(add if you were forgotten!) Ja'kai, Renalde, Arianne, Prymelia, Yules, Dione, Bailey, T'ral, D'rak, R'nyr, Niyati, Xh'zil, Z'bor, Kultir, Q'fex, Mailli


A party in Southern while an announcement is made about new Wingleaders (Hi D'rak and Yules!) and the opening of a new Hold!


It is evening of the fourth day of the tenth month of the first turn of the 12th pass.


Hatching Sands

OOC Date


ja-kai_default.jpg renalde3.jpg arianne_default.jpg, prymelia_default.jpg, yules_default.jpg, dione_default.jpg, bailey_default.jpg, t-ral_default.jpg, d-rak_default.jpg, r-nyr_default.jpg, niyati_default.jpg, xh-zil_default.jpg, z-bor_default.jpg, kultir_default.jpg,


Hatching Sands

The Sands are surprisingly soft to the feet and to the eyes: rich grains of gold commingle with the ground basalt-black that mark the shores of Azov's Sea. The whorls of lighter color pattern into the sands, larger-grained and often settling at the top, as golden driftwood against dark shores. … but the moaning from above sounds like the chorus of the damned, lessening the natural beauty here below.
Type 'help here' for info on how to set/use the sands.

Timor: moon6.jpg
Belior: moon1.jpg

The scene is set: Ja'kai is here, dark and ominous, with Renalde and a large crew from the caverns. The Sands have been transformed this evening — craftily-strewn glows in flimsy wrappers hang like ambient moonbeams, softly lighting the dusky interior of the hatching cavern. The sands underneath give under many feet, and glow with warmth, escalating the coolness of the evening — it's a scant 70 degrees outside — to a perpetual Southern heat. There are Harpers cunningly set at the lowest row of the Galleries, and rows of heavily-laden food and drink tables; but it all waits in a hush for those who are yet to come.

Arianne only comes to these things when she absolutely has to. And, she probably has to. So with an 'I'm totally sucking it up and being a big girl' smile on her face, the brownrider steps from stone to sand and warmth. Annnnnnd, absolutely makes her way to the table with wine first, giving greetings or salutes as required, or murmuring quiet hello's when it can't be escaped. The dark blue of a gauze gown creation she's sporting almost helps her blend into the dark; were it not for all the sparkly threads embroidered on.

Arriving with a few women from the trading grounds in a flush of stifled giggles, Prymelia stops but a few feet onto the hatching sands, a soft gasp escaping her. "Have you ever seen anything quite so…" Words fail the young woman as she turns wide-eyed to her raven-haired companion. "S'like the moon and stars dropped down to sup with us." The other young woman whispers in awe.

Like her fellow brownrider Arianne, Yules comes in looking not entirely comfortable. She's in a dark red dress that probably won't handle the heat well, but at least she isn't wearing her boots - someone managed to convince her that sandals would be a better fit for this event. The first scan of the room has Yules heading for the drinks, and she'll walk the perimeter watching the crowd, and possibly looking for body parts.

With such a cool evening to escape one, Dione is glad of the heat of the caverns as she slowly, gracefully wanders in. There's a quick, quirky frown as the very intensity of the heat is felt, and she mentally thanks the kind soul that suggested a change of footwear. Surreptitiously checking the drape of fabric over her shoulder, she gives her first few steps inward carefully, and rubbernecks a little to catch all of the unexpected beauty of the large cavern. Slowly, happily, she smiles, and walks forward more eagerly.

And here's Bailey, wearing a scandalously-tight dress, white with irregular dark-blue patches, indecorously low-cut to show a maximum amount of cleavage. It's short, too, which means only one thing: she totally stole this from Lendai's closet. She adjusts the top hem of it, shifting her shoulders in that classic girlie way to try to get the girls to get their act together. She's wearing thick-soled sandals, muted and strappy, and the only reason she is here is to rep for the goldriders. Dumb pregnancies, man.

T'ral steps onto the sands, an eerie echo of the last thing he remembers before waking some months ago. With significantly fewer butterflies. He closes his eyes, head tilted to listen to the moaning of the wind over the mouth of the cavern high above. Where Arianne attends out of obligation, T'ral is rather more sanguine, making the rounds, dark eyes merry as he circulates amongst the attendees eventually sidling up to his wingmate and leader. "You look striking, Wingleader," a salute. Hopefully she wouldn't put paid to that particular compliment. It had been known to happen.

Renalde watches those who come in, noting their reactions to the transformation solemnly. He stands near the food, silent as a statue, his neatly pressed clothing not at all seeming affected by the warmth whatsoever. Those ladies wearing… not enough, get eyed for just an extra moment. Disapproval guys. DISAPPROVAL. Bailey. Disapproval.

Formal wear consists of dark pants, cream shirt, and a dark burgundy leather vest with golden-thread stitching as accents. It's an affectation of casual elegance that works with the chestnut curls and the brooding hazel eyes. R'nyr is good at keeping to the back of the crowd, having an acerbic remark about the sands to the likes of, "They can't even pick what color they want to be here." Attentive to the acting Weyrleader, this High Reachian transplant finds a place to watch with the best view. Something is going down; he's sure of it.

Bailey is a super-swank supermodel. Or just a kid that TOTALLY just stuck her tongue out at Renalde. What? If the shoe fits.

D'rak usually avoids such shindigs preferring to keep his encounters with other human beings to a manageable one-on-one association and brief at that. Ronith must have had something to do with the brownrider's presence this evening for not only is he prowling in through the shadows thrown by the soft light of glows, but he also appears to have found himself some decent threads. Blonde hair is freshly washed but still swifts across his eyes, the world beyond surveyed through its screening fringe. Scandalously-tight, low-cut dresses garner a tick of attention.

Arianne obviously approves of Bailey's scandalous attire; because she nearly chokes on her first sip of wine upon spotting the golrider. "Bailey, don't you just look smashing." she greets, cheerfuly, obviously sidling up nearby the other woman just before wiggling her fingers at Yules in a greeting. Brownrider solidarity. "Trying to give anyone in particular a heart attack?"

