====December 17, 2013
====Cerise, Hannah, T'ral, Xieli, Yules
====A Gather! Runner Races!

Who Cerise, Hannah, T'ral, Xieli, Yules
What A Gather! Runner Races!
When There are 0 turns, 5 months and 12 days until the 12th pass.
Where Gather Grounds, Keroon Hold

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Keroon Hold Gather Grounds
Frivolities and festivity: those are the words to describe the main fairgrounds of Keroon, done in bold colors of yellow, white and green. The runnertrack is in near-constant use, as much of a staple of this Gather as the stockyards where the best-of-the-best livestock can be procured. More mundane vendors have set long lines of tents up: fabrics and dresses, foodstuffs and trinkets, exotic spices and hairdressers - whatever may catch a person's fancy can be found within those stalls. Closer to the Hold, the part of the courtyard opening into The Hitching Post has been cleared and neatly staked off, for-sure delegated to the masquerade ball.
Gliding above are two firelizards.
Gold Dhiammarath is here.
You notice K'ane asleep here.
Cerise is here.


-- On Pern --
It is afternoon
It is 2:22 PM where you are.
There are 0 turns, 5 months and 12 days until the 12th pass.




If someone were to ask Cerise what area has the perfect summer weather, she would say Keroon. Keroon all the way. The reason for that answer is evident as soon as one arrives from the icy grip of Between: the skies are storybook blue decorated with cotton-puff clouds, the ceaseless, grassy plans are a crisp green that dances in waves beneath a wind that's just brisk enough to keep the temperature at a reasonable level and it smells exactly as summer ought to smell. Like deep-fried batter, and cut grass, and barbequed meat on skewers, and children's laughter, snapping flags, Maypoles…

And, nearer the runnertrack, of churned earth and horse shite.

Cerise is in the midst of taking the very deepest of breaths as she settles her sisal-clad posterior on an overstuffed cushion. With rank come certain privileges, and Hannah's has earned them prime seats under a merrily striped awning, just high enough to see all of the action while being close enough to the track to see each runner's rolling eyes, flaring nostrils and rippling manes and tails. The greenling has opted for a dress this afternoon, silky white trimmed in sunny yellow, with an Empire waist and ribbons to match, to wind around the wide brim of her sunhat. "I love that smell," she remarks on the exhalation, twinkling eyes turned towards the starting line where the next row of beasts are being led in fidgety array. "Back when I was little, it smelled like profit."

Hannah is here much more for the fun than for serious betting, though rumor is running rampant through the crowds that each race has a price worth trying for. "I love that smell too," the goldrider settles back in her chair, fingers curled around an icy glass as emerald gaze is trained on the runner track. She slants a look to Cerise, brows lifting upwards, "Although maybe less for its smell of profit. I've heard there's an uncut precious stone for the riders of the winning races. I've heard the spoils of this race is an uncut carnelian." The goldrider is attired in the colors of her weyr: a drop-waisted, emerald sisal dress with spaghetti straps and a scouped neckline. A black sash emphasizes her waist, tied in the back with a jaunty bow. The final touch is the velvety black headband that's used to keep the shoulder-length, moonlight-pale hair off of her forehead, though she's opted for sensible black, ballet-style flats over the neck-snapper seven inch boots that Donatien made for her. "I'll be glad when my hair is long enough to braid again," this idle comment comes as the woman squints into Rukbat's glare to eye the runners lining up. "Who're you putting your marks on?"

Ah yes, the hair. This is why the hat for Cerise- her hair is bundled up beneath the floppy sunhat, hiding the fact that it has missed the recent scissor slaughter. And those ribbons! They flutter so prettily in the wind whenever she turns her head. "If you miss braids, could pay someone for their hair," she says, sounding dangerously serious about the idea. But then, trust someone born in the dirt to think of such things. Although, a critical eye casts towards the goldrider's long bob. "Might be tricky finding a good match though, all the color's gone from yours. Oy, that one there! The dark bay, with the black socks." Excitement thrusts her shoulders back as she points to the horse caprisoned in navy blue and white. "All the rest have fancy, proper names for runners, aye? That one's named Somersault, couldn't resist. I've a full mark on him winning, but it's eight to one."

