Logs:Roszadyth and Lythronath's Clutching Feast
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| RL Date: 2 October, 2015 |
| Who: Alida, Drex, Farideh, Faryn, Jo, Jocelyn, K'del, Quinlys, Quint, Rategar |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: The party to celebrate the clutching~ |
| Where: Living Caverns, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 22, Month 12, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| Late evening finds the clutching party well underway; with much of the day to prepare, it's a well-planned feast, with harpers on hand for music, and plenty to eat and drink as well. A number of the tables have been moved off to the side to allow room to mingle throughout the middle of the room, though for the moment, people seem to be inclined to cluster: off to one side here and there, sipping at drinks or tapping their toes to the lively tunes on offer. "They're both lovely clutches," is K'del's repeated phrase of the evening, repeated because everyone-- it seems-- is inclined to compare the two, or perhaps try and get him to say something about the superiority of Cadejoth's eggs. For the moment, his smile is largely genuine enough, though he does take regular sips from his drink as he circulates, pausing to obtain a refill more than once. "Yes, twenty-eight eggs between the two. it should be a fine group of weyrlings, I'm sure." Several of the headwomen are visible from time to time through the entrances to the kitchen and the inner caverns; Jocelyn, like her other colleagues on duty this evening, has been in and out of the gathering since it began. Wending her way through the people milling about with their drinks, she pauses at the far end of the room to lean up onto her toes and briefly count heads and serving trays before starting back across the cavern. "Weyrleader, " is her greeting in passing for K'del with a brief nod as she draws near enough to be heard, even if most of her attention seems to be on the ebb and flow of kitchen staff supplying the refreshments. "Jocelyn," is K'del's reply; if anything, he sounds vaguely relieved to turn his attention towards her, as if she might prove an escape from the barrage of... others. "You've all down a wonderful job-- hope people've mentioned as much. It's nice to see." He clutches his glass a little closer to his chest, ignoring a glance aimed his way by a group of former Avalanche wingmates. She's not usually the type to do more than duck into the Galleries for a peek whenever there's eggs on the Sands, but this round, Alida remained - a near-silent observer - on her stony seat for nearly an hour. But now, done studying the new additions that Roszadyth's left on the sands, the blonde's made her way through the sometimes complex tunnels leading from Grounds to the lower cavern, in search of some sustenance and a few drinky-'snacks.' Keeping towards the periphery until that becomes impossible, the bluerider weaves her way through the gathering throng, doing her best to avoid touching anyone. At this point, she can't see clearly...her path an indirect course more-or-less towards K'del and Jocelyn. Perhaps that note of relief pulls Jocelyn's focus back from the event staff to K'del; in any case, she turns slightly, the better to observe his protectiveness over that glass. Praise is always pleasing, so her, "Thank you, " is decidedly gracious, a shade warmer than her usual brusqueness. "I would have betted on there being thirty total, if I were the betting sort. Roszadyth certainly did well." She side-steps a moment to allow a server to pass, exchanging a brief word with him and a gesture toward a corner where some glasses look to be running low enough to warrant refills. "She did," is firm, and without hesitation. "It was the longer flight, I understand... I would have thought they'd be equal, though thirteen is nothing to sneeze at." Of course, twenty-eight in total is still more than perhaps the Weyr has planned for; K'del's expression looks, just briefly, troubled. Still, tonight is a celebration, and even catching sight of Alida over Jocelyn's shoulder doesn't diminish that. More firmly, "A good clutch. Have you seen Farideh? I'll have to congratulate her." It's those glasses of wine that Alida's making a beeline for, the woman only infrequently choosing to indulge that partiular facet of her alcohol-based palate, given her tastes. Doing the dodge-and-weave mostly-successfully - with a few "Pardons" tossed in when moving limbs cannot help connecting - the bluie finds herself glancing up at the tall Weyrleader, then peripherally noting Jocelyn. Where her expression was merely uncomplicated and vaguely eager before, now it's shifting to utterly remote politeness, as the woman's forced to hold still for some moments given a shift in the crowd that doesn't allow her to proceed. Stiff as a ramrod, her back straightens, and an almost militarily-correct salute is fired off to the bronzerider, along with her clipped, hard-accented alto, "Weyrleader." If