Who

Mayte, Eala, Zisiene, Ypsilani, Beris, Dimity, Diem, Divale, Ixtli, Nasrin, Neryk, Lane, Amarante Selaine, L'xan (please add your Character!)

What

Mayte made Kurkar Hold have a Potluck. The Kurkarians seemed to enjoy it… (with apologies, my internet cut out and chopped off the end bits of the log)

No one died. Except from the heat of Tlatoani food, nearly

When

It is midafternoon of the ninth day of the seventh month of the ninth turn of the 12th pass.

Where

The Plaza, Kurkar Hold

OOC Date 27 Nov 2016 07:00

 

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The Plaza

The small crevice to enter forthwith accedes to stone steps that descend for half a dragonlength, subterranean space broadening into the volume of five cathedrals, but a sanctuary of few saints. The heartbeat of the Underground is an open courtyard of native soil ringed by domiciles and living quarters gouged into the bedrock. Fowl, caprines, and long-tailed ovines occasionally wander and sleep freely, except when assemblies, dancing, or the rare wedding features. Music is kept to a minimum, as sound may wander to the surface, but daily life starts and ends here. The living quarters carved into the rocks may be as simple as crawl space or a large enough family unit to house several members. Often cloth is used to separate one's 'claim' and to provide a modicum of privacy. A towering ceiling is forever safe from light's reach, its vacant blackness like a night sky without stars.


In the quiet tranquility of underground, a whirlwind of festiveness has erupted - Streamers and all sorts of celebrationey garlands string about like someone went a little mad with power. In the middle of the Plaza extends a length of tables, end-to-end and somehow it's still not quite long enough to reach either end of this cavern. However, food dishes start to dot along the way. It's a mishmash of appetizers, entrees, and desserts all over because there are no signs indicating what should go where. Drinks are at a large makeshift bar manned by a few vintners, while other beverages are circling around on trays held by drudges. Mayte is already circling, a large glass of wine in one hand, waving madly to the table and urging people, "Eat, seriously! And don't sneeze in anything!"

Beris hasn't contributed any food, because it's /Beris/. What she is contributing are wary looks around at the gathered crowds, especially the non-Hold people. She's lurking on the edges, keeping well away from being in the middle of any groups. Near Lane, as a matter of fact, and completely coincidentally.

Saria last ended up this way doing work. But this time there's supposed to be a party, so she's here for not-work. Which is nice. Dressed the same as she usually is, very imply, she's got her hands foled behind her back as she arrives, looking around and sizing up the party.

Neryk hovers behind M'tej, wide eyes surveying the huge masses of people and food with the unease of one pretty positive that this might have been a bad idea. The invitation and ride had been nice, but talking about going to a gathering of this size in the protection of the infirmary is very different actually being here. Lots of people. Lots of noise. Lots and lots of food. Alcohol? Where was the alcohol? There is a glance at the brown rider beside him before Neryk tentatively pokes him, "Was there a goal to all this?"

Ypsilani is lurking in the shadows. It's a party, so she should be mingling. It's something she's still working on acquiring, or reacquiring; the ability to mingle comfortably with people again. The sight of others at the edges has Ypsi slowly edging towards them.

Among the weyrlings escorted here this day by Oz'keyn and Hirikoth is Divale and she'll take a moment to step aside when entering the familiar plaza to gaze in muted awe at the change. Never would she have ever expected to see it like this; so festive and so… not like it was. It's there that she lingers, on the fringes for now, content to watch the crowd before braving mingling in it. Might be best that she has yet to spot Lane, as she's supposed to be on her best behaviour.

"To eat. To celebrate the fact that the folks from this Hold and the Weyr are, I imagine, getting along reasonable well." M'tej speculates to Neryk, reaching to catch the young man's shoulder in his grip and steer him toward the food tables. "There." A passing server's tray is lightened one drink, which is handed over to Neryk. "As promised. But you might want to take it easy. You've nothing to prove here, lad. Just be easy." His green lizard has perched on his shoulder. A bronze had shown up for the trip from the Weyr, but has since chased off, because some green lizard, somewhere, is proddy. Captain is nothing, if not consistent.

Leaving her now-empty glass behind with the Vintners (earning her a briefly dirty look from behind), Mayte swings into the crowd, grabbing a plate and handing it off to one bemused on-looker. And then another. And another. "Take a plate, grab some food, eat it. Wait a while, chat with friends," the instructions are endless, "then come back for more." This lasts until she gets shooed away by drudges who are annoyed at the Weyrwoman doing their job. Finally, Mayt ejust ends up with a plate onto which she piles some veg and… "Oh for Faranth's sake! Who brought meatballs??" Fine, she'll try some.

Oz'keyn and Hirikoth have played chaperone to a smattering of Mosaic students. Beneath his leather jacket, the AWLM wears a fine shirt of Igen style, a kurta whose pale color approaches the milk-jade tone of his lifemate. He has a metal ring in his ear, and his beard, neatly trimmed, frames a scowl. Or perhaps he is only squinting in the change of light.

Amarante does not actually have Zavyr on a leash, but she is serving as an escort … whether or not that's what Zavyr wanted it to look like. She's the kind of escort who is physically there in case Zavyr falls over weak from injuries, rather than the kind that is doing any pulling or forcing. "Oh, wow," she says relatively quietly for the din of the room, but loud enough to be heard, "It's a lot more crowded than I was expecting. People really do turn out for a feast here, don't they?" The reason Amarante is so shocked is because of the sheer number of faces she has never seen, those Underground dwellers that are really, really good at hiding.

Right. Mingling. That's the obvious goal of any party, though some are not so certain that mingling is the proper course of action; Camigwen among them, haunting the edges like a particularly haggard ghost. She'll just snatch up one of those drinks over there and fetch up against a convenient wall to cast a critical eye over the gathering: anything to keep from having to go out and about amongst the unwashed, unruly masses where all manner of unspeakable acts — such as being cordial and whatnot — will take place.

