====October 17, 2013
====Aife, Bailey, Br'er, Cerise, Donatien, El'ai, G'deon, Hannah, Jesha, Kaia, Kyara, Lendai, Mailli, Maosa, Prymelia, Q'fex, S'yn, tasna, Th'seus, T'ral, Yules
====Of course there's a party after the hatching. It's tradition!

Who Aife, Bailey, Br'er, Cerise, Donatien, El'ai, G'deon, Hannah, Jesha, Kaia, Kyara, Lendai, Mailli, Maosa, Prymelia, Q'fex, S'yn, tasna, Th'seus, T'ral, Yules
What Of course there's a party after the hatching! It's tradition!
When Summer, 11 months and 15 days until the 12th Pass
Where Living Caverns, Southern Weyr

Aife13.jpg el-ai_default.jpg Gid01.jpg hannah_fire_dance.png Tas01.jpg smile2.jpg t-ral.jpg


Living Caverns

Grand and spacious, the cavern curves high aloft in naturally-vaulted ceiling that soothes any sense of claustrophiba. Rich woods line the cavern floor, varnished and stained a rich mahogany, while round tables scatter about candlelit and intimate. The largest table lies southerly next the sideboard, long trestles that seem oriented to providing for the weyr's youngest. The rich blue of Azov can be seen from a distance in good weather, when the heavy stone doors covering the entrance are allowed to stand open.

Tasena is emphatically NOT on duty. The sideshow in the galleries was totally her own gig, and now that it's up, she seems intent on draining the last drops from the remaining wineskins, while she disappears momentarily to deposit her bags somewhere safe. If she stops by the Harpers' area to make sure they're all set, well… it's just habit. Or maybe she's making a special request.

"Hooo. If I don' get a cold drink I'mma literally start turning into a pile of dust right here, right now." As Jesha passes a Harper 1/3 her age, she nudges the poor man with the point of her elbow and, as an aside, in a stage whisper, "Sexiest dang pile of dust y'ever seen."

So how does Southern party? Kyara is curious…but also cautious as she enters the Living Cavern she's been in only once before. Not her turf, this - but still, a party is a party, and she'll get into it eventually. Once she's done being shy. She's hiding it pretty well, though. With easy strides, she crosses the room, intent on reaching something cold to drink, herself. Because it's sharding hot here. And it's winter where she is! Pulling a band from the pouch at her hip, she tucks her hair into a quick up-do before reaching the bar. That's better.

Mailli's hand has covered a yawn, and she's finding a place to sit. The dolphincrafter is already thinking about the things that need to be done, and she's now going to have to plot those numbers while hoping she doesn't miscalculate anything. So it's only with a start that she realizes she's almost stepped on someone's foot, "So sorry," she apologizes before correcting her course and making her way to a table to sit at.

With her wine, cups and marks safely stashed away, Tasena hits up the food and drink alacrity. With all those tasty finger foods and slow-cooked meat dishes available, there's a lot to choose from, but she doesn't waste time choosing. And so what if it's klah she chooses next? Party's only just starting, right? "To weyrlings!" she calls out to the nearest group of people while lifting her mug with a jaunty grin before finding herself a temporary chair.

Taking the cold mixed from a handy-dandy drudge, Jesha lifts it and it's confection of toothpick'd fruits to the air at Tasena's call. "The Weyrlings!" she echoes, then moves the glass to her mouth. Then moves it away and pokes at the gathering of pointy, pointy wood. "Ack pfth one went up m'nose."

It's way too damn early for dragons to have been hatching. But the eggs do what they want. So Th'seus is awake this early too and now in the living caverns, once the new weyrlings have been moved into the barracks. The bronzerider doesn't go for hard liquor, now it just some hot klah. Too bad Yulena's not going to be around to brew any of the good stuff for… well, apparently indefinitely. But what can you do?

It's party time, after a hatching, and Donatien knows how to bring the good stuff - a bottle of wine from his stash and a plate of cheeses in front of him. Sitting with his back against the wall, Dien watches the crowd contentedly, sipping at the glass of red in his hand. It's the sweet life. But not too sweet, with regards to the wine.

Leaning up against one of the tables, Th'seus doesn't bother to even take a seat. He just pushes his weight into place, leverages himself and drinks deeply from the large mug of klah. He spots Jesha across the way, poking herself in the nose with a toothpick or something. He lifts a hand to give her a tired (slightly amused) wave as he hides behind his drink.

Looking rather a lot less hastily put together than earlier, Prymelia emerges from the direction of the residential dorms sans the glowering ogre who having muttered a comment about a headache had chosen to stay behind. Just as well for no one really wants a party pooper about at a time like this. Smoothing a hand over emerald green fabric, the trader-woman heads toward a table of eats, suddenly famished.

Kyara hefts her own newly-acquired glass to the toast of the woman nearby, her own, "To the weyrlings!" voiced along with a few others before she takes a drink. Cold, fruity, and fairly strong to boot. Nice. The older brownrider standing not too far away gets a blink; what went up her nose? "Are you alright there, ma'am?" she ventures, though there's a hint of amusement to her tone.

Once the Harpers have been properly breakfasted and caffeinated, they begin tuning their various instruments. Or fine-tuning, really. Batches of them have been "on call" for the last day, after all. So what if it's morning! This is a party! After a few minutes, the senior-most Harper says a quiet word to the current quintet, and after a quick count, they dive into a happy little tune. It's not quite dancing music yet, but they'll get there.

Aife slips in from the infirmary, making a beeline for where she can get a drink. Any kind of drink, really. Her hair is tied back and for now she keeps out of the way as she also pokes around through the crowd towards where food can be found.

"Pff. Yeah. M'just dumb and got a stick up my nose." Jesha grins at Kyara, shifting her weight to first wave at Th'seus, then lean on her cane and tap a finger against its handle to the beat of the Harpering. Well, mostly. She's got no rhythm. :( "Thanks for askin' though, greenrider. You should get one of these. Once y'get past the protective spikes — guess it's worried 'bout predators — it's deliiiish."

Lendai has been around, intermingling and drinking klah spiked with some sort of booze. Caffeinated and alcoholic. It's a great morning! Smiles are given all around as she cheers and toasts the newest weyrlings. "Oh yes, yes. It was a lovely hatching, wasn't it? So many bronzes, can you imagine. Well, of course, Dhiammarath is related to Talicanitath, however distantly. I was expecting nothing but the best from someone of the same bloodline as my gold." It's almost as like Lendai's totally taking credit. But she's a little drunk, so. Shhhhh. On and on she moves, all the while chattering to some or avoiding others. Until she sees Th'seus. Walking right over to the bronzerider, she pulls her arm back, makes a fist, and PUNCHES with all her womanly strength at the man's arm. Cause she can reach that better than his shoulder. "So even though you are generally useless, your dragon did well as clutchfather. Congrats, you asstart." ALL SMILES.

Tasena gradually polishes off her plate of makeshift breakfast morsels and steps to the side to discretely stack her plate on top of another, already empty of everything but crumbs. Klah mug in hand, she wanders through the crowd, happily greeting those she knows while being politely pleasant to those she doesn't. There are only so many redheads in the Weyr, though, so having spotted one, she ends up angling toward Prymelia again. Poor girl is being stalked. Sorry about that. The bartender is distracted momentarily by Lendai's roughing up of Th'seus, but it is a momentary distraction. "Hey, uh… Prymelia?" Tas says a moment later, right behind the Trader. "Reeeeally quick word? Then I'll totally leave you alone, I promise."

Donatien's eyes totally aren't tracking a slender female figure, but he is … observing one slowly making her way through. A nibble of cheese, a sip of wine, but Dien stays seated, his eyes flicking to see the Weyrwoman punching the clutchpapa. It IS a great morning for alcohol, though, Dien can't disagree there. Ahem. Any port in a storm, any excuse in a celebration.

As sometimes happens at shindigs such as these, one of the local non-Harpers has brought his own gitar, and after a bit of quiet tuning off to the side, he pulls up a stool and joins right in with the real Harpers. The happy little tune is a familiar one, after all, and the more the merrier, even if some of the Harpers give him sideways glances for his boot-stomping time-keeping.