Jocelyn's wearing her knot, she'll get an equally-stiff, "Ma'am." If not, there's simply a bob of braided head for her. "It'll be a big class to supervise, " and Jocelyn states the obvious, pale gaze roving from time to time as she continues to keep an eye on the number in attendance. "Farideh? Not yet, no. If you find her before I do, could you pass mine along as well?" Rarely without her knot while she's on duty, there's a nod for Alida's greeting and a brief, "Good evening, " in exchange. "Make sure you try one of the little spicy-sweet pastries when they bring those out, " to them both. To Ilicaeth, Cadejoth's thoughts are of the sands and the eggs, his and theirs, the ones that aren't his but still belong to the great pack that is Cadejoth's. And yet, they reach out, too: a tendril of thoughtful chain and a wondering, « Should she Stand again? » Jocelyn, her face vivid in his thoughts. « He thinks she has before. What do you think? » "Bluerider," is even, avoiding any particular emotion, positive or negative, though it's not exactly difficult to see that K'del takes no pleasure in Alida's presence. Turning back to Jocelyn, he offers a more enthusiastic nod. "Will do. 'course, she may not take it all that well coming from me, but... you know how things are." That mercurial relationship is no secret. Of the pastries, he can only nod, raising his glass in half toast to the possibility. What; she's not been 'outed' to Jocelyn, already? The assistant Headwoman's basic decency might be a tad surprising to Alida, but she rolls with it, the bluerider nodding once to the word of those pastries, and then even managing to make a hint of small-talk with her, "What's in 'em?" There's an honest, if very small, hint of curiosity in the inquiry: she'll be eating the food, after all. And then K'del's answering just as politely, and...for once, nothing else happens between the two stiff and apparently 'not-terribly happy to meet up with one another' riders...Alida merely appearing to look through the man before she flicks her gaze back to Jocelyn. The bullwark of the crowd nearby is slowly breaking up, and for a second, green eyes take in the upcoming means of egress with something like forlorn hope. Unlike his rider, Ilicaeth's pretty laid back most times, and has nothing against Cadejoth, though their riders' relationship is quite stormy. And so, it's with a certain lazy curiosity that the blue's gritty sands swirl around first the memory of all those eggs, then to the image of Jocelyn, then back to the bronze. Hmm...chuff. For a long moment, he 'uses' Alida's eyes to peer at the assistant Headwoman while sussing her out in the way that only dragons have. Rumble. « Could be somethin' there. » He's not a huge 'Search' type guy, but still... « Sure ain't gonna hurt anything... » Unless the other Headwomen can't do without her? There's a sudden image of human arms and legs emerging from a boiling cloud of dust and dirt, with lots of colorful expletives in female voices emerging from it. Hehehehe. (To Cadejoth from Ilicaeth) To Ilicaeth, Cadejoth sends back an image of Jocelyn managing the candidates from within the candidates, which is evidently something that amuses his rider; wouldn't that be funny? Perhaps not as funny as Ilicaeth's suggestion, mind, but still. « Will she accept, though. Does yours want to do some asking? Or will I make K'del do it? » Poor K'del. « And more to the point... will our riders be able to stand each other long enough not to make a mess of it? » Riders. Jocelyn purses her lips in reply. "She may not, " is acknowledged dryly almost as an afterthought, a distracted frown creasing at her brow as she aims a pointed look at a server who's being a little too chatty several people away - never mind that she can only see the back of the girl's head. With a sniff, "Nothing healthy, so they're too delicious, " for Alida's inquiry on the pastries' ingredients. The redhead is slightly more affable this evening than her customary self, likely mollified from accepting the occasional compliment here and there to pass on from some attendees. There's a low rumbling chuckle for that 'internal managing' image, Ilicaeth enjoying the humor, and noting back to his grandsire, « Oughta' Search 'er just *for* that reason, alone. » Hahahaha. There *is* that problem of their antagonistic riders, of course...so count on Ilicaeth to stir the pot further with his baritone scour-rasp of, « Make both uv' 'em do it. » Hahahaha! (To Cadejoth from Ilicaeth) "Pastries," says K'del, contentedly, which is, perhaps, a far more fun thing to think about than Farideh's reaction to his well-wishes, however genuine, or even Alida's presence at all. Still; he's playing nice. Even if... it does seem to be drawing the conversation to a stand-still. His mouth opens-- then he glances at Alida, watchful and abruptly displeased. Perhaps... less nice. Poor Jocelyn, caught between opposite polarities, though she likely doesn't even notice it, right now, given her looking at the back