Wearing his infirary best, wrinkled and with a bed-head that would compete with the finest in any competition, comes a pale, pale thin youth at Amarante's side. Perhaps by now he has one hand on her arm, and the other is using a staff as a bit of a help, when he pauses at the edge to look at the… Everything. Much the same reaction as Divale. And all these faces. Unfamiliar faces. "Most of us don't eat regularly. So the promise of food… Yes." Zavyr has an airy tenor, as she responds to the Journeyman healer, "Will bring everyone out of the deepest caves, yes."
Divale didn't see LAne, but look! Lane sees Divale. HE's going in one direction but he turns abruptly and stalks towards the weyrling. "Divale." Angry voice~~

Drunk. Right. That was the goal. The other ness about weyr and hold sounded okay too, but there is a lack of interest in either at the moment. Neryk's entire attention is latched the cup the moment it enters his hands and he nods. Right. Take it easy. Right. Stupid infirmary wouldn't let him get drunk. But he was here now. And if he was expected to deal with people … .drunk might be good… . "Thanks. Right. Don't leave without me, kay? An-" His entire line of thought is shattered by food and he promptly picks up a scone and hands it to M'tej as if in trade for the cup.

On a hot wind came many of Igen's weyrlings, lead to their destination by Hirikoth and Oz'keyn. Outside, Nasrin spends copious amounts of time combing her hair, traveling with such essential commodities as water and a hair pick. She assigns a head scarf she's tried to match to the deep yellow in the weyrling uniform, and only got close to that hue. She secures the scarf, keeping her face free of the fabric, tucks her materials back into place within Rajakhelath's rucksack, and joins the weyrling cadre descending the steep stairs where she was a refugee for some months prior. "Why, would you look at this place…" Indeed! A lot has changed both architecturally and otherwise. She hardly hears her boots meet the ground, feeling the transition instead.

Selaine is in this crowd of people somewhere, weaving through to get her way to the food. She hasn't brought food because… well… she can't cook. Better not make all these people her test subjects for the time being. Instead, she'll help herself to the food and find any familiar faces she might be able to find.

M'tej gets a scone? Well then. He pulls off a piece and hands that bite up to Mona, who nibbles and then promptly spits the scone back out again. Small pieces of the pastry flutter down over M'tej's sleeve and fall to the floor. No doubt M'tej will develop a following of local hold canines. He takes a bite of the scone himself and eyes the green lizard. "No. It's fine. You're wrong." To Neryk, a nod. "Assuredly. Don't run too fast and I should be able to keep up with you. But easy on the drink. One water between every glass of…Whatever that is." He leans over th scent Neryk's drink, "Wine."

Well, so much for that hope. Trouble finds Divale instead, it the form of an angry looking Lane. She'd just sidled up to one of the serving tables to peer at the contents and at the sound of his familiar (angry) voice, she'll just cooly regard him. "Why, Pathway! What a pleasant surprise," she muses, though the smirk she gives says it all. So does the gesture indicating she's about to walk away and he can follow. Away from the food, alas. "Somehow I doubt you're here to chat pleasantries, with me?"

Ixtli cooked, for certain; she cooked things that are appallingly spicy, but for people who like a good kick to their vegetables and meats on sticks, it's delicious. Tlatoani treats from a Kurkar face that everyone knows, and one that hopes she won't be running into many Tlatoani faces. She is here, though, and she's definitely swiping wine glasses politely. Or being handed one by Igen's Weyrwoman, as it may turn out to be.

Kairmine quickly and carefully lowers a wood-carved cloche covered platter onto the long serving tables and then takes a big step back before people see him. It wouldn't do the weaver any good to garner more attention towards any little skill that doesn't fall in line with the craft he's put turns into. After he slowly steps back further, glancing over his shoulder with narrowed green eyes to make sure he's not in anyone's direct line of traffic, then he exhales and begins to glance at his clothing. His vest is smoothed out and adjusted over his tunic, his collar is pulled at a little… You saw nothing!

So far, Beris has spotted very few familiar faces - aside from Divale, who seems to have been targeted by someone else. She gives the crowds another scan, and spies the more recently-familiar face of Saria. And then moving her gaze again, she spots Ixtli, and sidles that way through the crowds, to someone fmailiar and safe.

Lane, to Divale. "He is missing." This partnership is already not working. "How am I suppose to protect them if I can't find them?"

A young man melts out of the crowd near Selaine. It is a young healer apprentice who treated her wound during the fall over the weyr. Ayolehe has been running plates to sick, infirm, and shy residents, but the face of Akitith's rider has sparked his memory. He flashes a grin at her.

There is another quick nod, the wine already half gone. Neryk's briefly glances at the new mess adorning M'tej's sleeve. "Running, no on that. Okay." He's only paying half attention to the conversation, eyes scanning the table of food and quickly selects another pastry and takes a bite, "Ey, you don't suppose-" Again, whatever the thought was is gone and a pastry finds it's way into Neryk's pocket and he tries again, "Sir, is there a rule against taking food back to the weyr?"

Saria would probably consider herself safe. Well mostly. So she returns a wave to Beris, when looked at, but the just makes her way in a bit. There's food, so a reasonable place to start, is to try to snag some, and eat it. Food does so often lead to conversation after all.

Mayte's head perks up as Rhiscorath bellows outside, but she's easily distracted as a new dish is placed down: a challenger enters! Dodging around people, Mayte eyes the platter Kairmine has put down with ill-covered greed. Things get pushed out of the way to make room for some of it, and a nibble of it has Mayte's eyes bulging. BULGING. "Mother of Faranth, who brought this?" she asks, turning to look for the cook, "And can I get the recipe?"

"Maybe they don't want protecting? Ever think of that?" Divale's answer is curt but mostly because she's a little annoyed at having attained Lane as a shadow. It's also difficult for her to remain civil for too long, especially around the former guard. "Besides, he's in good hands right now. Relax. Take the stick out—- Just relax. Get some food. Drink." she flips a hand to gesture towards the laden tables.