Niyati is here, though doing her best to stick to the edges. There are people to be watched and outfits to be thought of. Riders can be wonderful customers if one has the right designs. There may or may not be the added advantage of being able to pick up a few threads of gossip, so she's staying somewhere between earshot and background.

Bailey links an arm with Arianne's, drawing close to her of-a-height redheaded sister-in-arms. She deftly IGNORES D'rak. She'll stomp on his heart later in the evening, mmm-k-thx. "Arianne, my love," she drawls, some inner joke present in those words and the smirk on her face. "The only one I'd ever try to give a heart-attack would be you." She wiggles her fingers at Yules and T'ral, both of them being in proximity.

Ja'kai watches, his stance and mien foreboding. He seems to be waiting for some internally-judged critical mass to be met. He glances over the top of someone's head to try to catch Renalde's eye. Apparently, it's the boys show this evening.

One might wonder why Xh'zil even shows up for all that he looks less than thrilled to have done so. It's certainly not to mingle with friends, because the bronzerider doesn't really have those things. Bailey might come the closest to being called one, but he only gives her tight, low-cut dress a brief, strictly-for-observation once over as he passes.

Dione meanders around to greet those of rank, inclining her head quickly before wandering on: surely the reception line is already long enough. Out of strict, professional curiosity, she circles around the outside and makes for the tables that groan under food and drink. Misty-mint eyes narrow with a certain amount of glee, and she circles right away again, looking back and forth for familiar faces in the sudden crowd.

There's a salt-and-pepper haired man with a haggard slant to his face lingering in the back. He may just end up in R'nyr's proximity. He still has a cast on his arm, and humorless is the smile on his face as he examines the set-up for this whole … gig. Q'fex glances once at his fellow bronzerider but doesn't actually say anything, apparently at ease with staying as incognito as he gets.

Does D'rak even care that Bailey's handing him the cold shoulder? Not a jot. Not with the delightful manner in which glowlight glints enticingly off the smooth necks of so many bottles waiting to be freed of their contents. Booze over babes!

Patience. Renalde meets Ja'kai's eye for just a moment, then begins to drift forwards into the crowd. Perhaps, that critical mass has not been achived. There is more enjoyment to be had, and more people to gather. Or maybe he's just waiting for one of those natual huses to fall. His footsteps are not…. quite a pace. More like an amble. He could be enjoying himself. Or jsut waiting to find something to criticize.

Fingers wiggled in her direction, Yules sips at her drink and raises her hand in response. Bailey's dress gets a once-over but unlike the men, Yules looks a little envious - maybe she wishes her dragon had let her dress like that too. So it's in that direction she goes, looking a bit less than plussed, and a bit more than warm. "Hi there." Yup, that's her greeting.

To Arianne too. O hai.

Strictly for observation. Oh hell no. Bailey gets a straight up boggle goggle from T'ral. He scratches at his jaw, grinning, "May I say you look striking as well, Junior Weyrwoman," the grin slips wry and the fingers scratching at his jaw shift to his ear. "Yules, likewise. Can I get you anything, ladies?" T'ral takes any orders and excuses himself to see to them with a small formal bow.

Content to be at the back of the proverbial bus, R'nyr doesn't immediately seek anyone out, but neither does he flee when Q'fex approaches his space. "A man like that," he chin-nods to Ja'kai, "tends to be erratic in decisions he makes." Q'fex might have appointed him, but given that he's now the Weyrleader-regent-former-no-rank, this bronzerider isn't afraid to allude to bad choices. "This is why I come to these things," sly laughter that follows is quiet, "For the eye candy."

Warm smiles are offered to just about everyone, whether Prymelia knows them or not. For those she does, the smiles linger and are joined by a lift of hand and wiggle of fingers. But there is one in particular, a certain bluerider for whom the smile slips a touch, gaze ducking and skipping sideways as she's dragged off by her raven-haired friend toward the tables set up a delicious testament to Ardstelle's culinary prowess.

Q'fex shifts his shoulders in response to R'nyr's words, his facial expression brittle. He says something, to the other bronzerider, but it doesn't travel far.

You overhear Q'fex mutter, "… … that I would … appointed … … … … free will? There … … going on here … … can … at … … glance, pup." to R'nyr.

There's a clearing of a throat, following Renalde's ambling forth. It may sound a little irritated, to those who can hear it. All can hear the following boom of sound and voice, lifted to the acoustic marvel that is Southern's hatching caverns: "Wingsecond Yules," Ja'kai's voice booms forth like gravel between a millstone, the words resonant and deep. And then: "Brownrider D'rak." He gives a benevolent shift of his hand to indicate the expanse in front of him. "Please."

"Hey T'ral." Yep, Arianne is pretending to be cheerful. She's almost positive something BAD will be happening today, and is just drinking herself up in preparation for it. "Yules, you look lovely." she adds, glancing around to see whom else is familiar that she can perhaps hide behind. Caelth teeters on the knife's edge this evening and it would just be BAD if he tipped to the wrong side. Playing it safe here, yup. And then, Yules is called forward. "Good luck." she whispers.

Bailey clings to Arianne's arm a little tighter when Ja'kai starts talking, like she could somehow forcibly keep her friend's name from being called. Such is the life of a nowtimer goldrider, to feign authority when the boys hold the chips. She glances once at T'ral and gives a slight smile — and another one for Xh'zil as he passes. To Ari: "I need more alcohol for this." She watches Yules with a mournful hint to her expression, like somehow the brownrider is going up to her DEATH.

She's an innocent little WingSecond, just sipping her juice, standing as an awkward third to the conversation. T'ral's question gets an absent shake of her dark head, as if she barely heard the question. A quick smile to Arianne, "And you as well," she says, stiffly formal like it's her retreat when she's feeling awkward. And speaking of awkward, the interim Weyrleader is calling her forth. That means… Nothing good, but Yules can obey an order, moving over to where Ja'kai has waved, her steps a little stiff. There's a quick look back to Bailey and Arianne - 'saaaave meeeeee'…

D'rak has just found himself a lovely bottle of whiskey and is currently devising a way to take the whole bottle instead of pouring himself just a snifter of the umber brew when Ja'kai's voice booms out behind. "Crackdust." Muttered under his breath as he slowly pivots on a bootheel and fits the Acting Weyrleader with a look that is one creased browline away from being a scowl. "Sir." Terse. Yules flung a sidelong look cast suspicious as he moves with her to the place indicated.