of another staff's head. If K'del's cheesed at Alida's polite 'lingering,' then she'll have the lack of common decency to let her clear green eyes 'smirk' up into his baby blues, though her face remains utterly flat. Flicking them to the assistant Headwoman again, her alto notes with the faintest hint of a purr, "I'll be sure ta try a few, then." Is she *still* lingering? The woman does seem to be oggling the space opening up in the crowd not far away...even shifting her form subtly in that direction. To Ilicaeth, Cadejoth, irritated. « He doesn't want to do anything in front of your rider. » What is wrong with K'del? Cadejoth's chains rattle in frustration. « Make yours start. » Sometime while the festivities are well under way, the stablehands slip into the living cavern. Amongst them is Rategar, bigger and taller above the lot as he meanders along towards where the drinks are served. He passes a few lingering comments to those flanking him - likely something ribald if the laughter that follows is any indication. Hmm, let's see... Give him all of 5 seconds trying to prompt his rider, and Ilicaeth returns his focus to Cadejoth with a mix of foul humor and vague irritation. « She's locked up tighter 'n a Lady Holder before 'er wedding. » Stupid humans and their egos. There's an image of K'del and Alida somehow slamming heads into one another, and nothing but rock chips falling off. (To Cadejoth from Ilicaeth) Affability steadily declining the longer that server stands around talking enthusiastically with her almost-empty tray, Jocelyn's expression is probably sharp enough to cut the tension in her immediate vicinity, never mind that it's still directed at someone under her supervision. "Let us know how you like them. Enjoy the party, sir, bluerider, " and the headwoman's assistant stalks off to motion the chatty girl back toward the kitchen, firmly following her out once they've separated from the guests while exchanging low words. And then their quarry? She leaves. Cadejoth's chains tangle up within themselves and then: « One day, we will make our riders work together. » Maybe. (Probably not). (To Ilicaeth from Cadejoth) The Harpers have been strumming tunes suitable to the lively conversation during the hatching feast, and there's a brief pause in the music as there's a changing of players. Quint passes his gitar off to a harper apprentice, and there's a brief exchanging of words before the music starts up again, something slightly faster paced and suitable to dancing. The Journeyman harper stands nearby for a short time, tapping his fingers to the rhythm, nodding as if pleased, before striding towards the drinks table, taking note of who he passes with an easy smile and occasional greeting. Yeah...no. Maybe? Though he's a little hopeful, Ilicaeth knows just how stubborn Alida can be, the blue having already endured a mental tongue-lashing for even having dared to suggest that she and K'del share a common goal for 10 seconds: getting Jocelyn under their dragons' nabby 'claws.' « Dammit. » Missed 'er. (To Cadejoth from Ilicaeth) « Next time. » Cadejoth's determined. (To Ilicaeth from Cadejoth) « If nobody else gets 'er, one uv us will. » After all, it's *dragons* who Search. Their riders merely make things 'formal.' Heh. Still, "he'd" really like to see their riders tossed in together like this, again. (To Cadejoth from Ilicaeth) Although Quinlys has not been quiet about her dismay at the combined count of the two clutches, it hasn't prevented her from enjoying the evening at hand; she's got a glass in each hand, and has been sitting up on one of the tables, swinging her legs cheerfully as she calls out greetings to this person or that. Her cheeks are pink; she's clearly had one or two already. The convict riders have snagged a table not too far from the drinks table as well. With Jo amongst them, the crew are well into their cups and pitting jokes with some of the Glacier riders in the process - along with loud betting calls on the clutches. It's lively in that area despite the Snowdrift wingsecond being more on the subdued side, nursing a cup of something and lost in talks with Canie - one of her new wingmates. With Jocelyn departing (with a small bob of Alida's head in response) to likely put that other, slacking-off Staffer's head into a pillary, the ex-guard's left to squarely stare into K'del's face and smirk only with her chilly eyes. You can damn-well bet she knows what their dragons are up to, out there, and also that she's a unbending as a mountain. And then there's the call of that wine, and the special food, and it finally usurps her pleasure in so-intimately viewing her cheesed-off Weyrleader, the bluerider finally taking note of Jo as well...and finally moving off towards her fellow Wingriders. And if she doesn't say a single word of farewell to K'del? Maybe "everybody's" much better off. K'del, too, takes one last look at Alida, and then turns to walk the other way. It's better for everyone, truly. Besides... he's got a wine glass