Between waving at Jesha over there, hiding behind his mug and noticing the entrance of his little sister, Aife (who he also gives a wave to), Th'seus completely misses Lendai coming up to him. He misses her winding up and punching him with ALL of her womanly strength. Except for the part where he actually feels the impact and jerks with surprise. Startled he twists so that he's facing her and looks surprised as well as generally confused. Smiling hesitantly, "Thanks." And then, perhaps he realizes she's started to become a little tipsy already. "Sorry. About that thing." You know. On the sands. That incident. Before the other thing collapsed. That he really shouldn't be apologizing for but he'll do it anyway.

Although Prymelia sends a faintly amused look in the direction of Lendai and Th'seus, the general tone of her expression carries a somewhat strained pattern to it. Just as she's taken up a plate and is reaching for a sausage wrapped in bacon, Tasena speaks up right behind her. Startled from introspection the tasty morsel is dropped, landing with a splash into the jug of redfruit nearby. Oops. Turning, "Oh. Hi, Tasena." A moment's pause and then a nod as the plate is set back down again. "Sure. What's up?"

"You're forgiven. I mean, it's really your fault anyway." Another sip of her spiked klah, the Weyrwoman settles back on her heels as she happily chatters on. "You asked to help, I heard talk about people coming to sneak onto the sands to fix it. I felt rushed. But it's all good. Hannah's okay, my hand is all better." She waves it all up in Th'seus's face. LOOK HOW MUCH BETTER IT IS. "And now I get to have a bon—uh. Oops!" Her hand she was waving all over the place is brought to her face, and a single finger is lifted in front of her face. "SHHHHH. Secret." Eyes shift right and eyes shift left. AHAHAHAHA. Drunk is fun.

While picking just a little bit of food on her small plate, Aife does turn in time to catch Th'seus's wave. There's a quirky smile for him and once she has her cup, lifting it towards him in a sort of toast will be her version of a return greeting as she moves from the tables and approaches Donatien. A few do stop her for a few words, the erstwhile healer nodding and smiling with a few words for them herself as she tries to move along with her hands full.

Kyara takes a good appraisal of the drink the brownrider has, nodding to both her answer and the look of the alcohol. "I just might, once I'm done with this one," she concedes. "Although, couldn't you just pull the sticks out? Or is that part of the charm?" She grins in turn, offering a hand to the woman. "Kyara, green Liareth's. Of Igen."

"Jesha, brown Sevareth's, from here by way of High Reaches," greets the thus-named. "Wait, hold up, I can totally hold this 'n shake your hand. Lemme see if I got this right." Step one, Jesha steps forward with her leg. Step two, she rests her cane against it. Three, she shifts her threatening drink to her other hand and then, four, administers greeting handshake. "Glad y'could come and watch. Good clutch. Great numbers. Hannah's always got a ton of bronzes. How's things going at Igen lately? Haven't had the chance to go stick m'nose in at all."

Tasena fishes out the sausage and, uh… leaves it on the table. It's someone else's job to actually remove it, right? Juice is fine. Juuuust fine. "Just… um." Tas glances at Pyrmelia, then away, then turns back to the trader and nods her head to the side, just stepping out of traffic. "I've been trying to put the pieces together," she explains quickly, fixing Prymelia with a look. "And I won't ask if you're okay, 'cause it's a stupid question, but… I don't like misunderstandings, so I'd rather clear stuff up quickly. There's no me-and-Donner. I mean… before this morning, of course. So… that's all."

Anyone paying attention could tell the breath that Th'seus sucks in his him, composing himself. Maybe Lendai misses it though as she's waving her hand in his face and all of that. "Of course, Weyrwoman." However is the simple, tight and controlled response from the bronzerider as he once again take another deep swallow from the mug of klah. He's not awake enough for this yet. At her half uttered secret, he lifts an eyebrow. Narrows his gaze onto her a little. Suspicious. "I can only imagine." He replies dryly. At this point he looks over the top of her head, tracking the movement of different goldrider as she moves around the living cavern.

Donatien doesn't watch the Lendai-and-Th'seus show for long because that lovely figure is apparently making her way his way, though not without some interruption. Getting to his feet, Dien smiles moves into Aife's path, "Can I help you with that, miss?" holding out a hand in offer. "I have a seat, if you'd like?"

G'deon has been keeping to the edges of activity, but now, wine glass in hand, he approaches one of the handful of faces he recognizes. Really recognizes. While Jesha is juggling things to shake hands, he approaches, waiting for her to finish introductions before reaching out his own hand to grip her shoulder gently. Then, adding a nod of greeting to Kyara, he just waits.

"I bet you could!" Lendai giggles, finishes her klah, and orders another. This time, however, drudges are smart enough to not add any whiskey. Her face is schooled, however, and she attempts to look serious. "Honestly, though, I'm so… sor… Sor-eeee." Sigh. Twitch. "Sorry. For. The hassle. Of the thing. On the sands." Being denied access to the hatch grounds and to her BFF for so long even forced some humility in the Weyrwoman. "If I could go back, I'd have… changed everything. Except for getting naked that once. That was worth it." She nods solemnly. Then looks away from the bronzerider, rather oblivious to any of his own tension. Her mug is nursed now, her lower lip all pouty. D'awww. She's sad.

Juicy sausage. Quite a new take on the descriptor for the food item when cooked just right. Initially when Tasena starts to speak, Prymelia wears an expression of open bemusement. "I-I'm fine," she hastily begins to return and then is drawn up short by the rest of what the bartender says. Blink. Donner? How was he relevan…Ooooh. Like the day outside it dawns on her. "Um, okay. Good?" A hand lifts to tuck a strand strayed from her updo behind an ear. "There's uh, there's no Donner-and-me either." Just in case Tasena was wondering. "That there in the laundry was." How to put it. "I'll tell you about it over a drink sometime." The trader-woman offers with a smile.

"Ask for me at the infirmary," Aife could be heard saying, her gaze tracking the exchange between her brother and the Sr. Weyrwoman over the man's shoulder as he speaks. Her words being to her the perfect way to escape, she turns in time to find Dien present with an offer of a hand. For him, there's that tall-tale smirk touching her lips as she side-steps over to him, sending the a nod in farewell afterwards. "Miss, am I?" is her greeting to the cobbler as she now takes a drink. She'll follow him if he moves, too, though for now, she stands so that she can keep an eye on Th'seus. She peeks his drink, though. "Keeping in control?" she asks Dien easily as she starts in on her food.

"Uhm…sorry," is Kyara's winced apology to Jesha; the greenrider is now mentally facepalming for not connecting the dots about the fact the the brownrider has both hands occupied with something. "I guess I'm a little off. The time difference between here and Igen and whatnot." She takes another drink, clears her throat a little, and smiles sheepishly at Jesha before going on. "I'm glad I was able to come. A friend of mine was Standing. He walked off with a bronze." That draws a chuckle and a shake of her head. "Igen has a clutch of it's own on the Sands right now. Not as big as this one was, but still impressive." The approach of the bronzerider has her inclining her head. "Good…morning, sir," she greets. Not evening, as she almost said. At least she caught herself!

There's a pause as Tasena stares at Prymelia, but then she just lifts her mug of klah and flashes the Trader a smile. "Excellent. And sure." She lets out a soft laugh and lifts her mug again for good measure before taking a sip. "I'm easy to find. Enjoy the party." At which point she'll just sort of gravitate toward the Harpers. They'll play some dancing music soon, right? People dance at Southern, right?

…Sorry? Did he hear that right? Th'seus has to do a double-take on Lendai before he's able to manage speaking again. The mug of klah is drained and he deposits it on the table behind him, hopefully someone else will come and pick it up. "It's okay. We just- got caught up." Awkwardly, he reaches out and puts a big hand onto the Weyrwoman's shoulder and gives it a gentle little squeeze. It his attempt at being comforting here, he's definitely trying. And of course his sister is going to hang out with the guy that mentioned something about prostitutes the one time the bronzerider met him. Did he want to buy one? Or he didn't want one? He can't remember. But he's watching. As best he can.

