Xanthee, Malosim, Daenerys, evka, Edlsesa, F'kan, Javid, Willimina, Varli


Immediately following gold Rajakhelath's flight, a small Turnday gathering is happening in the Caravan grounds. A certain losing brownrider from Southern decides to investigate these Zingari escorts he heard about. Confrontation turns into a brawl.

Violence (Fighting with fists and other appendages, minor injuries)
Some swearing


It is evening of the twenty-eigthth day of the twelfth month of the twelfth turn of the 12th pass.


Caravan Grounds, Igen Weyr

OOC Date 18 Jan 2018 05:00


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«There. Now you've done it. No whores for you. LET'S GO.»


Caravan Grounds

Deep grooves in the hard packed earth criss-cross a large patch of denuded ground, bearing mute testament to the caravans that frequent this area. Despite the midden holes set back a ways from the main center of traffic, the air is sweet, redolent with the sagebrush that forms a loose perimeter around the flattened expanse. In what is as close to its center as the vague boundaries suggest, a stone ringed fire pit has been dug and surrounded with the odd log or two, ash overflowing from its darkly blackened core.

It’s early evening in the Zingari camp, and Xanthee is busy preparing for her Turnday party, just three days after the date. She is wearing a heavy skirt, all the way to her ankles, black with dark green embroidery creeping up from the hem. Over top a matching black and green long sleeved peasant shirt. Flung over her shoulders like a short cloak, she is wearing her usual battered riding jacket, still not filling it out completely, but warm enough on this winter evening in the desert. On the table in front of her a couple of white cloths are carefully arranged, with small glow baskets uncovered at each corner to create a soft glow over the area. In the middle of the table, a confection so delicious looking, a round cake covered in whipped frosting and a mix of berries. A stack of dishes and some utensils nearby, as well as some glasses and mugs. On the far side of the table, resting on a thick pad to protect the tabletop, is a large cooking pot, covered, from which is wafting the smell of oranges, cloves, and cinnamon with a fruity undertone of Zingari Yellow tea. Bustling around to make sure everything is just right for when her few, but dear, friends arrive, Xan feels a pleasant flush as she remembers the gold flight that happened earlier and the feelings it had raised in her. She dearly hoped her dashing Miner would soon be arriving. Keeping busy, she lifts the lid of the pot, sending stronger wafts of the mulled tea into the air, even more so when she uses a long ladle to mix it up. “Perfect.” she whispers to herself, satisfied. Her trio of firelizards are with many others and gorging on the remains of those beasts blooded by gold, bronze and brown.

Malosim is certainly not about to be late for this celebration. Just the fact that it's Xanthee is motivation enough, though his own memories and leftover energy from earlier events add a little more spring to his step. He knows where to go, though the aroma of that mulled tea gives him an even better sense of direction. His own garb is as fitted as usual, a deep green long-sleeved tunic peering out from beneath the dark folds of the half cloak that keeps him warm. When he reaches Xanthee and her arrangement, he can't help but give a little grin. "You've got a knack, love," he notes as he draws near to slip an arm around her waist.

Reveka is in her own yurt currently, dressed in a two piece top and pants style dancers outfit of burnt orange and silver. She's currently braiding her hair and thinking quietly to herself. There are things in this life that she needs to change and these things weigh heavy on her mind, though they do nothing to destroy the excitement for this evening. Reveka is very much excited to spend a turnday party with one of her dearest friends. IT makes her chuckle to herself, thinking of how she and Xanthee had met, and guesses she'll at least have to thank Bonifas for that. Sliping some hoop earings into her ears, she finishes dressing and makes her way outside.

Daenerys is slow to wake, slow to come back to himself. For a moment, he cannot recall where he's sleeping — that gold flight has affected him more than previous ones, for some reason he isn't even slightly interested in delving into, but the result is the same: he's managed to find a willing friend to deal with the results, and is well satisfied with that. With a yawn, he stretches languidly from noes to toes and pulls himself reluctantly out of bed, for tonight, Xanthee's party is on the schedule, and he intends to make it there, by hook or boy crook. He dresses himself in his best leathers, smoothing his hair back and leaving it to hang loose down his back in a shining black curtain. Checking to be sure he isn't too scruffy, he swings out of his yurt to find his way over to his sister's staging area, tucking a small package into his pocket, hopeful she'll be pleased with his present.