While there's a few familiar faces in the crowd, Selaine doesn't move to approach them… at least, not yet. She'll just be over here, enjoying her plate of food for now. The sight of Ayolehe as he passes by, and the smile she receives, warrants a smile of her own to the young healer and a nod of acknowledgement. No words at the moment, in the event the young man is on his way elsewhere.

In the pocket? M'tej watches the pathway of that scone and then looks at Neryk's features after having managed a sublime impression of a more pleasant version of his usual dragonpoker face, "I'm sure you won't be called on it, lad. Not sure what the need is though." He leaves it at that but takes Neryk's elbow and heads toward the spicy food set out by Ixtli - he can smell the burn from a dragonlength away and that's exactly his preference. He'll wend through the press, Neryk in tow, to that new vantage. "You ever try hot food, Neryk?" M'tej sends a grin to Ixtli. "Evening, ma'am."

"What do you mean?" Lane is super confused about all of this she-is-in-good-company. Reaching out Lane tries to grab Divale's arm to get the woman to actually look at him. Really look. And then he's going to mutter under the sound of the party.

You overhear Lane mutter, "Someone … out … looking to … … A … like this…" to Divale.

"Apparently," Amarante notes in response to Zavyr's explanation of where all the people suddenly appeared from. "Seems like a lot of food — a lot of food — for a place with little food, and this is even a lot of food to me and I grew up at Herder Hall." Where food was always in overflow, or close to it. "What should we go get?" See, Lane, your charge is just fine right here with someone you actually like. She just doesn't realize she's foiling your plan.

A brown firelizard sails over the heads of the crowd. When his wing dips too close for an old woman's liking, she brandishes a wooden spoon pulled from a dish of curry. Away, you! But Cardamom has a different goal. His wingbeats carry him toward a girl in a weyrling uniform and a matching yellow headscarf. He flutters up proudly to Nasrin, jewel-tone eyes friendly. A little red string of random beads is about his neck.
Neryk lets himself be taken through the crowd and stays as close behind M'tej as he can manage without tripping the older man up or stepping on hisheels, "Hogback still has riders in the Infirmary. Not to say anything against Infirmary food bu-" Spicy? "What? Spicy? Er, High Reaches has spicy, right?" His eyes focus on the new person, then almost immediately fall to the ground, the now empty cup of wine clutched as if defense from whatever this new person was like. Eyes dart up to Ixtli a moment then fall to the food table. Oh dear, that did smell spicy.

Completely unaware that Lane is capable of liking anyone, but surely suspicious that Lane is likely lurking here somewhere, and trying to steel his own nervous system for the inevitable encounter, Zavyr nods toward the tables. "Then let's get something. And sit down." Not because Zavyr is otherwise about to drop, no. Not that. But folks sit while they eat, right? He swallows, involuntarily, at the smell of the food, and regard flicks to the table with liquid refreshment as well. Zavyr instinctively hugs the fringes of the crowd. With the rest of those used to living in the shadows. Like where Camigwen might lurk.

Has he be spotted? When Mayte samples the platter, all the weaver can do is peer over at the tables like a deer in headlights. At the very least, he remembered to cover his mouth. Kairmine looks left and right but there's a formidable wall of people surrounding him on all points. Food brings 'em out, he's surrounded. Surrounded by the dreaded social folk. "I-I did, Weyrwoman. It was me. I have the recipe back in my quarters. I'll be sure that you get it." So much for hiding. Why was he forced out here again? Right. To learn how to… people. Betrayed by the tiny fruit stuff roasted game birds. One even looks like it's judging him.

Keep foiling away, Amarante. Divale will just continue on, unknowingly, as a distraction. Lane will earn a near glare when he grabs her arm and she's certainly looking at him then but she makes no effort to evade him. The muttered comment earns a snort and and eye roll along with it. "It'd be madness," is her cryptic reply. "Too many eyes and ears. Relax." She'd like her arm back too and will try to jerk it from his grasp before carrying on in a slow, sedate walk through the crowds.

Ixtli reaches out a hand to Beris, gesturing for her to come closer — if not altogether catching her hand to pull her so. And then she's all smiles for M'tej and his companion. "Hello," she says brightly, "Wanted to try it?" The food has meaty options and not-meaty options, and it's glistening with black dots, but if you like spicy food it looks like the best kebobs ever. Whatever it is she is sipping, it is also possibly the best wine ever, at least for this five minutes. She picks up a pepper that fell off the end of its stick and offers that to Beris without commentary.

"And any of this place is NOT madness?" Lane really tried to keep that as a hiss. Tried. Attention he doesn't want so it's not a YELL. "Divale, please." Relaxing, not happening. There's a hint of panic in Lane's voice.

It's a good thing Amarante is focused on Zavyr, otherwise she'd be zeroing in on Kairmine.

Late isn't bad, right? Right! Zisiene makes an appearance with Agertha both of whom are dressed appropriately. Isie makes for the food, and smiles brightly at those she knows while giving curious glances to those she doesn't recognize. Time enough for getting to know people later, first things first. The basket that Ravene entrusted her with is set on the table, and uncovered to reveal a hodge podge of breads, pastries, and other baked goodies, "Ravene's compliments," called cheerfully to all within hearing of the girl.

Diem is standing near a table admiring the trays and displays of various desserts arranged upon its surface. With both hands clasped loosely behind her, the goldrider is seriously considering having a pastry before tasting anything else. Pastries, klah… she's in heaven. Pivoting, she looks around for a plate to begin collecting favorites from the silver tray to her left. Then a fork. Yes. It's bad form to collect a sweetroll with her hands in front of all these people. Well, maybe she can if no one's watching~

Beris is drawn in by Ixtli, a light touch of hands grounding the wary girl. Yes, Ixtli is familiarity in a sea of unknown faces. Even with two people nearby - one apparently a rider, and the other Beris isn't sure about - she's a touch more relaxed. She takes the pepper, and eats it in two bites as she watches M'tej and Neryk to see what they do, fierce eyes willing them to try the food. After all, it's food cooked by her family, so people better eat it and enjoy it!