Renalde has all the grace in the world as he paces. A glow that has found itself askew is righted almost like Renalde doesn't even realize what he is doing, before he continues again, arriving beside Prymelia momentarily. "Prymelia."

Outright laughter carries outward from where R'nyr turns his attention away from Ja'kai to the broken former-Weyrleader. He leans in, hazel eyes intent despite the jovial smile that stretches his lips. Whatever is whispered carries not far at all before Ja'kai's sudden booming voice catches his attention. Is that a look shared with D'rak?

Q'fex glances singularly at R'nyr, and his smile is bloodthirsty and wolfish despite himself. He doesn't respond, other than to flip the bronzerider the bird and say, QUITE LOUDLY in the hush from all-eyes-on-Yules-and-D'rak, "Fuck you." Then he turns, and walks out as stately as a man with a cast can.

Hopefully nobody from the Harper sections thinks they're funny and starts playing a funeral dirge. Or maybe they should. Ahem. Ari clings just as fiercely to Bailey's arm, glancing behind them at the table arrayed with liquor. "Three steps back and we're there." is murmured, sharing a somewhat mournful look with Yules trying to schol her expression.

"Headman." Prymelia's smile widens. "You're looking very…you." Compliment. Definitely a compliment. "This is Henny, she's Yorgan's daughter." Introductions are made with the raven-haired young woman offering Renalde a shy smile. Just as lips part to add more, there goes that canon shot voice of Ja'kai's and both girls freeze. Maybe they even try to slink in behind the Headman a little too.

When Xh'zil finds his chosen viewing location, he settles there and crosses his arms over his chest. It lets him watch people, which is obviously the point. He notes Q'fex leaving but, like he never visited him in the infirmary, doesn't try to approach the man he helped save to visit with him now. Instead his attention turns Ja'kai-wards with a neutral expression.

Ja'kai isn't ruffled by the things happening around him. He only has eyes for Yules — one of his own past charges, a proud lilt to his gaze there — and for D'rak — an outsider, who receives something of a reserved look. "Yules. D'rak. You have both proven yourself worthy of the honor." Without any other formality, he pulls two knots from his pockets and hands them to both of them, an incline of his chin. "Ocelot Wingleader," he intones, formally, to Yules; with a brief thinning of his lips, "Lynx Wingleader," to D'rak.

Renalde doesn't seem all that impressed by Ja'kai's voice booming out. Perhaps even for the straight laced headman the man is getting a little annoying. Such a shame about Q'fex. "Well met." He'll nod at the woman beside Prymelia before allowing his eyes to drift back to the newly promoted D'rak and Yules. "She always did make such fine Klah." And with that Renalde his pacing away again.

In the aftermath of Q'fex's leave-taking, R'nyr just folds his arms across his chest and turns his attention to Ja'kai. The sweet curve of dark smile is all that lingers from whatever exchange he had with the other bronzerider. This smile doesn't even leave when D'rak and Yules are promoted.

Whatever Bailey was expecting — this wasn't it. Her eyebrows shoot up and she clings a little more firmly to Arianne. "Really?" Her voice, color it surprised. It's way more for D'rak than Yules, though. But really, Ja'kai. D'rak?

Ohl ook, politics is happening all around her. Dione's slim frame stiffens at Q'fex's outcry, and she shuffles away a little. There's a small frown and a surreptitious shake of one foot — nope, no sand yet. Good. With that done, she seeks the outlying reaches of the crowd for a while, content to stand somewhere between the Harpers and the drinks table, eyes locked on the swirling currents of people in front of her as her mind flips up mental cards. There's even a thoughtfull humming as she attempts to identify those she knows, wants to know, or otherwise avoid.

Arianne cannot help but smile for Yules (apparent) good fortune. "Well, that could be seen as good right?" she whispers towards Bailey. "As for Lynx do wish Th'seus hadn't had to step dowm…what's up with D'rak though?" She doesn't know that one at all, so she joins Bailey in surprise. But no raised eyebrows. Not quite yet. "And did Q'fex just swear at someone and stalk out?"

Good thing Yules is too busy concentrating on Ja'kai to hear Q'fex's outburst or see him leave. In fact, Yules will face her death with eyes wide open, thank you; she's brave, she's stalwart, she's… Wingleader? There's a pause where Yules isn't quite sure which body part to move; fortunately, training steps in and her arm slowly rises to salute Ja'kai. Oh, and words too: "Thank you, sir." Yules' expression is poker-straight, even though her eyes start dancing. A look quickly at new WingLeader D'rak and Yules clears her throat. Do they hug now, or….

"I am sure the two you will be able to maintain a professional relationship Bailey." Renalde did that weird thing where he has suddenly walked up beside the goldrider and the other woman behind her. "And it could very well be temporary."

Niyati is finding all of this clearly rather interesting as well as entertaining, judging by the near grin on her face. A few discreet sketches are put into a small book before she tucks that away- just don't ask where, that outfit has no pockets- and turns her attention to the crowd again.

Bailey pulls another face at Renalde. Why's he always gotta be ruining her fun? THANKS DAD. (Dad she wants to shag maybe. Sorry T'ral~)

The redheads always love Renalde. It's his charm.

D'rak having noted Q'fex's exit and that dark smile glittering on R'ynr's mug stares hard at Ja'kai hands remaining stiffly behind his back, the knot held out to him eyed as surely as if it were a tunnelsnake egg. Sidelong to Yules, murky green eyes flick and then back to the Acting Weyrleader. There's a catch. There's always a catch. Just when it might seem the knot will fall to the sand between them, a hand comes forth and snags the looped strands. "Sir." Nothing more. There'll be time for more later in less public view. The female brownrider, formerly his wingsecond is afforded a curt dip of head and a shortly given. "Congratulations." Then and only then, is Bailey awarded the focus of his regard a deeply taunting smirk finally twining into place.