Donatien is an excuse, a throw-away, but for a smirk like that, Dien will turn to make his way back to the table, the glass of wine being sipped slowly, "Oh, yes, quite in control. The humming woke me up so early, it feels like mid-afternoon!" Ahahaha. "How are you faring this morning?" The alcohol is helping keep Dien from needing to sink into his chair, so Dien stays standing and grins down at Aife, "Did you get to see the whole Hatching?" Because who wasn't awake at that point?

"Yeah, Hannah's tend to be prolific. Hrm?" The hand on Jesha's shoulder gives her pause and she turns her head and finds herself looking up into G'deon's face. The clatter of her wooden cane as it hits the floor in her shock makes a sharp sound, one that goes unnoticed by the brownrider judging by the widening of her eyes beneath the rim of her hat. Fortunately, she manages to keep her drink from falling, too, and takes a moment to ask, "Hey, can y'hold this, Kyara?" though she barely gives the greenrider time to get a grip on it before Jesha throws her arms around G'deon's neck in a tight clutch. "You're ALIVE! You BUTTHOLE, I thoughtcha stayed, I thought I'd never get t'see ya again…"

T'ral ducks into the Living Caverns. Eyes aglow and tired and distant and … He looks around and takes in the weyrfolk gathered. A hatching. Forty-two eggs. And all a blur. He makes a line for the food. Hungry himself after his dragonet's first meal. The little bundle of determined sleep in the back of his head, pulls him around. T'ral dips his head at Donatien, sporting some of the man's handiwork. He straightens up, looking around the crowd, stretching over the heads of others to see who all is present.

The Harpers are indeed gearing up for some dancing music, but their first attempt is aborted halfway through the first movement to make way for a group of riders rather loudly singing a drinking song. And a top o' the morning to you, too!

The very fact that it appeared important to Tasena to clear up the misunderstanding Prymelia had already forgotten about pulls a mark of respect for the bartender, showing in the genuine construct of the smile that appears. "Count on it," she states to finding the bartender then gives a nod to the last, "You too." Once Tasena wanders off, the redhead turns back to the table of eats. Carefully ignoring the drowned sausage other tasty treats are selected.

AWWWW. They're having a moment. Soon. Th'seus and Lendai will be BEST. FRIENDS. FOREVER. The pats on her shoulder are reassuring. So much so that Lendai drops her mug on the nearest table (and it totally doesn't spill) and THROWS her arms around the midsection of the bronzerider. "Oh gooooooooooood!" She bounces with a bit of happy glee now, squeezing all the while. After a few horribly awkward moments, Lendai lets go and takes a step back. A tear is swiped away. "TELL HANNAH I LOVE HER, OKAY!?" And suddenly the Weyrwoman flees, to Faranth only knows where. IT'S SUCH A HAPPY, HAPPY, HAPPY DAY.

Catching Th'seus watching in her direction before she cuts her gaze to Dien, "Boozing in the morning," Aife comments with laughter. "Huh. I suppose a hatching would be as good of an excuse as any." Clearly she's partaking, and openly so, and so she raises her cup as if to touch it to his own. "I'm faring well, though I'm afraid I missed most of the hatching. Had a bit of an emergency at the infirmary. I wonder who Impressed though? Did you see?" She sets her plate down on a nearby table, regarding Donatien with a casual lean against the wall.

G'deon has probably been expecting Jesha's reaction, because he does not stagger, nor does he spill his wine. He does give Kyara an almost apologetic smile over Jesha's shoulder, but his free arm is still strong enough to grip the brownrider and help settle her. "Things changed," he explains briefly, and unnecessarily. Because… you know. He's standing right there.

Dragon bedded, the demands of his own stomach must be answered to and so Sytin — now S'yn — strolls into the living caverns, doing his best to be inconspicuous and just get some sharding food without a bunch of fuss. His head is full of new territory and quite frankly that's a bit overwhelming presently. A plate is snagged and loaded down — though it seems the boy isn't paying much attention to the contents — and some chilled klah snagged. It's freaking late, he needs the stimulant, a'ight? Now, where's a dark corner he can brood in?

Th'seus tenses initially when Lendai is suddenly clinging to his midsection, because this has never happened before. In the entire two times they've ever talked to each other. So he's a little surprised to say the least. However he manages to recover decently and drops his arms around her, giving the suddenly gleeful and slightly teary goldrider a return embrace. "I will. Stay out of trouble, woman." But she's basically already gone by that point and does he really expect that to be true? Probably not. And now that she's gone, he spend ALL of his attention staring at his sister and that other guy across the room. Totally normal.

Yules makes her way in from the bowl, her eyes fiercely aglow with the new presence in her head. Unfortunately, new presences in her head do nothing to quell the fact that her day started stupidly early, and Yulen-Yules is making her way STRAIGHT to the food. Well, the klah. Let's be honest here. Not one but two mugs are filled, and a plate is covered in breakfast breads, fruits, eggs, meats, and more (half of which she'll actually eat), turning to find a seat. Table for one. Or two. Let's go with two. Oooh, Yules darts forward and grabs a somewhat-empty table, looking up occasionally to nod at people coming by to pat her on… er, offer their congratulations. With an expression like that, Yules might eat THEM next.

Kaia wanders in with that same dazed look that most of her fellow weyrlings appear to be sported, glassy-eyed and distant. She practically stumbles into the serving table, groping half-blindly for a mug and juice.

With the drinking song completed, the Harpers regather themselves (and wait to see if there are any other spontaneous outbreaks of song) before they launch into the first true dancing song of the morning, with the percussion added by the one non-Harper. At first it's just a couple pairs of eager beavers heading into the dancing area, but as does happen, soon the couple pairs are joined by more pairs, and away the party goes.

Kyara does manage to get a grip on Jesha's drink, a chuckled "Sure" accompanying. She'd probably go after the dropped cane, too, if she didn't suddenly have both hands occupied by alcohol. She returns the bronzerider's smile graciously, taking a half step back from the obvious reunion. Fellow Oldtimers, obviously. She completely understands. Taking another good drink (maybe so she can get that other hand free), she looks out across the still-incoming…and sees some new weyrlings. Her eyebrows raise in surprise; her class didn't even make it to the afterparty, when they Impressed! They went straight to sleep. Of course, her Hatching was an evening thing. Perhaps it shouldn't be so surprising to see them. A slow smile reflexively rises to her lips for their sakes, but none of them are close enough for her to congratulate. Though if Donner shows up, she just may holler.

Donatien is just standing here, sipping his wine, no prob, B'ob. He'll let Aife watch out for her brother, but he replies, "Enjoying the celebration wine of a joyous event, tipping his own glass to Aife's. "That's a shame to miss it… I did get to see a fair amount of it," after hauling his ass out of bed, but: "I hear the cook Impressed… and some entertainers. The first out of the shell was a bronze, which is always counted as good luck…" Dien reaches to his table and picks up a slice of cheese, slowly chewing on it. "I hope the emergency wasn't a bad one?"

At the start of dancing music, T'ral is looking even more earnestly across the crowd. Idly eating whatever he'd piled onto a plate, he sits back down on his heels. Blinking. Thinking. He shakes himself. Wonder if the Harpers would let me play. He looks over at the gathered musicians, a small crease on his brow.

With one hand, Jesha pounds lightly on G'deon's chest. "Just…shardit you. I cried like a lil' bitch for a buncha sevendays 'til I ended up taking care of yer son and his best friend. Keeps me busy. Oh, Kyara, this is bronzerider G'deon. You ARE real, right? Like, m'not havin' demented thoughts or nothing?" She snakes her grasp around the poor, pinned man's waist, needing no cane whilst BILFs are around to use as such. "Gids, this is m'new pal, greenrider Kyara of Igen."

Jostled at the table by those eager to get at its contents, Prymelia steps back and moves off to one side, the trader-woman the quiet observer this night/early morning rather than the colorful participant she usually is at such affairs. Having snagged a glass of wine her hand pauses its path to her mouth when the arrival of the newly impressed is noted. If T'ral looks in her direction he'll find a glass lifted in silent toast in his honor.

EVERYONE IT'S OKAY THE PARTY CAN NOW START, because Q'fex is drunk off his ass and HERE. Talking. Loudly. Exhuberantly. Animatedly. NOW WITH ADDED ARM GESTURES. "But did you SEE IT," he all but shakes one of his poor Ocelot wingriders by the lapels, his face positively effulgent with happin.. uh, whiskey.