to refill, and yes, another round of, "Yes, lovely clutch," to exchange with another well-meaning group. The Weyr stablehands are taking over the drinks table - at least for a little while as they fill their own cups and natter over the bottles. Rat, having gotten a whole bottle to himself along with a filled cup, moves off to the side to let them cluck it out. He seems more interested in people-watching, catching the change of musicians along with seeming to be in search for someone in particular. If any pretty ladies happen to walk by him, well, they're getting his sole but brief attention, too. Even one of the 'hands manages to point out the Weyrleader to him - since he's still new and all. Quint, somewhat behind Rategar and his companions as he waits for his turn at the drinks table, seems cheered for what he can hear of the group's ribald conversation. He leans forward, "I hadn't known that was physically possible," is said with somewhat of surprise and, daresay, admiring demeanor. It's perhaps, intended as a distraction, since moments after he speaks he leans forward to secure himself a glass, immediately wetting his throat. "Though, one ought to get checked out by the healers, surely," is amended, smoothly enough. "Ah, Weyrleader. Please," he half turns to greet K'del effusively, gesturing towards the table as if to invite him to push in. Plainly, K'del has utterly missed the ribaldry of the stablehands behind him, as focused as he is on making his way to the drinks unmolested by well-wishers. It's Quint's use of his title that actually interrupts his reverie; blue eyes slide away from the goal and towards the harper, a polite smile set in place as he takes another step forward-- and then pauses. "Harper-- newly posted, then? Welcome to High Reaches. Thank you." He reaches for the nearest wine bottle, carefully refilling his glass (but not too much; appearances). "He's lying," Rat tells Quint of those exploits in his Bitran accent, still putting himself in the conversation even though he was apart from the other stablehands. "He tells that story to everyone that will listen. The healers'll figure it out once they check him." He briefly raises his cup before drinking; he gets a look from the 'hand in question before a handwave of dismissal. He doesn't look offended. "Quintus," the Harper supplies to the Weyrleader, smoothly, as he steps somewhat to the side. "And yes. Now that I've settled in somewhat, I'll be sure to make an appointment to come and speak with you." With a hand pressed across his middle, and not-quite-completed bow, he steps somewhat to the side, out of the way of other patrons attempting to secure a drink, closer to where Rategar is. Easy grin lights the Harper's features at the admission. "Rather suspected," he murmurs in turn. His glass tips, in turn, toasting the stablehand silently, though this time the sip he takes is minimal at best. "Bitran, is it?" "Quintus," repeats K'del, with a nod. "Look forward to it. Enjoy the party." He will slide off to the side, ending up caught in another conversation, with another group of people, to whom he listens with obvious mild boredom. Nodding to the Weyrleader briefly since he's passing by, "Bitran," Rat confirms to the harper with a single nod. "Haven't been in this Weyr all that long. Was that you playing up there just now?" The rest of the 'hands clear from the drinks table now, floating close to Rategar and keeping up their banter. "Could be worse," Quinlys says, tipsily, calling across the room at someone from her perch atop one of the tables. "Could be thirty. Or forty! Shells. Shells." She's finished one of her drinks, but still holds the glass; the other is in progress. What the Harper thinks of Rategar being Bitran isn't obvious, since Quint's expression doesn't change. With an easy nod, "Nor have I, so we're both at a similar disadvantage," he replies smoothly, taking note of the other stablehands that follow near to the Bitran. "We all take turns -- to allow everyone a chance to mingle. I'll take another set before the night's out." The Weyrlingmaster's tipsy call earns a look and an easy smile from the Harper, but it doesn't linger. The convict riders towards the back erupt with loud laughter over something. M'ron is seen slapping the table and calling out, "Deal!" towards a wingrider while Jo remains in a seemingly casual conference with Canie. She continues to nurse her drink while the Snowdrift wingrider uses her hands to explain something to her in return. Having nabbed a full glass of wine and a good-sized platter of delicious foodstuffs, Alida can be seen circulating with those she knows well: Glacier and Jo, pretty much. Though she's not an active conversationalist like so many others, the palest-blonde woman still grunts, nods, offers the occasional bon-mots when she feels the urge. She's already shrugging off her former meeting with the Weyrleader, and enjoying the party while she can. Quinlys' calls get Rat's attention - well, her body, more than likely. "You