It's a good day to flip people the bird. See: Bailey flipping D'rak one, and mouthing clearly the words 'blow me'.

Sorry Yules, D'rak don't do the hugging thing.

"Oh, I see." Arianne decides, upon seeing the taunting smirk. "Oh my. Has he already done that thing you just mouthed? Was he bad at i? Is that why you don't like him?" Yep, all that for Bailey just before she inclines her head at Renalde. "Headman. How nice to see you." Dimple.

Renalde always ruins everyone's fun. He has to get his kicks in somehow. There is POINTED SILENCE from Renalde as Arianne decides to actually TALK about sex acts aloud. Vulger. "Wingleader. Are you enjoying yourself yet?" He actually isn't all that interested in her opinion, because he's drifting away again, this time towards the new wingleaders.

Not to let the thunder fall, the owner of the voice rises again: "Southern," Ja'kai announces, a stern note capturing his voice, "As we all well know, we have been living elbow-to-elbow for the past several months." He'll pause here to let everyone gather his meaning. "With wildlings, with holders that have no reason, no point living within the walls of a weyr." His face seems to indicate what HE'D do with them. Wait. What is he going to do with them? "Renalde, if you would be so kind as to give the weyr our news?" His smirk is a little too cruel to be a good thing. Or is it? Ja'kai is a strange bird. (Not to mention a damned big one.)

Yay, Yules!! Prymelia may have shouted that aloud. As for the other guy…"Who the shards is he!?" Prymelia demands to know of the nearest rider about the brownrider just promoted. The greenrider's shoulders lift and fall hands miming a 'don't ask me' gesture. Henny is gone like the mist apparently having Renalde's gift of disappearing and so the trader sidles over to Dione. "Any idea who that is?"

Oh heey yeah, there's a knot to go with this news too. Yules accepts it carefully, and then brings it up slowly, reminiscent of when she received the Weyrling WingLeader knot - but this time, she just sniffs it. You don't know where else this has been. To D'rak, Yules gives a brief nod. "And you." This is no time for levity apparently, but Yules huhs at it. She looks about to see if there's something else she has to do… nope? So she moves aside a little and watches Ja'kai warily and Renalde blankly - she knows what he's like, so hum.

Even big men can be felled; R'nyr's expression has lost the jovial, fun-loving cast to settle into a state of neutrality. With the Weyr's big promotions out of the way, he ducks towards the drink tables to fetch something that's strong enough to burn the throat on the way down. Ja'kai's further news only garners the mildest of interest; if Pern had watches, R'nyr would be checking his, holding to an air of ennui.

Bailey takes those three steps back and carries Ari with her if she can. Her eyes narrow for Renalde, and she makes another shameless cleavage-adjustment before getting into the whiskey. She mutters something at Arianne and just shakes her head. She doesn't seem surprised by whatever-it-is that Ja'kai and Renalde are going back and forth at.

Enter Z'bor, perhaps more thna fashionably late. The greenrider strides in, just as an announcement is being made it seems. He sees many familiar faces. But it is Arianne he slides up to, seeing as she's the closest. "Evening Wingleader." He announces, smiling. "Seems I've missed a bit eh?" But then his eye is on Renalde, who is up to speak it seems.

You overhear Bailey mutter, "He's … … … Great … … … … … an …" to Arianne.

"I'd definitely be enjoying myself more if I were…" Oops, and there he goes. "Have a good evening…!" To Renalde's retreating back Arianne (quietly) gave the goodbye. That Ja'kai has an announcement to make, through the Headman though? That kinda worries her. Well, this whole thing worries her really. Shallow breath in, shallow breath out. "Hi Z'bor! Have a drink, enjoy yourself.. oh, oh really? I'll just.. make note of that." Being half-dragged by Bailey the three steps back to the table her greeting was cut off. But she still smiles! Even more, perhaps, after what was muttered to her.

Did Yules just sniff her knot? Brows closer to black than they are to blonde tick upward, D'rak now questioning the other newly promoted wingleader's sanity. Bailey's sweet gesture of fangirl loving - Yes, that's totally what it was. D'rak sees you - causes a dimple to nestle within the dark bristle stubbling the brownrider's jaw and he moves off with his bottle of whiskey still in hand. To celebrate or drown his sorrows. One of the two. That his path angles him toward R'nyr purely accidental. Or is it?

With the majority of her looking done, Dione pushes away from her spot again, slowly meandering down and into the crowd. Under the disguise of all those lovely promotions, she swings past the drinks table, giving a small smile as she skirts past the crush. Her gaze catches on someone, and her expression curdles. Still, making for the table's hard tack section, she garners a glass of amber-hued liquid and turns to go and intercept R'nyr, holding it up and out at him in, for now, mute apology.

Kultir slips in a little late, hugging the edges of the gather as he prowls through the crowds toward a relatively clear area. Freshly washed and the new linen tunic and trous he's sporting still a bit crisp and starchy, not to mention sharding uncomfortable on the hunter/tracker who much prefers his soft leathers and worn tunics. Finding himself closer to the drinks table, the young man pours himself a tall glass of juice to await this announcement that the Headman was just asked to make from a rider he's not met before. A mild frown, a tad worried looking, creases his brow as he gnaws the inside of his lips wondering what this might mean for him. He's useful … he thought since he brings food to the Weyr and provides nicely tanned hides for trade but that's about it.

Ja'kai's instruction to speak has Renalde lifting an eyebrow. But, no arguments. He simply moves forward to stop at Yule's side. Lifting a hand up he allows it to drop onto the newest Wingleader's shoulder. Don't go anywhere, he wants to talk to you. "Of course Ja'kai." His voice rolls out smoothly, louder than his quiet chatter so far. "With the recent additions we have been looking for new living arrangments. Sweepriders have found a cave system up in the Barrier Range which recieves very little threadfall. After assessments were made it has been decided that a new hold will be founded, and all those who wish to move away from the weyr will be given a place there."

Oh, D'rak, if only you knew. Finding the knot to olefactory satisfaction, Yules looks about and hums and is about to take off but oh hai mysterious ha… Aw, not even mysteriously disembodied - this hand belongs to Renalde so Yules sticks around, sipping her nearly-finished juice.