Varli's yurt is darkened. The woman that resides inside sets in front of a small mirror as she finishes pinning her braids into place. Her current look is one of demure propriety, this is changed by the folding of the veil over her head to wrap loosely around her neck. Green eyes glance once more at the reflection, then down to stained fingers. Ah well, nothing to be done there and the intricate pattern of curliques is starting to fade. There's nothing left to do, so out she goes. A small pot, and a carefully rolled package of brushes along with a stencil of three of her more popular designs is gathered before she exits her yurt.

A small smile curls onto Xanthee's lips as she hears Mal's voice, her body responding to his touch by becoming pliant and sinking into his. "Thank you dear. It's not as flash as Willimina's Turnday celebrations, but I'm proud of it." She says while replacing the lid onto the pot, placing the ladle on top. Waving her hand over the pot she cocks her head to one side, questioning, "Smell familiar?" She asks with a mischievous quirk of her thick arching brow. Looking around then while he tries to figure it out, she wonders out loud, "I hope the others get here soon, that flight was wild and if I have you all to myself…." she trails off with a saucy smile as she wraps an arm around his waist as well.

"I get the feeling Willimina's turnday celebrations take a full caravan to plan, anyway," Malosim notes wryly. He tilts his head toward the pot and inhales, his smile curving a little wider. "Yeah," he rumbles, his arm tightening around Xanthee as he peers down at her with a roguish glittering in his eyes. "You'll have me all to yourself sooner or later," he promises…though he has a feeling others will show up at any moment.

Reveka 's gift is already on the table, a bottle of Zingari Red for Xanthee, in a custom bottle made to look like a firelizard wrapped around an egg. It's a clever design in that you remove the top of the egg to fill the bottle and pour from the firelizard's mouth. It'd taken the Zingari glass workers awhile to figure out the design. So, without a gift to drop off, she heads straight for Xanthee. "Happy TurnDay Party!" She says as she approaches. "Why aren't you having the caravan drudges help you?" She asks. "Don't you know the turnday girl isn't supposed to do all the work?"

Xanthee smiles brightly as Reveka comes up to the table, squeeing slightly as she lets go of Mal to be able to give the Zingari girl a big hug. "Thank you Reveka for my gift, it's so pretty!" She had already gawked at the craftsmanship of the bottle and was thrilled with it. "And it's not much truly and no one is allowed to touch my mulled tea, I think I've finally perfected the recipe." Finally letting the other girl go, she makes her way back over to her boyfriend, who is treated to a proper embrace, complete with heated, but brief, kiss. Suddenly she seems to remember something, "The wine! For the mulled Tea. I left those skins in your yurt Reveka." Reluctantly disentangling herself from Mal, she plants one final kiss on the tip of his nose before letting them know, "I'll be right back." and then heading off into the direction of the Zingari girl's accommodations.

And finally, Daenerys reaches that table, slipping his present on it with an air of pleased nonchalance before turning to go and meet Xanthee — but she's already gone, heading off to get her tasty mulled tea concotion. Instead, he finds himself standing net to Reveka — what an awkward moment. But at least she's sober this time. "Hey." He grins sideways at her, and indicates the intricate bottle of whiskey. "That is worth a gawk or six."

The gift from Varli is placed next to the Zingari Red, and then the artist is headed towards Xanthee, "I shall echo the sentiments of Reveka," Varli says with a genuine smile for Xanthee, "Happy Turnday," her gift isn't as extravagant as Reveka's, but she did pay attention to the look of interest from the girl, "The tea smells wonderful."

Malosim takes a moment to study that bottle from Reveka, very willingly pausing to return that embrace and kiss from Xanthee before she's moving off to go after the wine. "Uh…want me to stir it or anything?" he calls after her about the tea, but she had said no one should touch it. So after a few minutes of looking indecisive, he leaves it alone. "Right?" he agrees with Daenerys' assessment of the bottle, before looking to Varli. "Apparently it needs wine in it, though," he says, gesturing off toward Xanthee's retreat. Then he looks to Reveka with a tilted little grin. "Your glass-crafters could give the Hall-trained a run for their marks."

Edlsesa finally arrives in the Zingri Encampment. First thing, she swings by Daen's yurt, seeing he isn't there, she goes meandering around trying to find him. Where is that brother of mine? She wonders as she moves along, after all, besides Lillia, she doesn't really know anyone too closely down here.