Late to the party, Eala arrives sans a certain bronzerider, but plus two children. The young girl's hand in clasped tightly in her own, while the boy on the cusp of his teenage years leads a few steps ahead of them. The little girl is nearly bouncing with every step she takes, eyeing the promise of copious amounts of food as though it's something entirely foreign. She begins to yank on Eala's hand, and it's then that the greenrider pauses, calling out for the boy. "Why don't you two go eat? I want to say hello to a few people first. Just… stay nearby, and come find me if you need anything." And look after your sister, although it's clear that the words hardly need saying. The girl changes hands, linking her fingers around her brother's before the pair dart off into the crowd. Eala watches after them with a bit of a wince — hopefully that wasn't a horrible decision.

The quick answer seems to surprise Mayte but she grins one of her unusually open smiles at Kairmine: "You did, huh?" Another bite has the Weyrwoman licking her fingers neatly: "There's always a spot in Igen's kitchens if you need it, man." It's an invite, not a threat. "These are amazing. Really really awesome job." And then, she adds, "You should get some grub too. The roast beast is pretty good, but I think this beats it." Mayte half-turns so Kairmine can take her up on the offer of leaving if he likes. "Me, I'm gonna go for some desserts." Because we know what that spelled backwards is…

If he was capable of hiding behind M'tej, he would. Eyes on him made a voice in the back of Neryk's head panic. He glances up at Beris and slinks back, content to let M'tej talk. That look of challenge in Beris's eyes is one that N'yk would have never hesitated to answer, but it is one that scares Neryk. Part of him still screams 'SMILE AND TAKE A BLOODY PEPER YOU WIMP SHE"S LOOKING AT YOU', but the part that had been more dominate in recant days whispered, 'It's cool, M'tej's got this.'

"Right. Makes sense. Why don't we take a few to them, then. Yes." M'tej rather doubts that the pastries will survive in the young man's pockets, if Neryk intends to hit the level of drunk that he seems to be aiming for, but a few pastries sacrificed in the name of helping former wingmembers is a small price to pay for Neryk's momentary pleasure. "There's some red-filled ones over there." Red is a flavor, yes? Thus distracting Neryk, M'tej will reach for a kabob. The one that sports the most peppers.

"Sit," Amarante tells Zavyr, but it's phrased as an invitation and not as an order. "I'll get us food. Unless you think you need to gather things with me, I can be sensitive to a meat allergy and not grab the wrong things." She's going to prove, someday, that there really is such a thing as a meat allergy and then everyone is going to take her ridiculous notions much more seriously. "If you don't want to be alone, though, I don't blame you, but in this crowd —" Who is going to do anything silly like try to act on threats of killing someone.

Divale almost laughs and there's a smug curve to her lips when she peers up at Lane. Did he just nearly beg her to do something? This is too rich! Too bad they're in a middle of a party or she'd be so very tempted to really needle him further and rather cruelly. "Food and drink first? THEN I'll explain? And then we'll go and find your… charge." Now she's back to smirking and waiting, expectantly, for the former Guard's answer. Trying to buy some time here, for her friend, before they descend upon them.

Sit. Good idea. Zavyr finds a chair and negotiates it between two or three groups so that its back is up against a wall. He considers that chair, all by itself, then goes to find a second one, for Amarante. He, his six-foot staff, and his clothes that rightfully look as if they've been slept in a few days, without respite, collect a second chair, 'pardon me, excuse me, pardon me' back to where he'd put the first one, only to see that it's been claimed by a heavily gravid young woman. Zavyr releases a sigh, before looking sidelong over to notice the yellow-scarved young woman. "Hey. Firelizard girl." Wait. "Weyrwoman."

All he can do is smile rather awkwardly and maybe a little pathetically at her mention of the kitchens. "Thanks for the food suggestion," he manages and as soon as Mayte is no longer watching, he makes a break for it… which amounts to only a few steps. Kairmine grabs himself a plate with a few meager offerings and watches around for the firelizard signalling the end of his captivity. His Journeyman is going to pay for this… The weaver finds himself a safe perching spot and proceeds to cut up and shred the few things he has into tiny pieces, carefully arranging them on a plate so the different items don't touch and their juices stay in their designated areas. Content to it's states, he examines his sleeves to make sure there's not a spot upon, and only then, does he sample a bite with a shrug. S'alright.

Ypsilani has edged towards the food. How long has it been since she last ate? Ypsi comes close to M'tej and Neryk, and turns so that her face can not be seen. It isn't that she's shy, no. It's that she feels it'd be too much for others to see the wreckage that is now her face. It's why she's so heavily veiled. Besides, past experience has taught her that her visage scares children and the old uncles and aunties, "Pardon," she says with her very soft, painfully raspy voice before continueing past the pair to the food. Beris is given a startled, "Pardon," in that same painful rasp of a voice that is Ypsi's voice now.

Diem shows no sign of leaving the dessert table. With a single plate in hand, she's already sampling a jelly filled sweetroll when someone sets a piping hot mug of klah on the buffet table in front of her. "Mmn." That translates into: 'Thank you.' A nod follows as she catches sight of the person heading back into the crowd behind her. It's here that the weyrwoman is parked and here she will stay so long as her mug gets a refill every now and then. "Oh, this is simply wonderful." Hopefully she won't get any powdered sugar on her lavender evening wear.

"Fine." But not fine as in lane-is-going-to go and get some food and drink. Fine as in Lane is turning around and exiting the room altogether. If Zavyr is in the room then she probably won't die. (This isn't Southern.) So Lane is just going to take his steps outside. Maybe he'll be lucky and run across the baddies and then there'll be three deaths today?