Aife totally knows that her brother is giving her the Eyes. Maybe that's why she reaches up to loose the twine from her bound hair, letting the locks fall free about her face as she listens to Dien. Once their cups clink, "I'm sure I'll catch the next one, maybe," she says on hatchings, not even worried about it. "The cook….Yulena? Really?" She looks around as if the former cook would appear, though she answers on luck and bronzes with, "Yeah, I've heard the same. What else did you see?" Pause. "Bad enough," she then answers on the emergency, "but it's been taken care of. I think my brother's lonely." It's an idle comment, looking Th'seus' way with a quick, bright smile. Since he's staring and all.

Kaia eyes the dance floor, looking momentarially shaken out of her distracted reverie. But lacking a partner and generally being too shy to try to rustle one up, she continues to lurk back near the serving table and drink her juice.

No longer being assaulted and/or manhandled by their Weyrwoman, Th'seus is free to go and get another drink. So for a few minutes his sister and that weaver guy can talk without being stared at. He strolls over and gets more klah. This time with booze. A healthy amount of booze.

Wait, wait, what? Bailey in a DRESS? Why yes… yes she is. Tall and curvy, figure-hugging dress of simple white clads her, strapless and gorgeous agaist the full glory of her loosed hair tumbling in brazen curls down to nearly the small of her back. The oldtimer-length dress clads her not-quite to her knees, and smart heels vault her height to well over six feet as she roams with a glass of white wine and a smirk that knows no boundaries.

"Pleasure to meet you, Kyara," G'deon tells the greenrider with a friendly smile. "I have not yet managed to visit Igen, but Nylanth and I will need to do so in the near future. I hear your Weyr has a clutch of its own in the works." Jesha's mention of Gid's son and friend are… ignored. Uncomfortably so. "Jesha, dear, we are overdue by a few centuries for a dance. Kyara, would you mind if we stepped away for a song?"

Maosa doesn't like crowds. But she does like food. Hastily stuffed into a dress (her robes being somewhat bloody from dragonet-feeding) and bare of foot, the newly minted weyrling pauses at the Living Cavern entrance and eyes the throng within with poleaxed fatalism. Not bothering to say hello or respond to a handful of congratulations, she moves like a woman on a mission: THE FOOD.

SORRY, Yules can't hear anything over the sound of her own chewing! She's sitting at a table where people come and go, with their congratulations and comments about big, strapping browns, and so on, and has downed one mug of klah and is working on the second. By the way, who's in charge of the klah now, because if Yules hadn't woken up so early, she might be throwing things. Or making a new batch herself. But it's there, anyways. The fellow hungry-weyrlings get waved at. Seats! Getcher seats here!

A dark corner is somehow found — as if by MAGIC — and S'yn slinks into it with his food — just what DID he get to eat? — and proceeds with the eating and crowd watching. It might be because he was rudely interrupted from his tender night's sleep to deal with some poorly timed dragonets, but he seems to be feeling a tad anti-social at the moment, shoulders hunched and mouth kept busy. Red-rimmed eyes glazed with a haze of fatigue that the adrenaline cannot quite push away. Harrumph.

Shell-shocked is a phrase tailor made for candidates turned weyrlings. Cerise has that look about her as she slides through the doors into the living caverns. It's likely she'd planned some elaborate costume for this occasion but oddly enough, she's opted for simpler attire- pyjama soft pants loose in the leg and secured with a drawstring belt, in black, and an emerald green tunic that flows sheer and soft around her to mid-thigh length. A formal style weyrling uniform? Sure, why not. Almost immediately she finds her hand seized, her back patted, her person handed around to suffer congratulations, which she accepts with a vague smile and not entirely focused eyes.

Donatien grins a little as he watches Aife; he's onto some of your game, lady, but he's game enough. "There will be plenty more," he replies, and looks around quickly to try to find the familiar head of any of the Candid… Weyrlings. "There are a few," Dien comments and points to the one stuffing her face over in the corner, "Some really nice bronze dragons out there," and as Th'seus moves past, Dien is just innocently eating his cheese. And with a little wince as he twists his left knee to look around again, the Weaver sighs and folds himself back into his chair. "Pardon, my joints do protest…"

There is a Br'er around here (probably not an alien, but who knows for sure?). He's not, for once, near drunk-Q'fex. He's perfectly sober, sipping a glass of wine like a civilized man, and at the tail end of some amicable conversation with a blueriding wingmate.

The Harpers (and joiners) swing into the second movement of the song, accompanied by a few shrill trills from a nearby group of Traders. There are now enough dancers out there that couples (and in a few cases, trios) will need to watch where they're going. Luckily, it's a simple dance. For now.

Slipping in and out of the crowd in the same dress she wore during the hatching itself, Hannah is doing what the (former) clutchmom should be doing: mingling. A few folks are singled out, but lets face it, the crowd probably stands nicely way over her head. Squeezing through, she's looking for the drudges that wander the room with trays of alcohol — or there should be, surely. Right? Anyway, squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.

In the midst of draining the rest of her drink when Jesha turns to introduce her to G'deon, Kyara's gaze lands on them over the rim of her glass, which she promptly finishes off and sets down on the bar. "A pleasure to meet you as well, G'deon," she replies with a grin. "And yes, we do indeed have clutch. Perhaps we might see you at our own Hatching?" She shakes her head with a gesture toward the dance floor at the bronzerider's last. "Not at all; please." And so she maintains possession of Jesha's drink as the two move away, and is completely fine with it. Though she's definitely thinking about heading to the dance floor herself at some point.

"Yulena. Yules. You're… Yules now." Maosa was waved at: she considers this invitation enough. She's loaded a plate full to BURSTING, the residual memory of draconic hunger pains feeding into early-morning cravings, and carts it and a mug of delicious klah over to erstwhile weyrling central. "Um." Long drawn out silence. Finally, and with great aplomb: "That was real weird."

Don't gotta ask Jesha twice! "Greenrider, if y'could be a lamb and set th'drink down on that there table and rest my cane up against it? I would LOVE to dance, G'deon." Aww, she's glowing, a rare touch of pink on her pointed cheeks that raise high in a beaming smile. "Just gotta be a bit slow. My hip's not as good as it was, so no toss dances anymore. Now, let's go make all these kids look bad." Moving her arm to link through the bronzerider's, keeping constant contact as if he's going to disappear in a puff of Old Spice scented smoke. Or English Leather.

With a new drink in hand, Th'seus is set to begin to staring out acros the crowd again. And sure he watches that mischiveous sister of his, but he also pushes away from the refreshments and begins to mingle himself. Just know, he can show up over there at any time. Any. Time. So while Hannah may not be able to see over the heads of the people around her, thankfully he's able to do that and so she isn't impossible for him to reach. Reach down to, with the cup of spike klah. "Need one of these?" He wonders hopefully. "By the way, Lendai loves you."

One hand fluffing her free hair idly - a game, indeed - "There was one I was wondering Impressed or not," Aife is saying to Donatien from their chosen piece of wall, the woman trying to scan the crowd once she was assured where Th'seus was going. "There was a Sytin…" and she pauses to catch that wince from him, and she sends him a chin-dropped look as she adds in, "You really should come by and let me look at it. Or, let me get you something to put on it at least, Dien." She's also noticing those passing by them, too, while she sips away at her chosen drink.

T'ral inclines his head to Prymelia, a slight flush warming his cheeks. He puts his plate down and makes a line for the lovely trader. But not an all out rush. A slow advance. Working his way toward her. Letting people by, losing sight of her. Regaining it again. A lopsided grin her way as he's stopped, arm pumped and back clapped with congratulations that he acknowledges, "Yes, thank you. Esanth." He beams saluting, shaking hands and grinning at senior riders. And slowly, he makes his way across the room. And, a flurry of dancers, laughter, and he's there. "Prymelia." He grins down at her. Taller, straighter.

"YULENA." That call from across the way can only be from one person, and thus this one person bulls through the crowds - which part appropriately for the Weyrleader like the red sea, women trying desperately to get away from him before they end up shnockered and knocked up. "YULENA." Q'fex's grin is BROAD. "My candidate." Infectious. "My girl!" So fucking drunk. "A brownrider."