live here?" he asks of Quint as his gaze lingers on the bluerider. "Or assigned here? Whatever they call it. Not much of a disadvantage, though, I seem to be rubbing all the women wrong since being here. I've always considered myself having a winsome personality, so, you can imagine how my poor ego's taking it." He nods on the shifts taken, finally looking towards the stage as he says, "Perhaps you'll grab some tail for the dancefloor before it's your turn, mate." Faryn's appearance is unobtrusive when she finally shows face. She's in the company of a journeyman crafter, though their company seems strictly professional, given she's towing along a book and a mark pouch, from which she pulls a fair quantity and passes on. "I told you to go lower in an Interval," is all she says of his payout as she pockets the pouch and turns away. Her headway is direct, towards flowing wine and free food, though she does seem to be taking in familiar faces on the way, a bit more thoroughly still when she can stop long enough to fill a glass. "Both, technically -- for the length of my posting, at any rate," Quintus supplies easily to Rategar. If he's taken aback by the stablehand's phrasing or particular choice of words, he bears it well enough. "Truly, the women I've met so far are... strong-minded, wary, intriguing," with a slight emphasis, as if the last far outweighs the first two. His easy chuckle is for Rategar's self assessment of his ego. "Perhaps," he allows, with neutral non-commitment, "And perhaps you should, also. Even a tempestuous woman rather enjoys a good turn about the dance floor, more often than not, or so I've found." Another small sip of his glass is taken as the Harper surveys those nearby. K'del presses his lips together, attempting to smile as yet another person engages him in quiet conversation-- clearly, it's not going well. And his wine? It's disappearing fast. Despite being in conference, Jo does look up in time to find Alida nearby. She raises her cup to the bluerider with a nod, a lopsided grin petering out along with a brief, "Are ya gonna guard this place or sit, woman?" Surely there's room at the table, especially with Sybile vacating her spot for the drinks table. Better late than never, right? Fashionably late, even better. Dressed in a fine dark blue frock with all the trimmings, Farideh enters the celebration late, with sailor in tow. She does look a little pale, if those rumors going around the lower caverns the past few hours have any truth to them. "Do I look alright? Do I look--" the goldrider whispers, much too loudly, to Drex, all the while smoothing down her hair. Remarkably, Drex is wearing what looks like both new and particularly fancy (at least for him), shirt and pants, likely as not due to the goldrider at his side. His discomfort is obvious in the way he itches and scratches at his clothing, in between shooting worried glances at Farideh. "You look--" he's mindful enough to catch his initial response, grimacing. "Ought to be in bed still. There'll be other times." Because clutching parties happen so often, right? Nodding, "And how do you like it here so far?" Rat has to ask, despite him continuing to watch and search. He spots Faryn's familiar face easily enough, and if she looks his way, there's a wink just for her. "Intriguing is one way of putting it," he remarks on the women, doing his fare share of watching them. On the idea of grabbing a lady to dance with, "There's a few unkind ones I wouldn't mind asking," he admits with amusement. Quint's response to Rategar is both Harperly and particularly uninformative at the same time: "It is both like, and unlike, many other places." A moment of consideration, before he asks in turn: "And you?" The stablehand's latter words earns an easy laugh from the Harper. "Start with a gallant bow," is the Harper's sage advice. Her glass of wine mostly gone, Alida mutters something to Jo, the blonde then moving off back towards the booze table with smooth, almost feline-like grace...eating as she goes. Along her meandering path between gathered bodies, the bluerider catches alert glimpses of various folks, the towering forms of Rategar and Quint easily eyeballed above much of the rest... while Faryn, Drex, Farideh are likewise soon enough made out by cool green eyes. With Alida muttering and moving off, Jo turns her gaze over towards Farideh's arrival with Drex. Her study lingers the most on the latter as she talks to Canie, seeming to take in his demeanor before it returns to the former. Even Faryn gets her study, the assistant well engaged to likely notice the study. She drains her cup. Rat considers the harper for his answer, his face drawing a momentary blank before he hitches up his lower lip with an acknowledging nod. To answer in return, "It's not Bitra," he says archly. "Weyrs are new to me. It's different. Unpredictable. If I end up getting kicked in the head for bowing, I'm blaming you." Just so Quint knows. |
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