Such pretty ribbons! "It'll grow," Hannah's response is serene enough, not really mindful of the shoulder-length hair which frames her face and makes her eyes look larger, rounder. "Just on a windy day, it's a little obnoxious," this is returned with a little smile, "At least I won't ever show grey hair." A tease, for sure. But Cerise's declaration of which runner she's got her bets placed on turns Hannah attention. Shading her eyes with one hand, the drink still held so carefully in the other, the goldrider nods her head slowly. "He's a good one. I couldn't resist putting some marks on that dark one that looks like midnight. I think his name is Midnight something-or-other. It's a small bet. I'm saving my marks for the rest of my ball outfit." Besides, Hannah is miserly when it comes to betting, not liking just throwing marks away. "I know nothing of races. I put a bet on something and then hope something comes out at the end." It's true, and the rueful look turned Cerise's way just adds to the stated truth. As she sips the brightly colored, probably fruity, drink, a gust of wind picks up and pushes through the racing tracks. Stirring with it all sorts of scents: cooking meat, the churn of dirt and runner shit previously mentioned, and the subtle hint of summer flowers. "Are you ready to be free of weyrlinghood?"

"Ach!" An expression of amused dismay if ever there was one, accompanied by the lift of one of Cerise's hands towards her hair. Her eyes dance at the other woman as she confesses, "I found my first silver hair at fourteen, I was certain I'd be grey within the Turn. So far so good." When her hand drops, she returns to passing the bet chit she'd been given over her knuckles, rolling it over and around and through her fingers with not quite as much grace as D'tri would show. "I'm lucky I've an old costume that'll serve well enough for the ball. I've worn it before but no one's likely to notice, aye?" That's a joke too. And one made without any hint of what she might intend for winnings, should they come her way. Instead, the weyrling falls silent for a short time. Enjoying, perhaps, that melange coloring the air, and certainly raptly observant of the runners being danced to their places, the whole lot in high prancing spirits. Eventually though, and with due thoughtfulness, she says, "More than ready, I think. Jiamoth's in no rush, she never is, but it'd be nice to no longer require the escort everywhere, aye? And to start carving our place in a proper wing. It's a steep enough slope without putting it off."

"Maybe I just went grey before I even got out of infanthood," Hannah's tone is easy, and rife with humor. It's a great day to be outside, under an awning to keep the sun off of their skin — which is a good thing for Hannah, given the penchant for burning — and feeling the breezes keep the worst of the heat from sticking. "Your hair is a rich, beautiful color. I always wanted curls. Alas, mine will never curl." No rancor mars her husky voice, however, as she lifts her glass to sip. "Twirling Candy is probably destined to be the winner, by the looks of him. I'm sure mine won't place. The bay out at the far end of the line, I suspect his rider is not really that proficient," comments are idly made. Some laziness influenced by Rukbat's warming light has added a languorous note to her tone. She does turn to look at Cerise, regarding the weyrling. "True enough and in a half turn or so we'll need every able bodied rider." The corner of her mouth lifts, expression touched in brief melancholy before the start of the race redirects her attention. "And they're off!" The crowd of people has thickened, and a particularly rude woman makes her way in front of them, angling down the row further. However, she's none-too-careful with the purchases she's made at the gather-fair. Careful! Lest one gets a package to the eye!

"See, another reason to look into purchasing someone else's hair, and have it made up into a wig. You can have curls, different colors, a new style every day out of seven." Not that Cerise really means it- real hair is expensive, and here Hannah is already saving for her ball gown. She slants a sidelong grin at the weyrwoman then attends to those beasts being pointed out, nodding along in agreement to each remark. No objections here. "Bet you a dance he comes in last," she chuckles, on the subject of the bay and his jockey. "I'm still hoping Jia decides to go up for the first time before Thread decides to comes down," she remarks. "Wanna get as many good times in beforehand, y'know?" In the meantime, her hand is extended to the side, patting around for the little sack of boiled peanuts she'd picked up on the way into the racetrack. She's just about to pop one into her mouth when she of the packages swings by, requiring the greenrider to jerk back- and spill her peanuts. "Oy! Watch it!" Diplomacy? Not her department!

If looks could kill, that woman would have withered where she should, given the way Hannah's glare burns into her back. "Some people!" Husky tones affect indignant hauteur fairly well, though it's when the woman's gone that the golrider demures with, "Mmmm. I always lose." Actually trapping her into a bet is pretty hard to do, as D'tri well knows. "Honestly? I would find it weird to wear someone else's hair. I am fine with my own. It's only a passing whimsy, after all." Luckily, she was able to save herself from having the fruity drink spilled on her dress when the be-packages'd woman passed. "Are you ready for that? Your first flight?" The question is gentle when asked, pushing aside the frippery of the moment while the horses careen around the track. "It's intense, the first time, and different for everyone. So don't let anyone tell you there's only one way to be, one thing to do. No two females are the same."