An unusually quiet Cerise appears at the weyrling table. One minute, no Cerise, next minute there she is with a plate and a glass of something chilled. It's going to take awhile for the body to forget they just suffered; the need for food is only slightly more pressing than the need for drink. "…completely weird," she says as if she'd always been part of this conversation. "There are…sparkles. In my head. Water ripples." Which may account for the glazed look in her eyes, if that's constant.

G'deon does not waste a lot of time leading Jesha through the throng toward the dance floor. They soon slip into one of the empty pockets and wait a couple beats before they can begin their own series of steps. It isn't until after a few repetitions that G'deon finally asks the obvious. "How is my son?" That tightness in his voice is likely not yet from dancing exertion. He's not that old.

Bailey slinks around the edges, herself, with a glass of wine and that white dress and her smirk, seemingly well-content to… watch. Different strokes for different folks: or perhaps she's waiting for the perfect victim to pop up somewhere-or-another.

Yules looks up from her second disappointing mug of 'klah' and vowing vengeance, into Maosa's face. Note the comma. She grins, a full mouth, and nods. Swallows to avoid see-food, and Yules adds, "I am Yules. And you're right." And she's about to add onto that but Q'fex is … not-missable by any means. As he's approaching, Yulen… Yules stands up, and salutes, her own grin slowly breaking. She can't get pregnant right now anyways; she's a weyrling. "Weyrleader, sir. Yes, to Desmeth." Is that a wibble of love-tone? Yes, yes it is, and Yules isn't afraid to use it. Um, "And Maosa Impressed a blue." Oh hi, Maosa, right there sitting there nearby…

Momentarily lost once again in the haze of her own thoughts, Prymelia's attention draws to the small band of harpers doing their thing. Turning back toward the main cluster of revelers, she suddenly finds herself staring at someone's chest. A male someone's chest. Her gaze flicks upward at her name and then quickly darts downward again. Strangely demure. But bolder and challenging the next time it lifts. "Taralde?" She's unsure of what to call the newly impressed bluerider now. "Congratulations."

Spiked klah! Hannah's eyes widen as grabby, greedy hands make for the mug. "Oh yes. I need this. I am dead on my feet." The life saving liquid burns when she gulps it down, almost choking on it when he mentions Lendai loving her. "I love her too…" Th'seus gets eyed, laughter beneath the tired look. "But what a strange thing for you to tell me." Q'fex's shouting momentarily distracts Hannah. "Both your Candidates impressed." Yulena, Sytin. "Your child." Teasing.

Bailey isn't going to be lost to the shadows for long. A very energetic, very hastily put together bronzerider is bouncing through the crowds. "BAILEY BAILEY BAILEY." Ahem. He realizes he needs to use his inside voice, as El'ai veritably jack-in-the boxes out of the crowds to cling to Bailey. "Did you see?! My GIRL impressed!" Even if El'ai has never met her. SO WHAT.

Q'fex is drunk, and Maosa just downloaded a dragon into her brain, so hopefully she can be forgiven for scowling suspiciously at the bronzerider. WHO ARE YOU WHY ARE YOU HERE. She manages a nod and a "Weyrleader. Sir," before stuffing her mouth with food. But not before turning her attention to Cerise and saying, thoughtful, "Sparkles? Huh." She weighs this information with due consideration. And then chews.

"She's not your girl," Bailey, strident, to El'ai: her voice is that selfsame low-alto, but loud enough to be overheard for a WAYS. "She's my girl! She's my candidate!" Hitch; "Well. Hannah and I's candidate. Hannah's creature, my candidate. I don't know. Hopefully that blue likes the color of her pelt as much as we did."

If this were a cartoon, Jesha's feet would be floating about six inches off the ground and she'd be leaving little pink hearts in her wake. Falling into a slow-stepped traditional dance takes her a bit, but eventually, the movements come more naturally to where they can be ignored. Her face sobers at the question and she bites her lip. "He's better. Every day a little. It helps havin' Y'an… Ryan in my weyr with him, too, and Shazi and T'ii's twins that came with us. Gives them somethin' to concentrate on. He's bathing by himself now and everything, even tending bar here on and off. Some… some days are worse'n others, but that's why I got him to stay in m'weyr, to keep an eye on him. There's no chance of any, um, any danger or nothin' now. He's got Jedi and K'ane's twins to concentrate on, too, when they come t'visit." Now, her face turns irreverent, and she rolls her eyes girlishly. "You're a grandfather again! Or is it great grandf… no, just grandfather with these ones. Man, that will never NOT be completely confusin'."

Donatien hmms thoughtfully, "I thought I heard mention of a young Smith around that name… Sytan? Siton? Maybe Sytin. But yes, I think he got a brown." Of course, Dien's smirk means he really knows and is just not telling everything on the first go. Just like… well, nevermind. Nodding, Dien grins (un)repetantly, "I will be by soon, Journeywoman healer. Weavering has kept me on my toes, so to speak." There's a little grin there, as Dien observes Aife's big bro talking with Hannah now. If Pern had bullets, he might have just dodged one. Or he's inciting it, "Perhaps I can come in later today?"

"We may have settled some scores." Pause. "She hugged me, Hannah." Even now, Th'seus is still a little surprised. He puts a hand onto her elbow and does the dirty work of moving people out of the way so that the goldrider can mingle without having to squeeze through. It helps to be big sometimes. Okay, most of the time. With an indulgent smirk, "Yes, my child. To a bronze, not too bad."

Ah, yes, the cane! With a wave of acknowledgement, Kyara stoops to pick up that dropped stick and does as Jesha asks. Then she revisits the bar, trading her own emptied glass for a refill and slowly making her way around the near-periphery of the crowd, just watching for a little while. Perhaps hoping to spy a familiar face somewhere in here. There are a few - she thinks - but they're otherwise occupied, and her quietude is sneaking back in, so she just walks. Drinks. Considers the Harpers. There's a thought! Perhaps the greenrider can persuade them to let her join in at some point.

"Not like sparkle sparkles but like light on a…" Oh, was there supposed to be more to that statement? So sorry, Cerise has trailed off to put food into her mouth. Also chewing, and apparently gazing across the table at Yulena while doing so- not that she's seeing the ex-cook at the moment. No. Apparently there are sparkles.

"Someday, she will be." El'ai is certain of this. He states this like the sky is blue and his heart isn't going to some day be crushed. CRUSHED. Especially now that she's hitched to that suspicious creature. Anyway. "I've got some — Do you mind?" And just like that, El'ai swipes his sister's drink and takes a big gulp. Only to sputter. Cough, cough, hack, hack. "That…" gasp, "… burns."

T'ral beams down at Prymelia as she turns into him, catching her elbow with his hand. Catching her. Impression images have totally swamped the eyeful he'd gotten int he baths. Well… nearly totally. His color is high as he steps back. "T'ral." He corrects quietly. The swirling room of drunken weyrfolk and all else has dropped away as he looks intently at Prymelia. "Care to dance." He holds out a hand in invitation.

Don't worry, dancers! This first dancing song of the morning isn't done yet! There's one more movement left, fancy moves entirely voluntary during the merry crescendos and capering little trills. The one non-Harper hanger-on apparently doesn't know the version the Harpers are playing, because he and his gitar go down a different path for a couple measures. He's skilled enough to pick up on the fact, though, and the mild discord is soon mended while the music heads toward the buoyant ending.

When not occupied with scarfing down food, fingertips drum on the wooden tabletop that S'yn has managed to secure for himself, amber eyes seeing and yet not seeing the crowd as he consumes the cold klah and works to process the magnitude of what has happened. "Iaxryth." He murmurs the name softly, mulling it over as if it might contain some hidden answer to a puzzle he's trying to sort. Plate is half gone by now, that hollow stomach wasting no time letting him know just where he can put those hands of his. That's right, on utensils. It's so late it's early and the Candidate turned Weyrling has determined that THIS is the perfect time to have his very first, full blown brooding session. Right here. In the very public living caverns. Oh, well. It's where the food was, shard it!