Unknown to Xanthee, there is someone who is watching her from the shadows, seeing her leave her group in the direction of a yurt. Fkans blood is already pumping from Quaverilths first chase after a gold, one in which he failed to catch. So when his brown took himself off to find a friendly green that may soothe his battered ego, Fkan decided to check out these Zingari escorts hes heard inhabited the Caravan Grounds here. When he had arrived though, he was distracted when he spied the raven-haired Igenite, and decided hes going to have words with the girl, now just to wait for his chance. Which comes when he sees Xanthee separate from the group and head towards a group of yurts. Reaching out, he feels his brown deeply asleep curled up with a green.

Reveka grins. "I'm so glad you like it Xan, I was hoping I hadn't picked the wrong thing to depict." She waves Xanthee off when she mentions having left the wine in Rev's yurt. "Aye, go on, you can just walk right in and grab them." She smiles and laughs and turns to Malosim with a grin. "I would like to say so, he's quite talented our Jharrahd." A grin and nod to Varli. "It does smell delicious!"

Xanthee is totally unaware of being followed, and when she finally gets to Reveka’s yurt, she slips inside and quickly retrieves the two wine sking she had stashed there earlier. Carrying one in each hand, she heads back towards the central fire. When she is about two dragonlengths away from rejoining her little party, a voice drifts out from the shadow cast by a nearby wagon.

“Hey Xanee.”

Well that was a nickname she hadn’t heard in a really long time. Instinctively, the raven-haired girl turns around and spies F’kan in the shadows. Her heart catches in her throat and she freezes, feeling rather helpless, her hands full of the wine skins. What in Faranth’s name is he doing here? Narrowing her eyes, she goes to step past him without a word, but he moves quickly to block her. She’s only about forty paces from her friends, although partially obscured by the brownrider’s thick frame.

”We need to talk. I know you’re the reason the gossip about what happened between us isn’t dying out like it should have by now. When I saw you in Southern the other day it only confirmed it.” F’kan’s voice is barely held back anger, still on the adrenaline rush of losing that gold flight, his blue eyes burn into hers as he advances on her slowly. “I’m just here to tell you to stop. You’ve had your revenge, I know you were hung up on me doll, but you were just not that good.” He says with a nasty tone to his voice, maybe a little bit of his pent up frustration lending some huskiness to it. «F’kan…What are you doing?» A sleepy Quaverilth sends a soft touch in the direction of his lifemate, but F’kan is ignoring his brown.

Xanthee’s heart feels like it is about to thump right out of her chest, and she can feel her face redden with her own temper building, but he is looming over her now, and this is not like practice with the dummies or Daenerys. The intense way in which he looks at her has her frozen in a spot, trying to figure out how to diffuse this situation. “I don’t know what you are talking about brownrider, I haven’t hardly given you a thought since that night.” Her tone leaves no question to exactly which night she means. “Now since that’s all cleared up, I’d like to rejoin my group now please.” This is muttered through clenched teeth, trying her hardest not to make this situation any worse, pushing her emotions way down as she makes to move around him.

But F’kan isn’t having that, and moves in front of her again. “You think you’re so cute! Making sure that all the girls in Southern know what a jerk I am right? Seriously, you’re probably gagging for it right now. I can help you with that you know.” He says with a smirk playing on his lips.

Unfortunately, in trying so hard to tamp down her emotions, Xanthee’s mouth seems to get away from her. “Wrong again brownrider, that’s all on you. Maybe if you actually learned to please a girl…” she says with a smug snarl as the dam bursts on whatever hold she had and sticks her chin out indignantly.

At that moment, three things happen simultaneously.

F’kan shouts a single word. “BITCH!” before his hand reaches back and slaps Xanthee hard across the left cheek. The shock of the blow is enough to send her head spinning as she loses her footing and sinks to the ground, wine skins dropped as she goes down, her hands reaching up to cup her throbbing cheek, the brownrider standing over her, eyes blazing with the anger he has for this girl in that moment.

At the exact same instant, Xanthee’s fair of three pop in from between shrieking, Banshee her usual ear-splitting self, but Grymm and Cersei doing a fair imitation of their own. Then they dive as one to cover their humanpet with their little bodies, hissing at spitting at the brownrider.

Lastly, Quaverilth comes fully awake now, and sends his mental will crashing at his rider. «F’KAN! You did NOT just do that!?! I’m coming to get you NOW.»

The whole encounter only takes a couple minutes.