And blinks in surprise at the Headman's words. That too.

From the corner of his eye, R'nyr is quite possibly eyeing Bailey and the sweetly swelling-ahem. That thought isn't allowed to come to fruition, even in his expression as the bronzerider turns around to suddenly find Dione there. Slowly, he plucks the glass from her fingers (seriously, who ignores good whiskey), laughter bubbling up the aborted heat. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" D'rak's pathway towards him isn't ignored, for the brownrider is given an inscrutable look laden with hidden meaning. However, everyone around him loses his attention at Renalde's announcement. Hazel eyes pull from D'rak and Dione, and the mirth fades. Unable to hide the birth and death of some reaction, the former High Reachian downs the entire glass of gift-whiskey in one, fell swoop.

There: a satisfied smile from Ja'kai from Renalde's statement. "We will break ground on the Ice Fields within the next seven," Ja'kai announces: "And Southern will have her first hold." Well. First hold … again. Whatever, y'all know what he is saying. Then: "Eat, drink, and be merry!" He nods up at the Harpers, who begin a frisky dance, and moves off from his self-assumed location to exit off the Sands posthaste. Eat drink and be merry: much more easily done sans Ja'kai.

Now left to her own devices, Prymelia does that slack-jawed-staring-at thing in response to the announcement just made. Cave system? New hold? Immediately her canny mind throws into high gear a wide, wide grin stealing into place. So many possibilities. And self-censorship fails with the trader letting out a whoop of excitement. "Simply wonderful!!" She enthuses to no one in particular.

Z'bor waves as Arianne is dragged off. He looks around, and goes for the drink table. He purs himself something to drink. Renalde's voice carries through the room and Z'bor hears the announcement made. He frowns, not sure what he feels about it. He'd made some non-weyr friends of late. Speaking of, he slide sup next to Kultir and nods at the man in greeting. "Hey there Kultir…." He says.

Arianne double-checks her shoulder after Ja'kai has left; you know, make sure he didn't replace it with a weyrling knot on his way out. She's still suspicious. "A new Hold? Well… okay. Nothing really bad so far. Do you suppose he's lulling us all into a false sense of security before he tries to poison all the women?" She big-eyes at Bailey with that, and waves again at Z'bor. She didn't go far! Honest!

A frisky dance after that bombshell? Dione, interrupted in the act of apologising, cranes to see over the heads of those taller than her as Renalde makes the announcement. It shocks her enough to open her eyes wider, not only for her personal interest but the reaction of those close by, before her wits come clamouring back. "Ah… yes. An apology," she states to the bronzerider at her side, contrition scuffed by the shock. "For… you know. The tab thing." D'rak, surely angling in, gets a precise, studious nod.

Renalde's gaze watches Ja'kai pace back through that doorway, expression painstakingly bland. But his hand is holding someone in place, so he shifts those ice blue eyes of his back to the young woman. His hand is allowed to drop. "Congratulations wingleader. I do hope you continue to make that spiced Klah with the additions of these new responsibilities."

Kultir is blinking at the information of a new hold … and near the range at that! He's been wanting to get there ever since he'd heard rumor of a beast he's never heard of before that roams the ice plains and he's been itching to go see it. Maybe now he'd have a chance since there would be a Hold down there to use as a base for his hunting operations. The sound of his name pulls him from his thoughts, a smile forming as he nods to Z'bor. "Hi, Z'bor. How's it going?" A long drink of his juice is taken as he tries to digest the news and calm the fluttering nerves in his belly.

One more sip and Yules has done her drink. And wow, if the heavy knot hadn't warmed her up enough, the Wingleader's face relaxes when Renalde's hand falls away from her shoulder. "Thank you, Headman," she replies seriously, and then quirks one corner of her lips: "I will endeavor to continue the spice. Perhaps I'll take on an apprentice for it." Ahahahah, she's a riot. "Perhaps we could use it to barter on occasion."

Z'bor smiles back at Kultir, who seems a little excited. He sips from his own glass, looking around as the party seems to start back up. "It's going well, though I'm itching to be back on active duty. I miss the skies my friend. HUnting good as of late?" He leans against the wall, perfectly at ease now.

If only D'rak had had that bottle opened already when the announcement stops him dead in his tracks, a sharp look jerked over his shoulder at Ja'kai. Bailey is fit with his signature squint-against-the-sun beach bum scowl for surely this is her doing and he closes the rest of the distance to R'nyr. Dione's presence is barely registered as he thumbs the cork and slugs back several mouthfuls of whiskey stormy gaze latched pointedly to the bronzerider before it drags away and lands on the redhead. But he has nothing to say and merely observes her from behind that fallen curtain of sun bleached hair. "We need to talk." That to R'nyr though the barmaid might assume he means her.

T'ral is floored at Yules' promotion. He'd never have though Ja'kai would approve such a thing. A woman leading the top flight? Out of Ja'kai…? D'rak is a wildcard. Unknown. The young bluerider is finally done waiting on various drink orders and returns to find Z'bor joined the little knot. "Zero. Have Yules' drink." Since she's off getting knotted. Bailey and Arianne are handed their orders (or if they've got drinks in the meantime, sat on a table). Sweeps had been concentrating on the area, but he'd not known why. "Wow. How long's that been in the works?" he wonders aloud. "Kultir. Ah," he looks around, "Fresh out man." He's not handing over his own drink. He *just* waited in line forever.

Oh, Yules is off getting knotty alright.

"Those of us who have come to enjoy it," see Yules, you totally have a fan, "would be greatful if you did." Renalde has done his oh-so-social thing and so he's going to do that annoying thing where he randomly walks away from people. He sees that there is a PROBLEM with the drinks. Excuse him while he goes to berate his cavern folk into speeding up the line.

Bailey smirks at D'rak, a low, sensuous sprawl of her lips. What? To Arianne: "Oh, Faranth, I hope not. Why hasn't someone killed the man yet?" Her voice is loud and maybe a little annoyed. Maybe more than a little annoyed. She *did* smack the crap out of him not too long ago. The goldrider eyes the interaction between Dione and R'nyr without saying anything.