Q'fex has the most PATERNAL expression in the world for Yules. "Good dragon, Desmeth." Sidelong: "Not likely that Kraakenaeth will catch him, now, is it. Wildling!" is his cheerful, bluff hale to Maosa: "Even you lettered up enough for a dragonet to pick you!" oh god he is so drunk "W…" Wait for it, wait for it, "…Cerise!//" Wait. For. It. "A beatiful little green you've found yourself, my lovely dancer! They've already laid bets on who'll catch her when she first goes up!" so. ducking. frunk.

"Lights?" There is from Maosa an oddly attentive silence. In a slow and thoughtful voice, she asks, "Like… glows?" Why this is significant, she does not say. She only stares, mutely, at Q'fex. Thank goodness she's not close enough to hear what El'ai is saying, or she'd be staring even harder, even longer. Oh, little rabbit. You are so doomed :(

"Hugged you?" Hannah even shows surprise at this statement. "I'm… glad you two are getting along." Is she still eyeing the bronzerider suspiciously? As if this may just be a trap? "To a bronze. You picked well," this is said with a suppressed smile. With both hands cradling the mug, the goldrider is glad to be in Th'seus's space bubble. "At least we are done now." With the sands sitting. "And they've all Impressed safely. Even if to…" Her eyes alight on Maosa. "Bailey and I chose well too, I think. Even if she, and her dragon, is a mite odd." Rambling? Yes. The goldrider is tired, and it shows.

Catching Hannah moving towards Th'seus with a little grin playing on her lips, "Sytin. You heard it," Aife sends Donatien's way, SO not buying his memory loss since she tries to gently elbow him in the shoulder. "A brown? Really? And I think plenty of things keep you on your toes, Weaver. Maybe I should come find you. I have ways of finding people. Come in later today," she agrees, now holding her drained cup out to him. Asking for another?

"She's not the girl for you, my dear." Bailey to El'ai, and her smile almost condescending. Okay. Way condescending. WHAT IT IS EL'AI HE IS CUTE GUYS. Her expression turns a little bemused when he STEALS HER WINE why you little… "That was Benden white! Vintage!" SACRILEGE.

And Q'fex is three-for-three tonight; Yules is so proud of him in some reverse fashion, but she's nodding very proudly now, "He's wonderful. Pe…" she's not going to say it, but she lets her fellow girl-Weyrlings enjoy the lo… atten… um… the praise of the Weyrleader. Phew, and now Yules can enjoy her klah a little longer. And some more food. FOOD.

Caught Prymelia goes as still as can be, staring like upward like a wherry caught in a dragon's sights. The changes in T'ral are subtle but noted nonetheless. Blink. He may have forgotten. She hasn't. Which might explain the faint flush that had started to creep up the column of her neck. "T'ral," the name given sampled. "I like it. Suits you." She decides, stepping adroitly aside as a couple come twirling by and almost careen into her. A drink of her wine, her plate of eats now forgotten. Dance? "Uh…sure." Trying to sound nonchalant she glances to a nearby table. "Just let me put these down."

"Not glows. Like. Water sparkles. And colors. Her dreams." Pause. "Sir." Check it: Cerise is so out of it at the moment, she didn't even notice that suspicious W. Drunk Q'fex gets away with it! Until the whole bet thing, whereupon she joins Maosa in staring at the Weyrleader. One, two, two sets of eyes on the bronzer, ah ah ah! After a moment, her brain processes something appropriate as a response and she says, "She found me, sir. Who is they?" For a moment, she looks nearly as suspicious as Maosa, cutting a look towards the nearby crowd with narrowed eyes that promise the pain to any who might be thinking naughty thoughts about her sleeping dragonet.

"Of course she is," El'ai has totally just gulped down that vintage wine like it was the crappy box kind. "Benden White? It was tasty, I think. Burned going down here's the glass." So helpfully gives her the DROPS that linger in the bottom. How can she resist those pretty eyes and the sweet, sweet kiss that he plants on her cheek. "Thank you." For the wine? Or for… "… being the best sister /ever/."

"I- I hugged her back. It seemed like the right thing to do. Then she ran away." Which probably isn't all that shocking. Shouldering a particularly large pack of people out of their way, "You can get away from the sands for a good while-" Her comment on Maosa's dragon comes with a shrug and he glances down at her, smile crooked. "They can't all be wonderful, friendly empathetic creatures. Some of them are hatched different, off. But still functional." Like Vossuth. The king of friendship and love. Not really. "Lets go someplace after this." After the part or just after the hatching in general? Hard to tell. But Hannah is no longer Weyr bound.

Donatien nods, "I did, then." The elbow to the shoulder gets a faux-disgruntled look and Dien rubs the joint sadly, "I'm hurt." And apparently Dien thinks he's funny too, but his eyes nearly gleam at Aife's way of thinking, "I'm sure," he murmurs gently. And then, Dien uncorks the bottle again to offer to tip some into Aife's glass, "Some celebration, then? And I think I will come see you this afternoon… In the infirmary, of course?" Just in case Th'seus is listening anywhere. O hai!

The Harpers all join in the boot-stomping for the last measure of the dance as it comes to a brief end. If dancers are still moving, however, not to fear! After barely enough time to breath, the quintet-plus-one goes right into the second dance, this one just a little more lively than the first.

G'deon does not skip a beat with the music's changes and even manages to lift Jesha slightly during one of the high notes. Not too high, just enough for something different. His expression, however, does not lift with the dance. Poor, broken rider. "But he lives," Gid rumbles quietly, adding a glimpse of smile that does not reach his blue eyes. It is a happy dance, however, and so he pushes through, smile coming more naturally a few beats later. "Nylanth and I are going to live here, now. I do need to meet officially with the Weyrleader, but—," pause for another smaller lift-and-spin, "it will work out. It must." As the dance changes from one song to the next, G'deon slows to a stop. Lost for words for a moment before he gestures toward the food. "The morning is young. There will be more dances."

"Blueriders," Q'fex SUCCINCTLY breathes at Cerise, as if that explains it ALL. Those damn blueriders, couthless. OH HI MAOSA. (She hasn't a drop of couth so that should … … go over fine?) "Yules," he has already gotten the knack of it, "I am so incredibly proud of you, m'girl." It's almost as if she's his kid. BUT WAIT, MAYBE SHE IS. Or maybe he's just… "KID! QUIT KISSIN' YOUR SISTER!" That's for El'ai. "Fuckin' Bendenites. Incest," as if that expresses it ALL (to Cerise of all people) before he breezes off in a drunken swagger. Up next: getting Br'er naked in the leadership courtyard before the sun comes up.

T'ral takes Prymelia's hand with his and jostles it to firm up her frame. Spaghetti arms! He straightens his back, lifts his chin, gives her a wicked grin and they're spinning around the dance floor. In his couch in the weyrling barracks Esanth stirs. T'ral stumbles and checks his and Prymelia's motion. He blinks, eyes distant, and touches his temple. He grins in wonder and looks at Prymelia, eyes aglow. He gives her a wide grin and pulls her closer, spinning off again with a shout and a laugh.

Bailey is too busy morosely staring at her what-was-once-full glass to notice the slights thrown at her. (or her kid brother). "Yeah, yeah," she knows enough to wave him off. "Go stalk your lover-girl," grousing at the boy to go live his dreams. Or something.

"Good," Hannah's response is pitched for Th'seus. He made up with Lendai! It's always good not to have her senior weyrwoman wanting to kill the people she cares about. "I'm only concerned that they're healthy and not having problems." You know, the bad kind of problems. Aife is spotted, a little wriggle given to the healer, but Th'seus turns her attention with the suggestion.

"Yes." Now? Right now? More like after some sleep, but yes. "I've heard there's an underwater reef next to a dormant volcano out in the ocean… I wonder if it's still there." Suggestion? Maybe. Hannah's starting to fade here with words. Q'fex's antics — just get a sputtered snort of laughter.

Chuckling loudly, "So now who really Impresses to what is a mystery with you?" Aife has to tease now, coquettish with a roll of her shoulders. Or maybe just a bit scandalous. Who knows. She nods her thanks to the refill before she answers again with, "You owe me that challenge at the beach. I just can't seem to remember what the challenge was. Did it involve drinking? You can come see me anywhere, really," and she's pretty much non-chalant in that. Her brother looks well and truly distracted at the moment.