"I'm gonna have to talk to him. My yurt could use some deco — " What was that sound. What was it! The sound of shrieking lizards brings his head up, and the trio are recognized, his own little group joining in. But there's other noise in the camp — noise that shouldn't be. Daenerys turns toward the source, scanning the crowd as his height gives him an advantage. And he spots the stranger, standing over Xanthee. Anger surges, and he takes off through the crowd, as swift as a runner and as lithe as a snake, ducking people and objects as he barrels right for the angry rider. There's no warning, just the impact of his long tall body right into the man's side. Perhaps he's intending to bring him down — perhaps he's intending to drive the other dragonlengths into the ground — whatever the case, he's managed to force the brownrider away from Xanthee. "What the hell do you think you're doin'?" He growls ominously, tangling one hand into the man's collar.

"Jharrahd," Malosim echoes, making a mental note. "Might need to look him up later-" And then there's that shout, which pulls the Miner's head up with a frown…a clanking of fallen bottles and the shrieking of fire lizards… "Xan?" He's dashing for the sound now, in Daenerys' wake, skidding to a halt to find the brownrider looming over his girlfriend and she on the ground. "What the fuck…?" Mal doesn't think too hard, just storms straight up to the anonymous brownrider who's obviously responsible, whether he's on the ground from Daen's attack or not. Also heedless of Daen's hold on the man, he slams his fist straight into the man's face, hopefully with the result of a sickening crunch and a spray of blood before he drops to Xanthee's side. "Xan! What'd he do to you love?" Do dragonriders just go crazy after flights or what?

The shout of Bitch is enough to pull Varli's attention away from the reply she was going to give to Malosim, "Did anyone else hear that?" though Varli isn't waiting for an answer as she heads towards the yurts. Though she isn't the first to actually start moving to find out what's going on. Varli kneels next to Xanthee when she reaches the scene, "Are you alright?" she asks the girl, being mindful of the 'lizards.

So full of rage at the weyrbrat's nerve, F'kan doesn't even see the incoming onslaught. When Daenerys gets a hold of his collar and yanks him away from the object of his ire, he reaches up to grab the Trader's wrists. But then, Malosim's fist makes contact with his oh-so-pretty nose and the Miner is indeed rewarded with a sickening crunch and a spray of blood. His hands fly past Daenerys' wrists and go to his broken nose. "This is a personal matter between me and the slut." He spits back in the Trader's face through his clasped hands. Leg darts out to try and tangle the long haired man to at least get him to lose his grip.

Xanthee is crumpled on the ground, her hand cupping a cheek on which a violently red handprint mars her usual flawless skin. When she feels someone come down next to her, she flinches briefly, but when her emerald eyes flick in his direction, she looks thoroughly relieved to see Mal there. "Oh Mal." And then she is clinging to his chest and burying her face in it, sobbing rising to near hysterical levels in just a few breaths.

Reveka is shocked by the sudden outburst of activity and is highly alarmed when both Daen and Malosim go after what looks like a rider. Wait. Isn't that the one that hit on her in Southern? She moves closer to get a look and when she sees who it is, so runs to get both Willa, and hopefully a caravan guard or adept.

It's not that easy, unfortunately: Daen's got a good enough grip that all the tugging and kicking will do him no good — and how convenient that Malosim's got in a punch, too! The grip tightens just enough to lift the brownrider again — wait, did his knee slam into F'kan's ribs as he lifts him? — and snarls, right in his face, "She's my sister. It ceased to be personal when you wandered in here and decided to assault her. Explainnow." There's a deep menace in his voice, the clenching of teeth lending a sharper edge to each spitted word. "Lest I decide to give you a few more bruises to go along with that one." He shakes the brownrider, then lets him go — and, because he's an impatient sort when it comes to his sisters, launches a blow at F'kan's face, hopefully landing one to the eye. Perhaps F'kan had better start talking — or hoping someone comes along who is large enough to contain the enraged trader.

Malosim has had his satisfaction; his attention is now all for Xanthee and making certain she's alright. He gets one look at the handprint welted upon her cheek before she's curling into his chest, and he holds her tightly there, stroking her hair and trying to make soothing sounds but failing because of a gritted jaw. Now he's starting to want to break more than the dragonrider's nose. But it looks like Daenerys is about to go big brother on the guy, and with Reveka running off for help, he's certain there are about to be more reinforcements arriving. "Who is he, Xan? What did he want?" he tries to ask in spaces where he hopes she'll hear him…but if she doesn't, it's alright. He's going to focus on being the shield around her until things settle.