Since M'tej is helping himself to a kebab, Beris purses her lips and turns her attention away from him and his hiding companion. Besides, someone else is approaching - a woman who seems about her height, but somehow…shrunk into herself? There's something not quite right about the woman, but with her face held in that careful way, Beris can't see what's going on. "You like spicy food?" Is her response to the raspy 'pardon' from Ypsilani. She points to a plate of particularly hot peppers. "Try those."

Neryk has yet to associate Hogback as former wingmates. Right. The distraction works, the red-flavored pastries vanish into pockets and the peppers are eyed with a wary leer. Beris and Ixtli aside, pastries for friends is important. At the word, so torn from Ypsilani, Neryk jumps slightly, edging back behind M'tej. Brown eyes lock on the veiled woman, that ever-present unease grows at her approach. There is a quick nod of acknowledgement to her, and a soft , "Hi." before eyes fall to the ground. He doesn't know Ypsilani, but it is possible he's heard of her. At Beris's words to the woman, Neryk shrinks back again.

Divale doesn't look too heartbroken when Lane turns around and exits from the plaza. "Fine, then," There's just a shrug of her shoulders and likely a look of relief before she's on the hunt for two people she needs to hurriedly update before getting a chance to enjoy herself. "Pardon me," she'll murmur as she weaves through the crowds, looking now for either Amarante or Zavyr in hopes of passing along the exchange between her and Lane.

M'tej will move well out of Ypsilani's way, with a murmured apology, stepping to clear the way, and sidestepping then to move Neryk back into his field of vision which happens to limit Neryk's field of shrinking. M'tej is, in fact, right behind the young man, who is speaking with girls. As he should be. In fact, M'tej will beckon another server over, and pluck a water glass off his tray to trade with Neryk for the wineglass. There.

After being unleashed onto the general public, the boy and girl once attached to Eala's side go running into the crowd, using their smaller stature to slide past bodies until they're right up to the table. The dessert table, of course. Without an authority figure to direct them toward the real food, they're headed straight for the sweets. "'Scuse me," is mumbled in a Bitran brogue as the boy moves around Diem, while his little sister practically knocks into the goldrider in her haste to get to the sugar.

Zisiene's filled a plate, and is now looking for a place to sit. A bright smile on her face, Agertha's nowhere to be seen. Perhaps the greenrider's decided not to stay? Probably, oh well the food is fantastic.
Nasrin reaches down into her core, beyond where Rajakhelath's level of satiety is, and gauges her own sense of hunger. Especially when feasts are involved. Cardamom, a son of Euskal, zags towards her and she knows his keeper: Ayolehe. "With your vantage, inform me if there's any spiced rivergrains…" His mother is again brooding a clutch and hasn't time to be an extension of Nasrin (and Rajakhelath will no longer fit in the entrance). Nasrin does make a small selection of meats, craving them. "Weyrwoman Diem, that color becomes you." The weyrling delivers with her third salute since entering, not slighting her own choice of a clear uniform. Her head spins to Zavyr's location, face a mask before registering recognition. Then her cheeks have on a ripe smile. "Zavyr, happy to join you, if I might?" She and her plate of cooked fowl and red meat.

Ixtli will someday realize that not everyone likes spicy food, and then she will be disappointed, just like how not everyone likes Topiltzin and R'ku's drinks. That is their loss. And red? Red is definitely a flavor. She, though, is watching those eating her food and drinking her wine while Beris acts as the persuader of innocents to eat their food for now. Somewhere, S'rae is going to regret that while he said he would come, initially, to his clutchmates, he either didn't or he's late.
Swinging by a few desserts platters, Mayte picks up some pies, some cake… "Gonna be workin' this off in the morning," she says aloud with some satisfaction. And this of course brings her across to, "Diem! Diem, have you tried the fruity-stuffing birds?" she calls as she closes in, blinking at the kids. And… "Is that Nasrin?" she asks the other woman. Since they're getting swarmed by proto-humans.

Ypsilani actually turns to face Beris. How? How did this stranger know her favorite food? "Spiced?" she asks, her voice held low to reduce the pain that speaking clearly causes her. Neryk's shrinking away does not go un-noticed by the woman as she tries to figure whether to go for a plate or just pop one of the proferred peppers under her veils and into her mouth?

The sudden lack of a hiding spot freezes Neryk. He doesn't notice the trading of wine for water and although tension is written in every moment, he finds himself unwillingly beside Ypsilani. And here he'd thought M'tej was a good guy. Eyes dart to the veils a moment before falling to the ground, a gulp of water is taken, much to the disappointment that is it not wine. The words of Ypsi and Beris are barly heard above the mental paniced chatter in his head.

Are those bubblie pies? Yes. Diem paces herself and sets her small plate upon the table before lifting a mug of piping hot klah for a ginger sip. A free hand tucks her lavender veil away and secures it so that it doesn't — too late. The suddenly appearance of two young people have the weyrwoman side stepping one way and then the other to not bump into either of them. "Oh dear." Klah sloshes a bit and she looks up just in time to note Nasrin breezing by and Mayte breezing in. "Not yet." is a quick answer to her Senior. "I've been admiring these bubblies…" And trying not to spill klah all over the place.

"Well. In fact," Zavyr nods to the chair, against which he leans, with which he did not join the pregnant woman at the wall, and gestures to it. Nevermind the chair, and Zavyr, are kind of located in the middle of a room, sort of as a between spot from whence he'd fetched the chair, and where he was going. "Have a seat, Weyrwoman. And congratulations. Golds like you." Zavyr will never, ever forget that first sight of Nasrin's gold lizard, that earned Igen's newest Weyrwoman her nickname, 'Firelizard Girl'. "Is R'em coming, ma'am?" The 'ma'am' is tacked on as an afterthought.

"Sorry," says the boy to Diem, while his erstwhile sister seems uninclined to focus on anything that doesn't contain sugar. One of them seems well-mannered, at least, though there's no recognition when it comes to Diem or Mayte — they're just two more average adults, it would seem. The boy grabs a plate and holds it out for his sister to pile sweets upon sweets upon sweets while the savory delights go entirely ignored.