Kultir tugs unconsciously at the collar of his tunic as he grins at the greenrider. "I can understand that. Nothing like doing what you enjoy, is there? And when you can't do it, it's like an itch you can't reach." The young tracker shrugs his shoulders as if there's an itch in the middle of his back before he can finally settle down to his more stoic demeanor. "What do you think about that new Hold they're talking about?"

T'ral appreciates Renalde's belated efficiency.

A bit late to the shindig is being generous with Mailli's arrival to the party. Buggers circles about the dolphincrafter's head, "Will you settle some place?" is hissed at the brown 'lizard before she schools her face into a more polite expression.

An undercurrent lingers in R'nyr's countenance with continued regard to Ja'kai's position at the front of the crowd. That Renalde was the vehicle for change matters little. Attention is dragged from the acting Weyrleader's shenanigans to return to Dione. "Ah," the bronzerider's silky voice drawls, half-smile quirking, "It's not a big deal. I just want to pay for my drink." He waves it away with one hand, as if 'clearing the slate' between them. "It would be my pleasure," is what he says to Bailey, or to D'rak as the brownrider gets equal attention here. Everyone should note: there are no knives here at present.

"Well, he's kind of a big guy. Even if you could get close enough you'd need the strength to really push that knife in you know?" Caelth is so proud right now. Arianne is just confused about why.

Kultir catches the sound of his name from another direction and looks up at the bluerider, smiling. "T'ral. How goes?" He sips at his own juice … just juice so no one tries to snag it from him. Since the Harper-turned-rider is close enough, he glances between green and blueriders to await their assessment of the new Hold-announcement.

Z'bor looks up to find T'ral approaching with a drink. He holds out his free hand for it. Guess he's double fisting it tonight. "Heya Goose. Why am I taking Yules' drink?" He laughs and looks over to Kultir, and then back at T'ral. "I was late, I think I missed a few things." To Kultir, he says: "I don't know what to think of it. It's a good sounding idea on one hand, but on the other it feels like they're nicely enforcing an exodus."

With the whiskey delivered, an apology made and Dione's conscience clear, her gaze flicks between the two. Rude buggers! "Wingleader. Rider." With a small nod and smile to D'rak, she steps off and away past him, slim form swaying as she seeks out the next person to chat to. But not before she goes to snag another drink, this time for herself.

Now that anything that might have been interesting to Xh'zil is done, the bronzerider moves off, retracing his path back out into the bowl without partaking in drinks or food or idle chit-chat. It probably helps that people don't generally enjoy chit-chatting with him.

Bailey ignores R'nyr after a canted smirk upwards, focusing instead on Arianne. "Right? We'd have to find someone with a little bit of strength. Maybe Z'bor. Z'bor! How do you feel about contract killing?" Her voice is light and whimsical. Except for the end, where it's not. At all.

Prymelia has been there, off to one side, quietly conferring with Henna, the two young woman in earnest conversation, the raven-haired young woman gesticulating as she speak with the redhead wearing a frown of concentration and nodding. As a drudge comes by with a tray of drinks, Prymelia snags one and downs it like a pro passes a quick comment to her cohort and then the two quickly depart in the same direction that Ja'kai had.

Renalde's terse tones come from over at that drink table. Any who look over will see him showing the PROER way to pour so that the line moves along faster. A few drinks are spilled as he micromanages, but eventually, it does speed up.

Mailli is making the rounds. A smile here, a 'How're things' some place else. Fading red hair is swept into an elaborate arrangement of braids that are woven around the back of her head. She's never been one for parties, but there are times it's needed to be out and about. This seems a momentous occassion, so here she is, "Yules, congratulations," Mailli offers as she moves close enough to spot the new knot that Yules is sporting.

Kultir shrugs slightly at the bluerider's assessment but nods a bit darkly. "I was a bit late too … guess some folks got promoted or something?" He's not too sure who just yet but he'll find out eventually. "I suppose they might. I've no plans to leave the Weyr though … Lea would have a fit for sure. I might go check it out if I can get her to take me down that way … use it as a base to scout out new hunting ranges. Who knows what might be found down there?"

"Dione." D'rak intones absently as the young red-haired girl takes her leave and narrows an intent look in Bailey's direction at talk of how one goes about killing a man of Ja'kai's size. Cunning gleams in eyes of jungle green from around the raised bottle of whiskey set to his lips, the knot just awarded him still dangling from his fingers like the limp body of a dead snake.

Released from conversation, Yules blinks (not at Renalde, she's used to that) and starts to move around. Somewhere outside, Desmeth is feeling pleased as punch, so the brownrider goes to get into line for some. And oh hey: Mailli's talking, so Yules looks over and nods ponderously, "Thank you, Mailli. I am bemused by it." Yes, Yules is bemused by her knot. "And the other new wingleader." Hear that, D'rak? His knot probably smells funny too.

"No, no. It shouldn't be one of our own riders. It should be someone else he's pissed off. We don't want Southern getting a bad rep right?" Arianne, surprisingly comfortable with this plotting. The plan to off Cha'el was obviously some kind of gateway drug to criminal leanings. "Oh if only."

D'rak will sniff his knot in private later.


You know it!

"Hmm. Maybe Kultir. Kultir, you wouldn't mind killing a man who needed killing, right?" That's Bailey, her voice a little distracted. Why does she look so SERIOUS about this whole thing? Then, with a shift and a grimace, she moves towards the exit. "Sorry, I'll catch up with you later," she calls back to Ari: "Khaly." Doesn't that say it ALL?

"Because she's gonna be covered up in congratulato-" Tral blinks at Bailey, having not followed the leadup to that and blinks between Z'bor and Bailey. "-ry drinks." He blinks, "New Hold. More trade. Legitimacy for us here at the edge of civilization." He tips his head at the archway to the leaders who've left now that the news is announced and raises a glass by way of toast. He slugs his drink back at a go and claps his hand once, rubbing them together. "Now," he waggles his toe in the sand eying it dubiously as a dance floor, but he turns a grin at the greenrider and tracker, "I'm gonna do some dancing." He claps the two gents on their shoulders companionably and sets off to find said dance.