A look is given to Xanthee's cheek, "I'll get something for that," Varli says softly to Malosim. Daggers are glared at the brownrider, and it's his dragon that keeps the knife hidden away on Varli's person safely sheathed. She'll leave the brownrider to others to deal with. She'll slip off to find some numbweed, which she should have in her yurt.

F'kan doubles over when Daen's knee connects with his ribs and the breath is knocked out of him, his hands desperate to try and break the other man's grip. But then he is being shaken and shoved away, and it's only with a little flailing that he remains on his feet. Then he coils and is about to spring at the Trader once more, words no longer working for F'kan, he's just on one mode, defend himself from this suddenly onslaught. When he launches himself though, he just manages to run into Daenerys' incoming fist, his hit landing in what will definitely result in a nice shiner, sending the brownrider realing back briefly, before he returns with a right hook aimed at the long haired man.

The shadow of a dragon passes overtop as Quaverilth roars overhead, trying to find a place to land where he will do the least amount of damage. Well no more that his hopeless rider has already wrought. Of all the fool-headed things to do.. Spying a clearing near the Zingari Camp, the brown dips his cloaked wing and circles down to land, kicking up dust with the downstroke of his wings. «F'KAN! GET YOUR ARSE OVER HERE!» His mental command is punctuated by a loud roar. The mists of his mindscape twirl around his rider's trying to penetrate the wall of anger he finds there, a hot ozone smell accompanying his attempts to infiltrate his lifemate's tumultuous thoughts.

Daenerys ducks, but not quite fast enough — the blow lands on his cheekbone, sending him staggering back; but not for long. He's right back at the other, fists coming into play with the fury of a brother in full-on protection mode. The best defense is a vicious offense, right? And so it goes, with Daenerys launching himself at F'kan like a very large, pissed-off cat, heedless of the possible reprecussions of beating the snot out of a rider from another Weyr. Perhaps it's fortunate the man is carrying no weapons tonight; no weapons but his fists and an anger possibly all out of proportion to the incident — he's cottoned on to just who this particular brownrider is, and seems to have a score to settle with the man.

Edlsesa seems to arrive in the middle of a brawl! She walks into the party area with a smile on her face that turns to a frown as all the commotion filters in. "What on Pern?!?" She wonders aloud as she spots her brother beating the tar out of a …. A dragon flies by overhead. A RIDER?!?!?! She begins to rush over, intending to try and break up the fight. But she sees someone else approching that will have MUCH more luck than she.

It's not long before Reveka is rushing back, Willimina hot on her heals with a couple of Caravan guards and a sour look on her face. She moves through the growing crowd of gawkers, but it might take the group a m inute to get over there.

Xanthee's fair of firelizards retreat as Malosim gathers her up, still chittering nervously, their eyes still whirling orange as they settle in next to her on the ground. The raven-haired girl is still clutching Mal's shirt in her hand, the other one still cupping her cheek. Her sobs continue for a few seconds before she manages, "It's F'kan. The guy…" she swallows hard before continuing, "I got caught with at Southern." She's mentioned the other details enough to him that she hopes that is enough. As to what he wants, to this she just shakes her head as the sobs take over again.

Varli re-emerges from her yurt, a small pot of numbweed in hand, "Some fool rider attacked Xanthee," the woman answers Edlsesa as she continues to move back towards the fight, "Here," she says, holding out the pot towards Malosim. She'll remain where she is all the while she'll continue to glare at F'kan. If he's smart, he'll answer his dragon's rather vocal demands for attention. Something tells Varli he isn't that smart right now.

There are surely many, many livestock on the caravan grounds that do not appreciate Quaverilth's loud arrival, not to mention sleeping or otherwise occupied wagon and yurt-dwellers. But in the midst of the chaos, the shadows remain shadows - still, aloof, and full of surprises. There will be questions about how Javid accomplishes this later, of course, but both Daenery's and F'dan are suddenly going to find themselves doused in a deluge of frigid water. A moment later, the spymaster himself, shrouded completely in black save for a slit in his headscarf that makes glinting amber eyes visible, steps from the shadows. "Daenerys," he intones in firm, gruff baritone, "get out of the way, if you please." And then the fullness of his intense attention will come to bear on the brownrider, raptor-like gaze pinning the man until there comes a point for speaking.