Zavyr's and Nasrin's conversation is about to be interrupted by the return of Amarante … and some guy that Amarante got to help her carry things. Between her and Some Guy, there are about nine plates of mostly-vegetarian food, pastries and drinks, all of which are deposited on the table before the guy and Amarante exchange handshakes and he goes back to what he was doing before. "I'm back," she says cheerfully, "Brought food — oh, hello, future weyrwoman." She knows Nasrin's name, but they don't actually know each other, so she won't be so presumptive.

Divale finds herself momentarily absorbed by the crowd and a few salutes are given out to semi-familiar faces and unfamiliar ones too when she glimpses a knot. She'll pass on helping herself to the food for now, despite being so tempted by the smell and sight of it all. In passing both Weyrwomen, she'll dip her head respectfully after the salute and a passing vague grin but does not linger to chat (yet) and at least gives a slight look of apology before moving on. So many people, so many of which are new but she's on a mission, however brief. Nasrin will be spotted next and then her intended target, Zavyr. "Quite the crowd, hmm?" she speaks upon greeting, her words a touch hurried. "Mind if I linger here with you two — three, for a moment?" There's a quirked half-smile for Amarante's arrival as well.

Beris can tell that /something/ isn't right, but the veils are doing a pretty good job of concealing the worst of the damage from curious teenage eyes. "These ones," and she makes a point of piling some onto a little plate for Ypsilani, thrusting the plate towards the woman. "We grew the peppers ourselves. The spices aren't from here but…." She wriggles the plate in a 'try them' sort of gesture.

"Okay," Mayte wonders sotto voce to Diem, "Who let kids in?" Because her concept of child-handling is rudimentary at best. The apology from the boy does seem to mollify the Weyrwoman a little, though the girl gets a look. But kids are kids, and even Mayte knows better other than to say, "I hope their parents are around. There's wine, if you're looking for something more." Looking down, Mayte reaches for the very last nut-sugar cookie on the tray and stuffs half of it into her mouth. Nom.

Ypsilani recognizes herself in Neryk, and she pulls away from him with another whispered, "Pardon," she doesn't wish to cause pain, so she'll slowly drift away. The plate causes her to pause, and she reaches for it with her right hand, "Thank-you," and she's once more drawing back. Neryk would be given an understanding look were she not angled so that she can't see him.

Diem is happy to stand with Mayte and watch the two eager kids grab as many pastries as they can. Well, she's watching the kids while Mayte is more than likely watching the confections on the table. More klah is sipped and it takes her a moment to spot Nasrin through the crowd, "I'm happy to see that she's mingling." Her head tilts ever slightly when she spots the goldling's present company. "Although I'm not sure I've met any of them." The junior pivots to regard Mayte with an impish smile. "I could really use something in my klah." Hint, hint.

M'tej remains easy in his stance, and enjoys picking off each of the morsels from the kabob, each savored for its own flavor, even as he listens to the conversations around him and remains a steady presence as Neryk's back. Diem will be seen, get a nod. Mayte, another. The kids watched with a certain sense of amusement deepening the hue of M'tej's already near-black eyes.

The words between Beris and Ypsilani are half heard and give Neryk a chance to get his brain to turn off the alarms and think again. First thought: This was not wine, damn it. Second thought: He wasn't about to get drunk standing here. He starts to step back, his movements blocked by M'tej and eerily mirroring' Ypsilani's own attempt at retreat. Plate. There is a plate of spice there. With a pocket full of sweet, spice did not sound good. But the veiled woman is taking one. There is a hesitation, and he too takes a pepper from Beris's offered plate.

Beris shrugs when Ypsilani takes the peppers and draws back. Neryk gets a ghost of a smile as he also helps himself to a pepper, before Beris sets the plate down on the table. With one last curious stare is aimed at the woman, the teenager fades away into the crowds to go do some lurking somewhere, no doubt.

There is a certain nice anonymity to simply being known as 'weyrwoman (in training),' but Nasrin hasn't yet tired of the circumstances of being known via name or dragon. While glancing at the vegetarian selections on Amarante's plate, the weyrling judges not looking up into the healer's face. "Nasrin, both pre and post dragon. I'm the half of the unit that can fit through the door." Rajakhelath won't be poking her nose in either, the growing dragon flying scorch marks around Kurkar and surrounding steppes. "Pleasure, journeyman. And my comrade, Divale," she makes room for the brownrider both physically and in the form of introduction. Of her brother's absence, she makes a small moue. "I reminded him of the event, but he wanted to stay at the Weyr with Sajkiath." An impending flight, perhaps.

When it seems the plate can't hold anymore, the girl snatches up one more sweet thing covered in powdered sugar, and stuffs it half into her mouth. Then immediately says, "Our aunt is here!" around a mouthful of dough. Her brother claps an apologetic hand over her mouth. It's about this time that Eala finally materializes, having finished with her wingmates. "Weyrwomen," she greets respectfully, before her attention falls on the two children. "Did you eat anything that wasn't sugar?" Look, she's not super familiar with kids, but she's pretty damn sure they need more than just sweets to grow.

"Hey." Zavyr returns to Divale, with a weary grin, but she looks startled at Amarante's arrival with all that food, and Some Guy's immediate rescue of the table-less situation by niftily pulling a table out from a nearby buffet even as the drudges lift an empty platter from said table. The nine plates of food are settled onto the newly appropriatd table, to complete the island of Divale, Nasrin, Amarante, Zavyr and Some Guy. The dishelved thief does watch Some Guy with a peculiar interest, at his adroit dexterity. "Hey… Ever thought of traveling? You-" But Some Guy is gone, just like that, off to rescue some other damsel in distress, no doubt. Zavyr turns back to Amarante with a lopsided grin, shake of his head and 'told you so' look that he has had enough practical experience with to perfect. "Nasrin, Amarante. Ah-" Beat to the punch. Zavyr shifts his weight and secures a more erect stance with both hands on the staff for a moment before stepping over to the table and letting that take some of his lean weight, to free a hand to catch a piece of…Whatever. "Thank you, Explorer." And Nasrin's news is met with a decidedly neutral expression.