Dione's leave-taking is given a finger-wiggle before R'nyr is laughing. "A man with erratic tendencies," this is stated to Arianne, "tends to have a bad habit of coming up missing." That's all. Turning to D'rak, he holds out his now-empty glass silently. It's an opening, for talk or otherwise.

Looking around, Mailli nods as she spies D'rak, "He's new," oh look who's been living under a rock as it were.

Mini seacrafters are allowed at this thing right? Because Nathanael is totally here. He slips right to the biggest group which contains an unfamiliar rider. "Alo!" And then he'll pause, looking around at all the faces. "Did I miss omethin'?"

Kultir's head pops up from the glass he'd about to drink from as his name is mentioned yet again, this time in connection with … killing a man? "Umm … I guess that'd depend on the man?" The young tracker blinks as the goldrider moves toward the exit, not entirely sure if she'd heard his answer. Glancing between Z'bor and T'ral, he looks a little worried as well as bemused. "She wasn't … serious, was she?" Lea would drop him between if he even thought about it, but … well, killing stuff is his job, right?

Oh, Nathanael.

Arianne lifts a hand to wave at Bailey when she leaves, and then turns her attention towards R'nyr. "Were his recent decisions erratic? I will admit I was surprised. Promoting a woman to Wingleader didn't seem something he'd be capable of." Her own knot came from a Q'fex decision, so. "And speaking of, congratulations D'rak. What do all of you think of the new Hold?"

Dione's lucky enough to find a cup of punch that's not yet been claimed, and she sips thoughtfully from it as she wanders away. There's talk to killing that makes her blink though, and she angles her walk to take her there. With the crush thinning out, she soon spots the back of Kultir's head, and T'ral's side, and wanders in that direction to go and garner greetings.

Z'bor shrugs. His eyes are wide with shock at Bailey's interruption. "I hope not…." He takes a drink from the one T'ral handed him, wrinkles his nose and hands it off to a drudge. He clears the fould taste from his mouth with his own drink. He wave's T'ral off as he goes to dance and wonders if he might do the same soon. "Y'think she was?" He asks Kultir, eyebrows raising.

"Is some'un gettin' killed?" Nathanael tilts his head as he peers up at everyone. Yep. There's a story here.

Share his purloined bottle of whiskey with R'yn? D'rak eyes that empty glass, stares at the bronzerider and then tips the lip of his bottle over the glass. And misses when his head jerks up in Arianne's direction a perplexed expression in place either because someone has spoken to him or because he's just wasted a good mouthful of his liquor onto the sands. "Arianne. Caelth's." Lynx's newly knotted wingleader does that weird verbal association thing of his. "Serval wingleader. Dragonhealer." Forest Gump much? A look to the bronzerider again perhaps seeking some help there with the social side of things.

Kultir turns to peer off in the direction the goldrider headed and shrugs. Catching sight of Dione, he nods a greeting with a slightly lopsided and worried smile. Shrugging at Z'bor, he grimaces. "I have no idea. I guess she could be … surely not?" Right? A gold dragon wouldn't allow it, right?

T'RAL (totally with a name in the pose and everything) spins away from his two friends right into Dione who's materialized right there. "Well," ask and ye shall recieve. "Care to dance, Dione?" The bluerider sweeps a ridiculous bow, formal, grinning lopsided, hand extended.

Mailli has managed to circulate over towards R'yn and D'rak. The 'phincrafter is working her way through the crowd so she can say she's been out and about in a social manner. She has work waiting for her, and there's a new rotation to start with the coastal patrols. There's a lot going on, and Mailli just doesn't like crowds.

"Wingleader?" For a moment R'nyr gives Arianne a blank look, until the still-fresh memory of Yules infiltrates. "No, not that." Not that he's going to explain either. "For Faranth's sake, D'rak. You're not supposed to feed the sands good whiskey." R'nyr makes a play for the bottle, more interested in alcohol than anything else. His lips move like he's talking to himself. Maybe he's a drunk, jonesing for more.

Yules eyes D'rak as well, and fortunately someone shoves a drink into her hand at that point. "Yeah," she tells Mailli and then sips her drink, wrinkling her nose. "How much vodka did they add to this?" And anyways, as Mailli moves away, Yules is again on her own, so she starts gravitating towards D'rak and R'nyr. Like a certain fish Pern doesn't have, but she's so bad at it that they might spot her coming.

This is turning into an entirely uncanny evening, what with promotions, talking of killing, surly riders and, yes, someone that almost bumps into her. There's a momentary look at her drink - thankfully not spilled on the gorgeousness that is her dress - before she smiles up at him. "With delight!" The cup is emptied, passed off on a passing drudge, and she reaches out to offer T'ral her hand without a second thought. "Is this where you tell me that, unlike in the air, you have two left feet?" she teases.

Arianne sports a bland expression when glancing between D'rak and R'ynr. "Of course not, Nathanael." she assures, sounding not entirely convincing. "Yes, that'd be me. Originally from High Reaches as well. But I transferred right out of weyrlinghood to Igen. And then volunteered to head to Southern." Doesn't even raise an eyebrow that the brownrider seems so stilted. Or that the bronzerider seems surprised that she's a Wingleader. "Exactly." is all she says, which explains absolutely nothing.

"Out." Renalde's voice is suddenly close again as he reaches out to grab Nathanael's ear. "I believe this conversation is one which an apprentice does not nead to hear." Renalde uses that hold on the teen's ear to drag him away from the adults, and then out. Bye Nathanael. Renalde… might? come back.

A firelizard pops in, drops a message into Mailli's recently acquired drink, and then pops out. Fortunately, the message is in a water tight message tube, which is opened and read before, "Shards," and she's handing her drink off to whoever is closest. Probably T'ral as she was angling towards him anyway, "Gotta run," she says by way of both an excuse and an apology for the abruptness of handing the drink off.

Kultir's attention is drawn to T'ral spinning away and nearly running into Dione before asking her to dance. His amber eyes sparkle at the young woman's teasing question. "He was a Harper, Dione … don't all Harpers dance?" Nathanael is belatedly noticed, just as Renalde is dragging him away by an ear. "It wasn't a conversation, Headman … more a wondering if it was serious."