It's at this point that Willimina manages to make her way through the thick of the crowd, a stormcloud growing in her eyes as she approches the now soaked rider and brawl particiants. "WHAT THE SHELLS IS GOING ON HERE?!?!?" She bellows, eyes sparking with unhindered irritation. After all, Willimina doesn't allow fights in her cam on a good day, on a party day, and one scheduled for performances, even less.

Malosim accepts the pot from Varli with an utterance of thanks, though doesn't do anything with it right away lest he make his fingers numb. Xanthee's reply has him baring his teeth and looking back in time to see the Zingari spymaster putting an end to the scuffle between F'kan and Daenerys. He can fill in the blanks for himself, he thinks. Only then does he open the pot of numbweed, dipping the corner of his cloak into it and gently smoothing it over Xanthee's cheek. "Don't wipe your eyes, love," he warns softly. That could be bad for a few different reasons.

F'kan tries as he might to block Daenerys' punches, but one ricochets off his arm and hit his jaw, sending his head to one side. He is just about to get his own back when Quaverilth arrives and balsts at him with that mist of his. The roar though does get his attention, and he looks up just in time to be showered with frigid water. Sputtering and now soaking wet, F'kan takes a few steps backwards and just stops for the first time since the whole thing started and stares at the man all dressed in black.

That roaring dragon wasn't even noticed, not at first; the trader had been too intent on more destruction of F'kan's pretty face — only there's so. Much. Water — and all of it frigid — all over him! In an instant, Daenerys goes from bloodthirsty feline to cold, wet feline, leaping backward to try and escape that deluge, much, much too late. Drenched, he lands in a crouch, trying to get all that damn hair out of his face, cursing and spitting. Angry or no, he's not going to launch again, that water having had the desired effect of cooling his overheated temper quite quickly. And oh, it gets worse! The very caravan Leader emerges, which has the effect of Daenerys wanting to sink right into the ground. He's still on probation. Perhaps this was not the best plan of action, no matter how sorely pressed he might have been.

As a woman raises her voice at him, F'kan points to where Xanthee is on the ground. "This was a private matter between me and that weyrbrat, these animals attacked me." he says looking from Daenerys to Malosim. His anger is quickly cooling and so his mind is more accepting of listening to his brown's pleas. »If she didn't insist on antagonizing me.« he says, although he is quickly losing his conviction. «Well make your apologies and get over here so we can go back to Southern. Now.» His brown is brooking no question from his lifemate, he will be listened to and F'kan will hop to it..or else.

"We have a dragonman, a Southern dragonman, in our midst, my leader," Javid says, amber eyes locked right back on F'kan's blue as they stare at him. He moves closer to the brownrider as he speaks. "Comporting himself quite dishonorably in the wake of the earlier goldflight and bringing violence into our camp against one dear to a few of us." There's a dirk flipping easily between his fingers, firelight glinting from bright metal as it moves in his right hand. It stills only once Javid is nearly toe to toe with the bloodied and bruised man, inexorable gaze narrowed. "I rather think this merits him being banned from our camp, my leader, but I will leave that for you to say." He'll just make sure F'kan stays right where he is until Willa comes nearer to do so.

It doesn't take long for Willa to suss out what happened after Javid's explanation. Eyes dart from F'kan and Xanthee, then too the rest as her hands lane on her widening hips. Pregnancy hormones afford her extra temper and this is something that already pisses her off. "This is completely unacceptable behavior on the part of all of you. However," she turns to F'kan first, "I do not allow violence for the sake of violence in my camp sir rider." Javid's advice is taken. "You are to leave this camp and never return. I won't have men beating on the women of my caravan. As Daenerys here is an member, and Xanthee is his sister," Yes, Willa knows all who come onto her camp more than once and what they mean to people, "She is clan. Get out, and don't come back." Willimina narrows her eyes at F'kan and if he knows what's good for him he'll shut up and leave now. "Before I sic my Spymaster on you." Turning to Daenerys, Malosim and Javid, "As for the three of you…"

Xanthee winces slightly even at Mal's gentle touch, but quickly enough the numbweed starts to work, and she hisses softly at the relief. Turning emerald eyes up at Mal, she just nods at his instructions not to wipe at her eyes, as she begins to tremble with the adrenaline coursing through her. Then she hears the Caravan Leader speaking, and she looks around at the crowd, she panics a little bit and attempts to get back to her feet, but she is very wobbly and has to hold onto Mal's shoulder just to make it to her feet. Then Willimina is laying down the law, and her heart skips a beat to have the Leader of the Zingari name her as clan. Once she's steadied, her emerald eyes lay on F'kan, but she has no words for the brownrider as he is being told to leave, just her penetrating emerald gaze from red raw eyes, the handprint still bright on her cheek.