Zisiene eventually finds herself in full view of both Diem and Mayte, a bright smile is given to them both, "Have you found the basket Ravene sent?" she asks even as she points directly at it, "She said to be sure you both knew it was there."

Amarante steals food, steals tables, steals people and hangs out with thieves. And goldriders, today? "Go chase him down later," she says as regards Some Guy. "I think he works as a waiter and has some amazing skill at carrying too much stuff at once, which is how I managed to get him to help me. I also may have insinuated someone waiting for me was going to die of starvation otherwise." She says that with polite calmness, as if this was an appropriate action. What Amarante herself is eating is not vegetarian, it has some kind of blackened chicken in it.

Neryk's pepper is held without much plan as what to do with it next. There is a glance at M'tej before the youth takes a bite. There is a whine. The youth's eyes are suddenly brimming with tears, and the pepper is shoved away, probably into someone else's hands or the table or the floor or away, far, far away. Yep this was a bad idea. He just wanted to get drunk. And there are all these damn people here and his mouth is on fire and the water is making it worse and Neryk is almost bouncing up and down, hand fanning, mouth clamped shut, but whining. Panic again tries to addle the brain and succeeds.

Tlatoani food strikes again. Next try the beers at the Cantina.

The whine from Neryk grabs Ypsilani's attention, and she's quickly pouring him a slightly sweet drink of some kind. One that smells strongly of whiskey, "Try this?" she suggests, rasp and all then she's once more backing away. Spiced foods aren't for everyone, but Ypsi just can't get enough, her own teased her mercilessly about it.

"How ever did you manage this, Amarante?" Divale gestures to the table and platters, but she'll soon have her answer and give an appropriate chuckle for the Healer. "Well played," she muses, though she'll give Zavyr a darted side glance. Is the Fool finally eating? Yes? Good. She'll reach for a bite of food as well, not even inspecting it too closely before popping it into her mouth. Of course, Nasrin is greeting her then and she has to hurriedly finish swallowing before answering. "Kind of nice to mingle for once and not between training and drills, hmm?" she muses, only to shift a little closer to Zavyr and murmur a little more quietly. "I met with our… other friend. He will not be joining us, I'm afraid." Lane, of course, is who she's hinting at.

The sweet is thrown down with a choked sob, a gasp of gratitude, tears streaming freely down his face now. It's odd crying for a reason so unlike the normal reason. See? Normalcy, he was trying normalcy. The drink is finished quickly, eyes moving up to see his savior as breathing picks up, both from the panic and now facing the odd veils that were already scary. Damn it N'yk where'd you go and can you please come back? Neryk nods to her quickly, "Th-thank you! I-I didn't exp-expect it to-" There is a vague gesture toward the table of dangous peppers, his voice failing and another cup of wine almost lunged for as the tray passes. Talking to people in the infirmary was easier.

While Diem sips klah, she notes M'tej's nod from a distance and offers one in return. Tawny colored eyes linger upon the brownrider a moment before a voice draws her attention toward the dessert table once again. She smiles at Zisiene and pivots to look over at Ravene's basket. "I've already taken two pastries of hers." A beat, "I know how fast they go once they're discovered." And if anyone attempts to take hers from her plate, things will get ugly. Ahem. The junior regards Mayte again, innocent. And once a wingsecond manifests, Diem looks over at her. "Hello, Eala. Are these yours?" Kids, that is.

Ypsilani nods in understanding, "Talking," she says softly, "Will always be painful for me," the rasp is followed by a long pull of air into her lungs. Painful sounding to the end, "Ypsi, brown," she stops and shakes her head almost angrily, "Ypsilani," she finally says very softly. As crowded as the cavern is, she holds little hope of being heard unless M'tej and Neryk are very close. She looks around just a little, before she motions for M'tej to block her view. If he does, she'll lift the veil enough to show the wreckage of her face, the ruined left eye socket before dropping it back into place, "No one needs to see that," she doesn't even want to see it.

Mayte looks over at Zisiene and smiles a bit. "Thanks for letting me know. I'll tell Ravene," reaching over to grab one and put it on her plate, and whatever Mayte was going to say next drifts away as Mayte watches the comedic opera that is Neryk. "Huh. Something spicy over there, looks like." She even gestures in the direction but her hand wavers out, just in case Diem turns. Darnit, Eala-interruptus: "Hi, Eala. How're you doing? And no," because Mayte is totally the type to tattle on kids, "I haven't seen them eat a vegetable yet."

"You alright, lad?" M'tej's bass murmurs, at Neryk's explosive action after the pepper. "You do get used to it." He grins, lifting and dropping a shoulder. "I do believe that you work your way up to the hotter ones. But… It's a different sensation, eh?" Perhaps this is the brownrider's nefarious plan - to expose the grief-stricken former-rider to novelties whose pain is completely unlike the usual pain the young man endures.

M'tej will do as bidden, and block view. Yes!

Nasrin's blue eyes chase Divale. "It's a very welcome change of pace. I'm surprised more weyrlings didn't make the trip." A voluntary excursion, near half of the group opted to stay Weyrbound. Following the natural fibers of the meat, Nasrin prepares her food for tidy consumption. She tries to see where Cardamom escaped to, but finds no trace of the firelizard or the apprentice attached to him. No matter, she can be carnivorous with the entire plate and not share. "The stone masons and smiths pulled off the feat of their careers," guiding her eyes on a tour of the central chamber still known as the Plaza. "Has anyone been beyond this point?" In case the remainder of the settlement looks poorer.

Zisiene chuckles at Mayte, then she's once more off and wandering through the crowd. She'll make her way out eventually, as she still is technically in training and therefore under curfews. Blarg. Curfews.
[OOC:] Amarante pardons, pose around me a bit and pretend Am is being polite and shutting up for once, I keep getting talked at.