Sadly, folk like that are so often oblivious to the havoc they wreak. It doesn't help that, with the runners' surging forward, many in the crowd are on their feet as well so the damage she does is limited mostly to Cerise's poor peanuts. The greenrider looks sadly down into the less full package, then sighs and pops some of the survivors into her mouth. Mmmm, tasty. "'f you're sure." About the bet. "I'm as ready as lectures and discussions between the two of us can make a person. Jiamoth is ready. She's known for weeks now those she'd prefer win, though I've told her she's young for it yet. Excepting the way I'll have her in my head and her in mine, sharing all of that, it's not that different from what ah…oy, look, Midnight's pulling ahead!" It could well be a distracting tactic, that she points wildly to pull Hannah's attention towards the track.

Oh the sad peanuts, sitting there forgotten on the ground. Left to waste. "Oh, the dragons are always more ready than you are," comes the goldrider's rueful response. "It's not the same as when you feel the effects of another's flight. You'd be surprised— " The rest of what she's said is lost to the moment when she waves an arm and points. "He is! He is! Yours is coming up though. Woah! Look at him take that corner!" The cheering crowd, the shortness of her own stature against the others that stand, has Hannah leaning towards Cerise. "Can you see who's gone and won?!" Damn the drink; she's setting that down to attempt to stand (unladylike) on her cushioned seat. "Is it yours? Is it mine?" The revelry of the moment has added color to her cheeks and a carefree sparkle to her eye. Although, she looks as if she'd just about give her right arm for more inches in height.

Cerise has those inches! Several of them, at least, enough that with some toe-bouncing she's able to chart the last measures of the race. Everything up to that point is cheering chaos but as Hannah asks for answers, the ex-performer strains as tall as she can to find them for the goldrider. "A dun! Dun…yours, and mine for third! A partial payout, that's not so bad," she says as she drops back down again, shamelessly breathless from all of the excitement. Her grin could stretch from ear to ear if tugged, her dimples are dug deep, and the annoyance of lost peanuts is forgotten. "That'll get your pulse going, aye?" Not unlike a flight, come to think of it! "Should wait a bit before collecting, it'll be crammed down there. I've no marks set down on the next race, how's about you?"

"Hey! That's not so bad after all!" Hannah's got a bit of girlish glee in her eyes when she claps her hands together and falls back to the seat, after sweeping her skirt beneath her. "Might as well stay here, then, as I imagine — yes, see. The horde is heading down to collect their winnings." She's got her betting marker tucked away somewhere, but she's content to stay and let the crowd thin. "No, I've got nothing on the next race, though I hear the winning rider of this race gets a sapphire." Keroon is clearly showing their depth of wealth on this day! "Anyway," the goldrider picks up the earlier thread of conversation, "Just know that proddiness won't make you into a completely different person. Whatever happens, it's not like you're lost to her feelings entirely, and definitely enjoy it while you can." A secretive, coy smile curves her lips. "It's fun to torment the males." Dragon, riders; whatever is male, torment must be had!

"Oh, aye?" Sapphire? Avarice lights a golden gleam in Cerise's eyes but she makes no move to stand or press through the crowds to rectify her lack of wager- possibly because there are races yet to come, and she has bets laid on those. The sack of boiled peanuts is tilted towards Hannah as she speaks and the greenrider listens, nodding absently along. "I'd wondered about that," she says, with a small smile tugging at her own mouth. "Whether that was something you enjoyed before, or whether it comes only with Dhia's urges. Jia's been ridiculously reasonable about it all, thus far. She thinks it best if it happens before we're tapped, so we can plant a…ah…positive impression in the wingleaders' minds. Though how she means to know which leader we need to impress before we're tapped, I've no idea."

