper lip. Broad shoulders slouch, rarely supporting his head up to the full potential of his height. Thick arms are worked to size by hard labor, painted with all manner of grimly themed and scar stained tattoos. Chest is burly down to tapered waist, broadening out again to dense thighs that carry him in his casual yet unsettling shuffle. With a shirt worn and tattered by design, one sleeve is stuffed full to create the illusion of one mishapenly oversized arm. For contrast, the other is stripped entirely from the shirt, leaving his arm bare. Bare however is subjective, as the inked arm is slathered in brown and black body paints, dark lines drawn in along the curves of his muscle to exaggerate it. His face and hair are painted too, the same dusky brown with tinges of black, creating deeper lines in his face. Around his mouth, sharp white teeth are painted to dwarf even his own horrible smile. Dragon? No, watch-wher. WakizianBroad of shoulder, and strong of jaw, this young man of about 17 turns, 5 months, 14 days old still has traces of baby fat clinging to his otherwise muscular form. He stands about five foot, ten inches tall and besides his rather remarkable bone structure, he's just another face in a crowd. Dusky tan skin covers his frame, topped by straight, dark chestnut locks. Though a few shorter locks flop haphazardly from the top of his broad brow, most of his hair is contained by a tan thong as it hangs down his back to reach the bottoms of his shoulder blades. Arched brows peak over evenly-set warm brown eyes. His nose is proportionate, though slightly aquiline. Thin but shapely pale pink lips almost always seem to wear the ghost of a smile, and a slight crinkle in his cheeks suggest hidden dimples. Long hair is for once not contained in its usual leather thong but left to hang straightly down around his shoulders. In the tradition of males without a masquerade plan everywhere, it seems that a female friend might be missing a dress in Waki's size. It's eye-catching red and made of a simple crinkle cotton. The shoulders of the dress sit on his upper arm and the dress extends down past his knees. Over the top was borrowed a lace-up yellow bodice with baby blue flowers. The bodice is actually quite pretty and appropriately stuffed to give him the curves he naturally lacks. On his feet are a pair of men's brown boots. Apparently there weren't any pretty dancing slippers in his size! On his face is a plain black half-mask. All he's missing is the boots and the lipstick! |
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