Arianne, R'nyr, Ariaane, R'ynr, Yules. D'rak's attention tick-tocks between the three and then, without a word, he jerks the bottle out of the bronzerider's reach, tilts his head toward the archway. Out. Physical gesture of the word the Headman crisply delivers to the lad whose ear he has pinch in his fingers. "Wingleader," Arianne, "Wingleader," Yules, a minute dip of head to each of the ladies and D'rak heads off assuming the bronzerider will follow with just the faintest hint of a limp.

"High Reaches," the term rolls around on R'nyr's tongue like love that's soured by the glare given to D'rak for yanking away the bottle. "You've climbed up, then, brownrider." A gleam of what might be admiration comes to hooded hazel eyes that prompts the man to see Arianne in such a new light. He gives her a two-fingered salute and mock half-bow. "If you'll excuse me…" Without further adieu, R'nyr chases after the bott-D'rak. His new superior. Yules' bad portrayal at shark-fishing is passed on his way out and for her efforts, he gives the new Wingleader a wicked, wicked wink. Yes, he sees you. Zoom-zoom, R'nyr exits.

Z'bor shrugs. "I don't know. You can never tell with those goldriders. Some of them are nuts." He laughs a little and comes off the wall, drinking his wine.

Subtle as a sea-craft crashing onto the beach; D'rak and R'nyr are both given nods on their way out though Yules will look a little disgruntled that they spotted her. So there's Arianne. "Well," she tells the other brownrider, "That happened." A long sip of over-alcoholed screwdriver. And Yules totally isn't wavering on the sands. "That's some good stuff," she mentions.

Kultir shifts his feet a bit to keep his tense muscles from cramping, not used to standing in one place for so long. He nods to Z'bor and glances around the slowly dwindling crowd. "I suppose you're right. But she's always been one of the more steady ones … at least I thought so before." The hunter lifts his glass and drains it, wondering if he wants to brave the table for another and decides against it.

Z'bor nods. "Aye." He responds, still looking slightly suspiscious of it all. He drains his cup as well. "But, I should go give my congratulations to Yules. I'll see you around yeah?" Z'bor, if allowed, gives the other man a clap on the shoulder and saunters up to Yules. "Hullo there Yules, congratulations." He smiles at her. He doesn't really know her, but hey, he's friendly!

Ahh, so Yules was one to get promoted! Kultir nods as his shoulder is clapped and the greenrider saunters off in that direction. Moving in that direction himself, he smiles at the brownrider. "Congratulations, Yules. Well deserved, I hope."

Yules is the eternal party pooper. She raises a toast to Arianne as the other Wingleader departs, and looks around: And there's Z'bor: "Hello," she replies, looking a little overly warm. "Um. Thank you." It's a big honour, a huge shock, 110%, so on and so forth. Yules takes another sip of her drink and asks the greenrider, "Is it a little warm in here?" And oh HAY Kultir! "Thank you, thank you…"

Kultir isn't one for dancing himself, unless Kalea forces him to, but he watches at T'ral sweeps Dione off to the dance floor and returns that wolfish grin with one of his own. Turning back to the others, he chuckles softly. "Wingleader? Very nice. Which wing?" He wasn't here for the announcement so maybe she'll tell him, if she's sober enough that is.

Z'bor shrugs. "It might be a tad warm in here." T'ral's shout gets the greenrider's attention and he grins. The man's mood is infectious. He watches the dance floor for a bit, not having the guts really to go find his own partner for a dance.

It is pretty warm! T'ral's holler gets a distracted look, and Yules is looking a little green: "Um. I think I'm just… Just gonna go get some air fer a minute…" Yules starts to make her way out, looking only slightly wobbly, and is paused only once or twice before her exit becomes more rushed.

It's surprising, perhaps, how quickly Dione has to eat her words as she's swung out onto the dancefloor. There's a whirling twirl, she laughs and holds on tighter, and then it's on. Ignoring the holler and the glances that settle on them, she simply has fun — which apparently includes nearly getting danced off her feet by someone she didn't think could at all. "I'm so sorry!" she apologises as she fights for breath. "And I apologise to your very excellent right foot too." Cheeks warm up, her feet skitter on the sands, and soon she's laughing again, truly happy.

Dancing on sand is no picnic and T'ral is half-gassed when the rolicking tune comes to a close. Thanks the stars that Dione was slight and capable. He laughs through the missteps, and they're there, but smoothed over. Artists and musicians (and Archivists?) are adept at turning mistakes into opportunities, right? Right. T'ral looks down, waggling that boot, "Uh. He's not appeased."

The poor bartender is half-bushed when the dance comes to an end too, chest lifting and falling with exertion. It's a good thing the material is so light in this heat. "I… ah, he's not?" Bending down in the dress is frankly impossible without disturbing carefully-placed folds, but she bends a look of regret on the poor, maligned right foot. "What a pity! I'd ply him with drinks and libations and promises of a rub, but… wasn't he supposed to dance with another partner when this dance came to an end?" Did Yules make good on her threat and leave?

Z'bor sees Yules exit and makes one for himself. He saunters out, waving to all he knows and out to Ozriath, who is waiting on him.

Kultir grimaces as Yules makes her hasty exit, that look a bit familiar as having had too much of a good thing in the form of drinks. "Hope she makes it where ever she's headed." His voice is low, not wanting to draw too much attention to the hasty exit. Then Z'bor is gone as well and the tracker notices that the crowd is definitely thinned down. "Hmm, guess it's time to get back to work then." Yay! He can get out of these brand new, uncomfortable clothes!

T'ral spins on his not-right foot and waggles the right boot in the air looking for Yules. Or Kultir. Z'bor. Wow. Thud, he drops the boot. "Musta scared 'em off." With AWESOME DANCING. T'ral-VOLTA. Stayin' Alive! The bluerider tugs at the high collar of dress leathers and shakes his head. "I could use some air." It is very stuffy indeed. He offers Dione his arm and the two head out chatting over the big announcements out into the Weyr bowl.

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