Delicately, Hannah plucks out a few peanuts with a smile and murmured, "Thanks," before she continues, a single peanut hovering in front of her mouth while she talks. "Proddiness will never bring out in you what you are not already capable of. For me, it's like suddenly I don't care what people are thinking of me and I feel freer." Popping a peanut in her mouth, she weighs her next words while she chews. Only after a swallow, she adds carefully, "For me, it's like my skin becomes enflamed and everything feels so good. Touch. The wind. I get flushed and it feels like I'm on fire right up to the moment. Certainly, Dhiammarath's urges influence, but in a nebulous way. Because it's all me, and yet it's not. It's uninhibited me." She turns away from Cerise lest the touch of bitterness be too visible for the weyrling, "And of course, everyone has an opinion of your behavior, but don't let that — hinder you. It's very much a feeling of being alive." As the next race starts getting prepped, she glances back to Cerise, another smile for the greenrider. "The race after this one, I hear, offers an emerald."

That simple half-turn must have been effective- that, or Cerise offers Hannah the kindness of letting the bitterness go unremarked on, because she seems to take no notice. Instead she tucks her chin in and studies the choice of peanuts before plucking several out for herself, to split and pop behind her teeth. "I remember, aye, when you fell that way. For a little while there, I'd thought maybe I might have caught your eye. Alas, it wasn't to be," she says with such a dismal sigh that surely she means it as just light teasing. "I'll be curious to see what Jia brings out in me though. Truth be told, for all I've made my faces at the Weyrleader for his choice of words, I've few enough inhibitions. Sometimes I think I should be ashamed of it but life hasn't ever let me…emerald? Shaffit, did I…" She sets the sack down to go through the pouch strung on her woven cord belt, sifting through the wager chits until reassured of the foresight. "Oh, thank goodness. I've a chance at that one, then!"

There is gratitude for Cerise ignoring the bitterness that stole across the goldrider's expression and it's expressed as, "Everyone caught my eye, but not every little peanut can be accounted for." Hannah dances another peanut with a now classically faux coy look before bursting into soft laughter. "Dhiammarath's urges tend to trend towards the males. Male dragons, male humans. Females are safer, though not if they ride a male dragon." Perhaps the blush that touches her cheeks is for the remembrance of grinding on Nika. Ahem. "No, and that's why everyone's different. For me it's like I can let go. For you, it might be the opposite. You might find yourself feeling prudish and holding yourself away from everyone until she deems it time. It's just — it's like boobs. Everyone's got a pair, but they're all different. I'd like a little — " But Cerise's latch onto the emerald abruptly shifts Hannah's attention to that. "I only had a bet on the one that just ended. I was hoping to get that carnelian, but alas." She's unlucky! Cerise and Hannah are sitting together, dressed in day dresses: the weyrling in white and pale yellows, with an empire waist and ribbons. Hannah in the weyr's colors in the drop-waisted emerald-green dress with a wide black sash, butt-bow, and a velvet black headband. They appear to be waiting the crowd to thin before departing as another runner race is gearing up.

"That'd be a sight, wouldn't it? Cerise, the virgin." The very thought is incomprehensible, strongly enough so that the greenling is immediately reduced to helpless laughter. She's comfortable enough with Hannah to share her amusement by bumping shoulder against shoulder in a brief lean before righting herself. "It'd take more than a dragon's hormones to accomplish that sadly, even if that dragon is Jiamoth. And aye, yes lovely, I've played one well enough on stage but life's different." That last sentence is clearly intended to the absent green, with Cerise overlooking her not being right there while she wipes her eyes of humorous tears and then blinks them as salt from the peanuts makes them sting. Oops. "You were fine though," she goes on to assure Hannah, even while switching to rubbing her eyes against her forearm. Stinging! So much stinging! Her voice becomes a little muffled as a result.

Between pickups, T'ral has ambled to the tracks, eyes on the sky - towering clouds in the distance like those that pile up along the ranges back home. Home. That's Southern now. These clouds are piled up over a whole lot of nothing. Vast expanses of rolling grass dotted with holds and herdbeasts. Keroon. He's not sporting any Gather garb, but is smart in a new set of flight leathers, dark gray. Charcoal (thanks, Cerise). He salutes the junior weyrwoman and his wingleader before grinning, "Don't suppose I have to do that today, though, eh?" He inclines his head bowing gallantly over an arm folded across his midsection. "Ladies."