Daenerys is altogether certain he's about to be skinned alive. But, he'll face it like a man, not crouching like some crazed thing. Slowly, he pulls himself uprightfinally managing to get his soaked hair out of his face. As F'kan levels his accusations, the leatherworker's eyes narrow, and his fists clench; but he says nothing. Now is not the right time to try and straighten out the man once again — for he's also certain that no one on the Grounds at the time of the fight would accept such blalant lies. His cheekbone is rapidly purpling, and beginning to stir up a pounding headache, but he refuses to lift a hand to check it. Instead, he sends a brief look back, as to assure himself that Xanthee is being cared for, and she is. The sight of her red raw eyes and that bright handprint boils the blood and ignites the temper anew — but he goes very, very still as Willamina turns her gaze on him, and meets her gaze squarely, ready to take his reaming out with dignity.

It takes Malosim a moment to register that Willimina is including him in her statement, and he looks owlish for a moment before the troubled crease between his brows returns. Once he's on his feet, his arm is right back around Xanthee for support as much as for continuing comfort. "I…can't apologize for what I did, Leader Willimina," the Miner says, his voice even if a little rough with emotion. He's certain Willmina can probably see the evidence of what prompted it all on Xanthee's cheek now…as well as his own relatively un-marred state compared to Daenerys, for whatever it might be worth. "But I am truly sorry that it happened here. I'll do whatever you ask of me to make up for it." He loosens his hold on Xanthee enough to give the Zingari leader a contrite bow, his arm going right back where it was once he straightens to await Willimina's words.

His face growing redder and redder at the words being issued for from the commanding woman who seems to be in charge, F'kan straightens his clothes and looks as if he is about to say something in return to the decree that he is no longer welcome amoung these purveyors of carnal pleasure. But then his mind is blasted with lightning making the mists of Quaverilth's voice scatter. «There. Now you've done it. No whores for you. LET'S GO.» And maybe he adds a mental nudge, because F'kan suddenly moves in the direction of the clearing and his brown. He winces as he launches to his neck, the brown waiting just long enough for his rider to be settled and grabbing the straps before he takes off, an apologetic rumble sent in the direction of the Zingari camp as he rises and then blinks between.

Javid watches F'kan leave with a fixing of his gaze that almost dares the brownrider to speak further. He starts to relax…but then Willmina is including him as one of her "three" and turns to face his leader with a honestly perplexed expression, awaiting whatever words she may have for him.

Willimina purposefully let's her words trail until F'kan is out of hearing range. She turns to Daenerys first. "You will help yourself to a bottle of our best whiskey, get that looked at," She points at Daen's purpling bruise, "And then you will spend the next seven helping Trexa and Echo shoe runners and you will volunteer your services to the Weyr for the next few ground crews." Turning to Malosim, Willimina nods, accepting his apologies. "I understand the need, however, I don't have the right or privilege to rain any sort of punishment on you. I will be talking to whomever you work under. However, you too may raid out whiskey stores." Turning to Javid, Willimina smiles and bows her head respectfully in his direction. "Thank you for your quick and effective reaction Javid, it might have been a lot harder to break up that fight if you hadn't soaked them all. Please accept my thanks and an 'I owe you one'." Turning to face all three of them, she lowers her hands from her hips. "Keep in mind gentlemen, I do not condone the type of behavior placed on display this evening, had it not been in defense of Xanthee, I'd have you all strung up by your toes. It had better not happen again, do I make myself clear?!?"

Seeing that the two most important guys in her life right now might get a verbal beating by the leader of the caravan, Xanthee can't have that. So giving Mal a little smile, she steps forward, chin up, and shoulders back. She speaks up as soon as Willa is done. "Malosim and Daenerys were just protecting me. I have a rather unfortunate past with that brownrider. His name is F'kan of brown Quaverilth by the way." In case anyone wants to make a formal complaint or something. "I do believe though that the gold flight may have made him a little…unreasonable." And then she bows her head respectfully, "I am so sorry I brought all this on you and yours. No one else is to blame." And then she looks up, her eyes endlessly apologetic.