Indeed she does not. "Am I… supposed to do that?" There is Maosa, cocking her head to the side, like a confused cocker spaniel. (Though dingo might be more accurate.) Weighing this fact with due consideration, she finally decides to simply shrug at the other two girls — do YOU know what's going on? — and turn her attention firmly away from drunken Weyrleaders and firmly towards her FOOD.

"I will KISS my sister if I WANT to," El'ai yells, but then pauses. "Weyrleader, sir." When Bailey says to go chase after his girl, he just hooks his arm through hers. "I'm here with youuuuuu. Did I tell you about how awesome it was to fly that fake Thread? Sekhaenkath was awesome." What? Bailey thought it was that easy? He launches into the beginnings of a detailed description. Of how awesome he was(n't).

Blueriders. Cerise does not look at Maosa because, while she knows several blueriders (several plus a few more!) now, there's only one bluerider she knows who would make flight bets on the very morning of a green's hatching. Her green's hatching. With only half of her plate emptied, she rather delicately places the fork on the table beside it and rises. "If you will excuse me, please," she says to the table at large. And then? Then she goes briskly carving through the crowd in search of someone to poke.

Yules is probably not supposed to rear back in horror from her Weyrleader, but wow, that breath would fell a tunnelsnake. Or get it really really drunk. Maosa gets a very unhelpful shrug and Yules picks up her mug again,wrinkling her nose at how sadly downhill the klah has gone. Anyway, there's so much more food on her plate to get through. omnomnomnom, distracted only by Cerise's departure. Poke. Uh huh!

Dancing is almost as inbred in Prymelia as is her suspicion of Mindhealers. So it is that caught in T'ral's embrace she flashes him a grin in return and follows his lead, a husky laugh escaping for the sheer joy of dancing. When he stumbles, so does she, standing on his foot when tries to recover her balance. So much for the rumors of harpers being good dancers. Confusion and a small touch of consternation is swept away by that grin, "You okay?" But the words are barely out of her mouth and she's being twirled away again. Exhilaration replaces wariness, the music swiping gnawing thoughts to the background.

Br'er is totally in the corner, being a civilized adult having civilized adult conversations with people. Though it must be said that the greenrider looks faintly resigned (amusedly resigned), the moment another civilized adult alerts him to Q'fex's general drunken swagger. Alas! Civilized Adult Times are surely not going to last.

"That fella is so weird." And thus Maosa lays a final judgment down upon Q'fex. With a mute wave to Cerise and a mute shrug to Yules, Maosa returns her attention to her plate. Her plate makes SENSE.

Pfft please, like the sling of a muscled arm around Br'er's shoulder isn't welcome, or the spice-and-alcohol aura that invades before the bronzerider, both obnoxiously infiltrating Br'er's space without so much as a by-your-leave. "Hi." Because that is the greatest pickup line ever.

Donatien gives a qui-sait? shrug to Aife's question, but this Weaver is certainly not going to ruin the moment. "Ahh, the challenge at the beach… Was that swimming, or a challenge in sunbathing?" Who can burn the least loses? "I'm sure we can figure something out." Dien refills his own glass about halfway and sips it, "This afternoon then," he decides almost grandly, "I'll come by, and perhaps after, a swim and then dinner at the beach? I'll bring the wine?" How can one refuse an offer like that, after all?

With some rather uncouth snarfing the last of S'yn's plate of emptied and pushed away, leaving plenty of room to drum at that shiny table. His amber eyes are drawn to it as it subtly reminds him of that breath-taking hide, narrowing as lips purse. Blink. He tears his gaze away from that mahogany hue and focuses on the whirling crowds instead, drowning his meal in the last of his iced klah before looking at it mournfully, as if the mug had somehow betrayed him by its emptiness. A frown and a heavy sigh and the newly minted bronzerider is forced to abandon his post in search of more refreshment.

Bailey resigns herself to whiskey and El'ai-stories for the remainder of the morning before she goes back to bed. "So what do you think about the new cook and her butter?" is all that can be heard before Bai leads her brother out to the bowl.

"Go home, Q'fex, you're drunk." How helpful Br'er is, taking that familiar arm as a rudder to steer his inebriated Special Friend through the gathering, and then out to where he won't be able to bother anyone. Truly a public servant, looking out for the common good. Br'er-cameo, EXEUT.

"He lives," repeats Jesha, laughing down at G'deon's face with the lift. "Oh! Do you mean it? You're really staying?" Her joy contrasts with the somber expression worn by the man that lifts her slender frame up, but Eliza Doolittle here could dance all night if her face is any indication. Nodding at the request for munchies, she follows the gesture off the dance floor, grabbing both drink and cane in one neat swoop since it's on the way. "Speaking of staying, I'm guessin' you recognized the goldrider on th'sands tonight? Turns out, Lanti of all people went 'n got her for this whole affair. Either that or she found some really choice new diet that keeps 'er young, but Hannah. Here. With us! It's been sucha blur."

Q'fex may start singing on his way out. IF YOU WANNA BE MY LOVER, YOU GOTTA GET WITH MY FRIiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiENDS… Someone has been around Lendai too long.

"Exactly. And they all hatched, even that one that took his damn time." Th'seus shakes his head as he offers quick greetings to a group of riders that they have to move through. "Lets make a day out of it. I should have one off coming soon." In between being splattered with paint and doing a thousand drill. The rest of the party is spent weaving amongst the various people, chatting and generally being good former clutchparents. As well as maybe slipping an arm too liberally around Hannah's shoulders than necessary, but who can blame him, really? It's a party.

"Hannah and I have be able to get reacquainted," G'deon informs Jesha, his quick smile suddenly quite reminiscent of the Gids of Old, as well as his aforementioned daughter. He stops to allow a group of Young People to pass on the way to the dance floor before he continues on their path away from it, though a few steps later he slows to a stop again. "Jesha, if you don't mind… could we check on Iliad now? I think this party will be just fine without us for a while. I've put this off too long already." G'deon? Nervous? Shells, yes.

There's a humf from Aife as to what that challenge could've been - she's certainly not wasting time trying to remember. Still, there's amusement on her face when the challenge and his trip to the infirmary turns into a date. Very much one. "Sure, why not," she answer to it all without hesitation. "Should be fun. Come on. I wanna check out the tables again." And see the weyrlings. Either way, she's slipping back into the crowds, and maybe Donatien's following. It really is too crowded enough for them to get lost in.

"Sure thing. Lemme grab a plate for the two of 'em." Quickly and with twinkly eyes that are only half there, Jesha slops various ladels and handfuls of what-have-you onto something that's not quite 'plate' and more likely 'stolen, empty tray'. "He's not so much for stuff like this, but now that it's over, he's back, Sevareth said. He took him out for the evening to sight-see. Sev doesn't bother'm so much." The conversation dies into silence as the two exit the area.

Having made a full circumnavigation of the festivities by this point, Kyara finds herself over by the food and decides that yes, a little something to snack on might be nice for the time being. Klah, as well; sleep would be not long in the future for this Igenite greenrider, were she home at the moment. Despite the time of day here, she will have to make sure she heeds that urge, like it or not. As she's getting food, however, one of the new weyrlings is approaching as well - a lad with amber eyes, like hers. And…purple in his hair. Interesting…but it's what he's become today that she smiles at him for. "Congratulations to you, weyrling," she says to the boy with cautious warmth. "Your bronze looked like a fine one indeed."

Yules is eating, is eating… and then she pauses, mouth hanging open for a brief second before lurching to her feet. "Sorry, I have to go. Desmeth," she mumbles, having only the presence of mind to grab what's left in her mug before quickly making her way out the door - step aside, newbie going through.

Maosa is not long to follow her clutchmate in departing, though it's not (presumably) in response to draconic summons. A crowd of revelers venture too close to her table: she scowls at them. When they don't move, the baby bluerider decides to deal with the problem a different way: she moves HERSELF. Exeut Maosa, plate and all. Screw y'all, she's hungry.
The Harpers slow it down a bit. One for the lovers. A slow, stately waltz with a melody laid atop it longing and sweet. Glows are dimmed and the floor turns over as those tired seek refreshment and those looking to dance with a special someone take the floor.