Hannah bumps against Cerise, sharing a friendly, conspiratorial smile. "It's a fun thought, anyway." She lowers her voice and queries of the greenrider in hushed tones. "Surely you are enjoying your new freedoms well, right?" If suggestion lurks in her husky voice, it's for Cerise to discern. A murmured, "You're too kind," follows the greenrider's own muffled commentary, though the secretive smile is perhaps shared between women. The closeness dissipates some as a familiar face finds them beneath their awning, shaded from Rukbat's rays as they are. "T'ral," Hannah greets with a warm smile for the familiar face of the bluerider, straightening her back and finally plucking up that drink she'd forgotten about. To Cerise, she ruefully shows the emptied container and adds, "I guess that lady was as careful with her feet as she was with her packages." Then back to the bluerider, she doesn't comment on the saluting, though she does ask, "Enjoying the gather?"

Oh ho ho. Hannah doesn't need to explain; the huskiness in the voice the goldrider uses, pitched so low, says it all and summons another laugh from Cerise. "You've no idea," she assures the other woman. "There's this bluerider, aye? In the Weyrleader's wing. And also-" Also what? Or who? She doesn't get a chance to clarify, as here's T'ral and she has a grin as well, for the salute she's given. "Here now," she chides the man, "it's meant to be opposite day and none of us with any rank at all. No salutes, that's an order." That she's just pitched a paradox at her fellow weyrling goes unremarked upon. There's the container to accept from Hannah, a sigh over its missing contents, and then a glance for the track where a fresh string of ponies are now ready- and they're off! The crowd is sparse, but those who do remain for this race are enthusiastic. But not Cerise. She's seated beside Hannah, the weyrling in a white with yellow sundress and sunhat, the weyrwoman in drop-waisted emerald green with a black sash to mark her as representing Southern.

Dropping with a hasty thanks to the Igen bluerider who has delivered her, Xieli dusts off her palms on her soft leggings. Dark eyes consider the landscape around her, and she starts a careful procession through the crowds. She's dressed as always in a healer's pragmatic fashion, clingy leggings of grey with a tunic belted over it that falls to mid-thigh. She stops just at the outskirts of the collection that is T'ral, Hannah and Cerise, peering off at the faroff thunder of racing runners.

"Enjoying the Gather? No, ma'a- Hannah. Working. Working the Gather." Southern's finest Taxi service. Need a ride, call a blue hide. Priority rides to and from the Gather are one of the only currencies this young rider can leverage and he's taking full advantage while he can, collecting favors, marks. The loud CRACK that sounds the start of another race pulls T'ral's head around. He looks over, squinting. Little to interest him there, T'ral -shocker- doesn't gamble. Cerise's sigh is noted and T'ral looks from Hannah, to the container to Cerise. "Cerise, can I get you something?" His eyebrows quirk up curiously. A little hesitant, he shifts dark eyes moving to the junior weyrwo- "Hannah?" His eyes tick up at movement along the edge of the crowd, noting a woman -unfamiliar- at the edge of the crowd. If she looks up, he nods.

Xieli might be a lurker on the edge of the crowd of Southern riders, but possibly not for long. The races do get underway, but while the crowd is sparse right now, the sudden drama near the track draws a crowd. The winner of the last race — who won the carnelian — is in the midst of starting a fight with one of the betting men of this race. Both men intent upon the grand prize of the sapphire and it's starting to come to fisticuffs while the Keroonian guards are quick to draw in, it might push Xieli closer to the gathering of riders. Unless she goes the opposite way! Meanwhile, Hannah watches on with some amusement, and comments, "Men. Silly creatures." When T'ral offers to get them something, the smile that touched on her lips widens ever further. "Certainly. We'd like more peanuts and a drink, if you please." This comes just before she adds, "Don't work too hard, T'ral. Everyone deserves to have fun — Are you seeing that, Cerise?" Talk of men will be done later, for now there's a girl and a brawl. "Hey!" In case Xieli didn't come their way, the junior is going to hail her, "Come over here. You're liable to get an elbow to the eye right there!"

Cerise is not one to pass up the chance to accept an offer. T'ral wants to get them something? Well, she'll pay for that with a dimple and a request- but only because he offered. "I could use a drink too. Someone was selling these fruity slushy things with little umbrellas in them?" she suggests, shoulders up and hands raised to make tiny little gestures approximating a small umbrella being opened and closed. She's so cute- in her own mind. All joking and attempts at being adorable are put on hold as a brawl breaks out, however. Then she shows her roots by bouncing to her feet and yelling an encouragement- until she realizes Hannah is trying to save someone from the chaos down there. "Quick now! Before the guards come rolling in!"