Reveka stands by, watching it all through a thin veil of disbelief. Did that really just happen? Why the shells was that Southern Nancy Boy here at all? Boy that'd been a gorgeous brown! Willimina's 'punishments' are snickered at as Reveka makes her way quietly over to Xanthee. "You alright Xan?"

"Master Gyrin of the Minecraft," Malosim volunteers somberly, though he's inwardly quite fine with this; his record since coming to Igen has been spotless. Quietly, he still resolves to make up for things in some little way that Willimina will just end up finding out about later. When Xanthee moves, he loosens his grip to let her do so, and frowns a little when she tries to take the blame on herself. He opens his mouth to protest but stops himself out of respect for Willimina, waiting for the caravan leader to respond instead and having a feeling she may say something that he already intends to.

Edlsesa is moving too, around the crowd and out of view from the all seeing eye that is Willimina. Once she reaches the edge of the crowd, she can no longer stay out of sight, and she slips over to Daenerys, a hand lifting to touch his arm once she's near. She looks proud of him, smiling encouragingly up at him while Willa, Reveka and Xanthee talk.

Javid, now looking quite amused, tugs the bottom half of his headscarf down to reveal the rest of his face, full lips pulled into a smirk as he bows to Willimina. "Quite clear," he says, and then turns his amber gaze upon Xanthee in the wake of her words. "Given what various eyes in the shadows saw, I would have to contend the blame being yours, Xanthee," he says, and with a little tilt of his head, steps back. "If you've no further need of me, my leader?" he asks, eyes flicking to Willimina once more.

Willimina nods at Malosim grimly when he announces who his overseer is, though likely that conversation is going to go a lot different than Malosim might think. "Thank you Malosim. I shall see to that directly." Willimina must find time to tell the man she commends his actions, despite her intolerance for violence of any sort as of late. It's good to know there are men that will fight for the women they care about. There's something to be said for chivalry, and it's not that it's dead. Today is sheer proof of that. To Xanthee, Willimina sighs and shakes her head. "There is nothing short of murder in my mind, that could lay the blame of domestic violence on the victim Xanthee. That man had no right to strike you, no matter what's happened between you. I'm so sorry someone darkened your Turnday party in such a way." Willimina turns to Javid with a chuckle and a wry quirk to her lips. "So eager to be off Javid. Are you for the shadows, or are you off to practice for your wedding night?"

Whoops. Was that a secret? Let the gossip begin!!!!!

Javid merely smirks again, though the roguish glint in amber eyes is unmistakeable. "Perhaps they go hand in hand," the spymaster rumbles, and with a bow to the group, turns and takes himself off toward his wagon, his work done for the night.

Xanthee bows deeply at Willimina and smiles weakly. "Thanks Ma'am." And with that she rushes back to Malosim and his strong arms, a smile for Reveka for checking in on her. "I'll be fine. But I better go check my tea to make sure it isn't ruined." She says with a soft giggle as she wraps her arm around Mal's waist, finding comfort in his nearness as she makes her way back to the table and the party leftovers.

Malosim just gives a nod to Willimina's promise and then listens to her counter to Xanthee, his eyes dropping to the ground momentarily as he fights to keep a surge of emotion in check. The caravan leader does indeed voice some of his own arguments, though more eloquently. Once she's done speaking, Mal waits for whatever may pass between Xanthee and Reveka before readily pulling her back into his arms. It's reassuring that she wants to go right back to her tea and cake and all the trappings of her party. They'll at least get to enjoy that, and then he means to have her in his arms the rest of the evening, safe and cherished and loved.

Daenerys offers Willimina respectful bow. "Leader." Oh, he understands perfectly; he's gotten off lightly, very lightly. And since she appears to understand why he went after the man, the leatherworker doesn't attempt to offer a word in his own defense. Instead, he'll obey her edict to get a bottle of whiskey and have his face tended to. Internally, though, he is quite, quite happy to have given F'kan the beating he so richly deserves. As Xanthee seems well content with her Miner, he offers her a grin and a gentle, "Happy Turnday, baby girl… even if it was a little wilder than anticipated." And then he's gone, wanderin off to have his face tended.

Reveka retrieves anything left on the ground and follows Xan and Mal back to the party, still quite perplexed at the situation at hand.

Edlsesa wanders off after Daenerys, intending to get the full story out of him and possibly a bit of that whiskey. She's been dying to try it… maybe her brother will indulge her. She places Xanthee's gift on the table on her way out and waves at the woman, wishing her a Happy Turnday as she passes.

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