Purple-streaked hair or no, S'yn was doing his best to remain incognito as he made his way back to the serving table for some more klah. Shoulders are hunched and his normally cheery frame is broadcasting a rather loud negative aura. Unfortunately it seems that a particular Igenite is immune to his subtle charms. Or maybe he just isn't very good at brooding yet, seeing as it's his first time and all. The Weyrling does his best to straighten as he realizes he's being addressed, reaching for the iced klah to fill his mug. "Thank you…" He trails, looking sidelong with his amber gaze. "Greenrider." That's the best he can muster as he blearily tries to read the beknotted shoulder.

The tune comes to an end and T'ral stops, turning to applaud the players. He's breathing heavily, winded, smiling from ear to ear. He leans his head over to Prymelia, "Sorry about that in there, I…" he shakes his head, "I've got a whole…" he smiles, gesturing at his head. He turns back to Prymelia, close, breathing her in. "It's…" his eyes widen, the Harper at a loss for words. He lets out his breath in a slow gust, a soft smile, "Strange." The players strike up a lovely waltz and he takes another deep breath, eyes widening slightly at the lovely trader.

Applauding as T'ral does, though not breathing quite as heavily, Prymelia arches a brow at his explanation, bemused. She's trying to make sense of what he's saying and then he goes and leans in close. Blam! All rational thought departs like mist before Rukbat's rise. Strange indeed. "You mean having someone else in your head?" She finally finds the wherewithal to process and query. That the next is a slow waltz, currently escapes her a small smile of amusement patterning across her mouth at the befuddled bluerider. "You should get some sleep," Prymelia decides. "You're probably going to need it."

Not immune to the boy's charms, no - but Kyara, more often than not the optimist, will offer a counter to that negativity because it's just who she is. He just Impressed; life's no so bad, is it? Of course, each will handle it differently. She inclines her head at him a bit, smiling sympathetically at his bleariness. "Kyara. Liareth's rider. Not long out of weyrlinghood myself," she tells him, smile sliding into a light smirk. "I'm surprised you all aren't dead asleep right now. But eating…yes, that's important, too. Especially when you feel twice as hungry because of," she taps a finger to her temple, "the new one with you."

T'ral's eyes are shadowed, but there's a strange ebullient energy in him. He's buoyed on adrenalin, Impression and …other things. "You're right," he takes Prymelia's hand in his, thumb rubbing across her knuckles, "On both counts," He raises her hand to his lips, bowing as he kisses it lightly. He looks up at her, "I'm exhausted." Straightening, "But I find I don't want to go."

Klah now acquired, S'yn sips it as he regards the taller woman contemplatively. Sleep does tug at him, but gnawing hunger made that impossible, no doubt. The youth's lips twist in a facade of a wry smile. "Am I wearing a sign that says 'Weyrling' on my back now?" he asks dryly. Another sip of the magnificent brew. "Or is it due to my age that my Impression is somehow remarkable?" His wit may have a slightly sharp edge to it, but there is also an underlying humor as he tries to find his center in the chaos of the storm front.

It was one thing to be held by T'ral while dancing but it's quite another when she finds her hand in his. Lips part on a soft intake of breath when his then brush ever so lightly across the back of her hand. Never before has a man been quite so mannerly with her and it serves to fluster. "Yes, we should go do that together." Blink. Blush. "Uh, I mean. Not together-together. Separately. In our own..Oh sharditall!" She ends crossly annoyed with herself and in some small part, the blue weyrling for causing her to behave like a thirteen turn old girl.

Leaning against a nearby table and sipping her own newly-drawn mug of klah, Kyara considers the weyrling with a wry smile of her own, eyebrow raising at his wit, though she is largely unfazed by it. "Mmm, the little bronze one following you about ought to do the job well enough, don't you think?" To his second question she sobers a bit, shaking her head. "Impression is a remarkable thing, regardless of your age. Your dragon knew what he was doing. Other people may make much of how old you are," and she shrugs a bit, "but I certainly won't. There were a few very young ones in my clutch, too."
"Last I checked he isn't following me now." The Weyrling does a quick succession of twisting first one way and then the other to look behind him. "Unless he is hovering in my blind spot." He takes a deep breath, trying to come out of the dark hole that his mind has retreated into, the klah seeming to have stirred a little more alertness in him, but his amber eyes seem torn between the joy of that new bond and his rose-colored glasses being shattered. Head tilts, lips pursing as S'yn regards the Igenite seriously for a moment. "There aren't many in my class." Eyes dart. "I may actually be the youngest." And on a bronze, no pressure. "Sytin" He holds his hand out and then remembers himself with a grimace." Er, S'yn now, I guess." That's going to take some getting used to.

T'ral takes another deep breath and releases Prymelia's hand. He straightens and backs a half-step to giver her a bow, "Next time." And with that, the extremes of the day blindside him. All at once. The early morning. The chores. The lessons. The more chores. The even more punishment chores. Impression. He's dizzy, the room shifts, a moment of vertigo. His clothes are heavy. His eyes. His limbs. Every bit of him weak and watery. He keeps his back straight and shoulders back, but they've wilted. He smiles his lopsided smile, "Good…" his eyes raise to look out of the caverns to the sea, where dawn will soon be touching the waves, wincing, with a wry twist to hsi mouth, and back down to Prymelia, "Morning, lady Trader."

Relief is hers when T'ral appears to miss her horrid goof and frantic back-pedal. The exhaustion clinging to the blue weyrling like a soaked cloak is taken in, leeching outward until she too is reminded of the Thread-awful hour the Weyr had been awoken by the humming. A smile, understanding though edged with a wisp of teasing appears when Prymelia drops into a playful curtsey. "Good morning, rider." And with that she'll take a step back allowing T'ral the freedom to return to his new lifemate and fall into sleep's embrace. While she…Will take her plate of food and glass of wine, perhaps snag one of those half bottles standing on the table, and wander about aimlessly until the soft sands of the beach arrest her progress and pull her to a halt to quietly absorb the splendour of a new day dawning.

"Depends on how you look at it," is Kyara's grinned response to the boy's first, and she sets her mug down to clasp his hand after that. "Well met, S'yn," she says, and her eyes go momentarily vague in that way common to all riders. "Liareth asks me to convey her compliments, as well." Glancing toward the entrance, the greenrider notes the encroaching daybreak and gives a sigh. "And she also reminds me of the fact that we have drills in the morning. It's really night for me." She gives the newly-minted bronzer a warm grin once more. "Good luck to you during weyrlinghood, S'yn. You'll make a great rider, I'm sure." The wink she ends that with is sincere as she takes her leave, and out she goes, back to her own lifemate. Back to her own Weyr, and her bed.

S'yn nods, doing his best to look alert and interested. Not enough sleep for this poor boy. "And my compliments to Liareth," he offers, trying to follow something like protocol. Perhaps he'll be forgiven due to the recent whirlwind surrounding him. The compliments net the greenrider a smile that is mostly heartfelt. "Thanks." And then she's gone, leaving the new bronzer to rub at the back of his neck and then tousle his purple-streaked hair with a sigh. The klah mug is stared into as he leans against a table edge before he drains it in a long-winded quaff that ends with the mug being set down a little hard. Oops. Amber eyes dart briefly in guilt but it seems that no one noticed. Sleep beckons him like a siren and he finally decides that he cannot resist her anymore, so with an unusually gangling stride the Weyrling makes his way out and toward the barracks, eyes on the prize of that waiting cot.

T'ral wilts fully. His stomach growls and he groans quietly, suddenly too tired to eat. But so hungry. He shuffles to the table and is loading up a plate when he spies his purple-haired clutchmate heading back. "Morn-" he breaks off, a yawn cracking his jaws. He grabs a mug of juice and dodges around the late attendees, his eyes go distant and dreamy, facing towards the barracks, but then snapping back and looking at the bronze weyrling. He snorts, disbelief, wonder, awe, worry. He sums it all up thusly:
"What a night."

Tamagryn tips his mug up, finding nothing left in the bottom. With a depressed sigh he gets up and wanders over to the hearth to refill it. The man frowns at the sight of the pot contents and decides it's best time to be getting home. Tama turns and deposits his mug in the pile of dirty wares and wanders towards the bowl.

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