And so one Healer is jostled, vexation tweaking her eyebrows together. Xieli turns half in exasperation when Hannah calls, and her expression smoothes appropriately. Not quite a smile but not quite not. "Oh, thank you." Oblivious to any rank or rank-not in this sea of rankless, she offers all three members of the little grouping a small smile but it is Hannah she addresses "I think they would have come right over on me! It's amazing everyone isn't walking around with busted noses or blackened eyes." A bit of a peeve fills her lowish-registered voice. Her eyes slide thoughtfully to Cerise's cheering, but she doesn't comment, her eyes instead drifting to T'ral.

"'Silly creatures.' And here I've just offered to get refreshments." He snorts, a raising of one brow, shaking his head. He throws his hands up, "And now I'm going to get them." He grins, "You're right. Silly." He turns that grin on Xieli, straightening and drawing himself up, the very image of a dutiful manservant, bringing her into the joke, "Anything for you, Miss?"

People are still coming and going, which means that Yules had a handy reason to come check out the Gather today. Of course, she has the luck of taking a break and visiting on no-knot day, an entirely bemusing idea and somewhat unnerving as the tall brownrider goes through the crowds in loose pants and a pale linen shirt, eyes searching for a knot, and then sliding over the shoulder where knots conspicuously aren't. She carries a small basket, having gotten some fripperies, and of course, a HAT that Desmeth said she couldn't come back to her weyr without. It's large, curling up on the sides, and a dimple in the middle. So by this point, Yules is ready for some NORMAL, making her way to Cerise and Hannah's sides, "Good day, weyrwo…" Nope that won't do. "Um. Miss?" That's not a rank, right? "Hello, Cerise, T'ral," a pause as Yules eyes Xieli and takes another risk, "Miss…"

"Spirits are high this day," Hannah pats one of the cushions on the side that's empty for Xieli to take a seat. Her, Cerise, now Xieli, and T'ral all stand beneath an awning in the middle of the afternoon while a gambling brawl carries on and the races are nearing their finish. Hannah and Cerise are in gather day-dresses, the weyrling in white and yellow and goldrider in emerald green with a wide, black sash, the epitome of weyr colors. Xieli is much more traditionally garbed in healer's pragmatism of grey leggings and belted tunic. T'ral is much more sensibly dressed: in a smart new set of flight leathers. As the guards take care of the shenanigans, the junior comments, "Now, I wonder if he lost his carnelian or if he managed to not get robbed." As T'ral teases, Hannah raises her expression upwards and just smiles. Rankless they may be, but the difference between male and female still exists! "Yules!" The brownrider's arrival is greeted, turning that warm smile to the weyrling before she introduces for Xieli. "I'm Hannah, this is Cerise, this is Yules, and that is T'ral." The helpful one going to get all the stuff!

"It's early yet, there might yet be busted noses and blackened eyes in the future of most here." Even Cerise? Her grin, set at an irreverent tilt, implies as much while the twinkle in green-gold eyes tell a different story. The teasing disappears with Yules' arrival though, her hand almost lifting in a reflexive salute to the wingleader. "Y'know, this is the first time I've seen you at your ease without klah at hand. What've you there?" In the basket, of course. She tilts to look as if suspecting the missing klah might have found its way in there somehow- and as she straightens up, a face is spied elsewhere in the crowds. A face that steals her attention and would leave her ears perked, if she had perkable ears. "If you'll excuse me, all? I'll only be a moment." Gathering her skirts, the weyrling hastens down the steps, away from the brawlers and towards whomever that was.

Xieli flashes a sudden smile to T'ral, bright and charming. "Oh yes, please. Something sweet and cold?" She can make herself personable when she needs to, apparently. Her eyes drift to the tall brownrider approaching and her lips curl up at one corner. "Xieli," she introduces herself. "That's — ah — some hat you have there." She will pick her way forward to take the proffered seat that Hannah so thoughtfully offers however. The healer absorbs Hannah's introductions with a nod and a reoffered, "Xieli. Of Igen." Her eyes watch the boisterous curly-headed greenrider walk off thoughtfully.

T'ral nods at Xieli's order. "My pleasure, Xieli." He turns to Yules, "I'm getting refreshments, what'll you have?" T'ral waits politely for her order, if she has one then turns, giving Hannah a wry salute and grin that doesn't quite reach eyes that flicker through wary, sad and back to dutiful in the span of a heartbeat. His boots grate on the gravel as he makes his way towards the food stalls.

Sometime later T'ral returns with the beverages and snacks, distributes them graciously, then departs immediately for another run back to Southern.

Yules adjusts her hat surreptitiously, rubbing where it sits on her forehead. There's the faintest hint of smirk at Cerise's near-salute, though the greenrider's insight to Yules' unnatural, un-klahed state sends Yules rifling through her basket, "Just some things I picked up. Some spices," and who knows why her lips are twisting like that, "And klah. And other things…" It seems that the contents of Yules' basket aren't nearly as fascinating to others as they are to her, as Cerise moves away but that's not so new when Yules starts talking about food. Xieli gets the eye-over, but Yules seems to break out of this trance and nods politely enough, "Well met. Yules. Like Mi- Hannah said. And thank you. My dragon said he wanted it." Because which dragon doesn't comment on your millinery choices? T'ral's handing her a drink gets a look of relief and a murmured "Thanks" before the young man dashes off again. "He's very dedicated," Yules mentions unnecessarily. Tasting her drink, Yules winces: "They haven't quite mastered the iced klah." Vanity.

Hannah also watches Cerise walk off, brows drawing inward a touch. "Well met, Xieli of Igen. We're all from Southern, and we were watching the races until it turned into a disaster." She waves a hand down to where the brawl is all but gone, for now. "But it looks like that little runner got the lead and won that race. The next one — the grand prize is an emerald. Lord Keroon is showing off his wealth with these races." The goldrider's commentary is really to set everyone at ease and to gossip like a fishwife with a pretty smile. Then T'ral is making his exit so abruptly as well, with strange expressions. And all of a sudden, there were three. When Yules winces, it sparks a memory of Hannah's: "Thank you for the recipe. I've enjoyed being able to make your special klah." The healer's turned to, to inquire, "Are you enjoying the gather? Have any marks on any of the races?"

"Lord Keroon has wealth enough to show," being Xieli's oblique reply. The darkhaired healer shakes her head. "He's a strange boy." She announces this, about T'ral, to Hannah and Yules. "Do you both know him well? I'd say he's harboring something of a something for you." That's to Hannah, the last. "He looked so sad." She smirks faintly and turns her eyes to Yules' bounty. Er, the bounty in the basket. Briefly, "I just arrived. Into a brawl! An excessive amount of revelry."

Yules turns in some surprise to observe where Hannah waves, eyeing the remnants of where races were happening, "A full emerald?" It seems incredible to this wide-eyed young woman, though she does mutter to the air, "I'm not coming home with an emerald in a hat. Unless you want to race…" but it's doubtful that Lord Keroon had that in mind. Hannah's reminder gets a startled but genuine smile: "Good. It's good to have the good klah at your fingertips," Yules repeats herself a little, but there's a little devilish grin as well: "I received a spice mill as a weyr-warming gift, so I hope to grind my own again soon." The idea that T'ral has a thing for Hannah elicits a bark of laughter and then Yules quiets, "Um. Really? T'ral? I thought he liked that trader," she finishes faintly.

"A full emerald," Hannah confirms with a nod of her head. "The last race was a sapphire and the one before it was a carnelian. I tried to win the carnelian, but I got — second place, I think." As to Xieli's observations, the goldrider just smiles. "Not for me, likely. Besides, I am spoken for." As the woman stands, she adds blithely, "And I tried to win him a carnelian." Alas. With a nod to both other girls, she starts to step away. "I need to go collect my winnings. I still have things to buy for my dress tomorrow evening." She pauses, then to Yules, "Enjoy the gather." And to Xieli, "It was a pleasure to meet you, Xieli." And with a final nod, she takes her leave, heading into the bright sunlight to get her marks. Exit, stage left!

Xieli watches after Hannah with a faintly curious look. But she doesn't say anything other than shake her head and smile up at Yules, quickly. "I think I'd best move on myself, find a dress if I have any likelihood of coming back." Her voice is still low and amused. "It was good to meet you, Yules. And your hat." There's one last look for that hat before she moves along her way, off to find that perfect garment that tucks and nips and lifts and dazzles.

Yules raises a hand in farewell to Hannah, though her mind is a little dazzled at the idea of emerald and sapphire facets. The talk about dresses doesn't fire anything up in this plain-dressed woman, but Yules nods to Xieli, "Thank you. Have a wonderful rest-of-Gather." So formal! Perhaps in exchange for not being able to address by rank, Yules looks over the crowd and sees nothing left for her; time to head back to Southern, it seems.
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