The youth's eyes widen, at the sight, M'tej's words regesting and a nod to him along with a draught of wine. Then it clicked. This woman was like him. "N'-N'yk, brown." His words are barley audible. "Neryk again." The scoring on the woman's face brings thoughts of wingmates back at Igen, then a scone appears out of a pocket and is offered to the woman. Whatever oddities work Neryk's brain had said this woman was one to be wary of was now squashed. He wanted to be friends with perhaps the only person in the room who understood.

Zavyr flicks his attention to Divale, at that murmur. "And how pissed is he?" Under ordinary circumstances, Zavyr may not be that impressed by even Lane's anger, but in the shape he's currently in, the former-guard's wrath is exhausting. "And which way did he go?" Escape plans may already be forming, though Zavyr is indeed, eating. See, Amarante? The pale youth will ensure that the healer is witnessing Zavyr's staving off immediate death with the current addition of calories. See? And Zavyr looks toward Nasrin, at her question, but does not answer it.

Kairmine is done cleaning under his nails and he happens to glance up for a brief second and 'lo, there it is. Some unfortunate person has a clear clothing malfunction and it's certain they haven't noticed. He takes a deep breath, calculating in his head the flaws the creater had to implement for that to happen but then he exhales and raises a hand to get the… weyrling's attention? At least the weaver thinks it's a weyrling, hard to tell with all the passing people with the myriad of knots upon their shoulders. Maybe they'll notice. For now, he'll attempt to grab a stray pie before it's decended upon by ravenous guests. What is this sugar thing people speak of, anyway?

THE BETRAYAL, MAYTE, THE BETRAYAL. The little girl looks up at the goldrider with a still-stuffed mouth and big, pathetic eyes. How could you? Eala, on the other hand, looks relieved that she doesn't have to make a judgment call on whether or not the kids are telling her the truth. "Thanks. And I'm better now. How are you?" She wraps an arm around the girl's shoulder, steering her gently toward more nutritious options. "I'll take that," she says as she grabs the piled plate of sweets from her nephew. "Real food first, sweets later." And with that, they're sent off to gather something more wholesome. With a self-satisfied smile, the greenrider turns toward Diem. "They're my niece and nephew, yes," she answers a tad awkwardly, like she's not quite sure how to claim them.

Saria has gotten some food for herself. A bit overwhelmed by the size of the party (you think so?) she leans someplace, smiling and snacking slowly.

"Very angry," Divale murmurs quietly to Zavyr, "But not in the way you may think. He was… almost desperate? Actually said please to me when I tried to give him the run around. He went out that way," She'll nod in the direction of one of the tunnels and then turn to give her friend a reassuring smile. "You'll have a moment to relax here, at least. Enjoy it." Straightening, she'll turn her focus back to Nasrin, a slightly apologetic look following the vague smile she offers the goldriding weyrling, "I'm surprised as well though I don't blame them for wanting to seek out a quieter means of a 'break'. The changes here are… quite the feat, aren't they?" She'll mask her dislike of change very well. "I have, briefly, been as far as the grotto and to the crypts."

Hey, girl, it's ever sweets-lover for herself. Mayte watches the little girl's expression with a faintly victorious look before reaching, rudely, to get another creampuff. Maturity. She's turning back to Diem and Eala right when a Vintner comes and taps on her elbow and whispers something urgently about 'corked' and 'rancid' and 'tastes like fifteen year old rhubarb wine'. Mayte's face falls at the news but she turns to her fellow riders and says, "If you'll excuse me, I'm needed." Not that there's much that can be done with wine like that at this point, but Mayte still extracts herself and heads over to the bar to settle this.

"So, don't go that way," Amarante concludes logically, "noted." Then she's back to the sipping and eating, and giving Nasrin and Divale gentle smiles, "It is. Different. Enough that I'm not surprised some of the Weyr residents who used to live here didn't come, really." Some of the weyrlings who used to live here didn't come, and so they'll have to have words with one specific bronzerider later for renegging on his promise. Amarante is just enjoying having the company. "It's pretty, but also kind of overwhelming. The lake is just as lovely as before, though. I like the geese."

Whatever may have transpired between Zavyr and the network around her is unknown to Nasrin. The weyrling's looks seldom linger, vapidly scraping by the other members of the table like the party-goer she is. Her suspicions are her own, the very private young woman retaining such observations for a later time, time when, like the meat, she can cut it up into individual fibers. She eats most of her food, spies Mayte, and presses a napkin to her lips before standing up. "If you'll excuse me, I've got to pay respects to the Weyrwoman." But her plate, left where it is, intends on seeing her return.

Diem isn't exactly a role model for kids the way she carries around a plate of pastries in one hand. She attempts to act like she is, though, while sipping her klah. "Niece and nephew?" she looks at the kids and then to Eala. "Well, this should keep them entertained for a while." The mug is lifted to indicate the festivities. "Although you might want to keep an eye on them. I hear there's another dessert table on the far end." One that she has yet to see for herself. As Mayte is summoned to the bar, Diem decides to get some fresh air before searching for said dessert table. "If you'll excuse me, I'll be a moment." The plate and mug are surrendered to her assistant as the weyrwoman makes her way through the crowd to step outside.

Ypsilani gives a light one shouldered shrug as the offerred sweet is taken, "Thank you," she whispers in return. She wishes there had been someone there for her, but life is often cruel in such circumstances. She closes her good eye, the veils are her shield. Ypsi finally looks up again, before offers up, "Time helps," she wished there'd been someone to push her the way that M'tej is doing for Neryk.

One might think that riding brown may come with a higher-than-normal odds of losing one's dragon, from present company. Temyrth's rider, however, remains where he is, as if his position rooted behind Neryk is all the ambition he has in the world. He will, while he's spending his time chaparoning, reach for another kabob, once more the one most laden with those wicked peppers. "So," he murmurs, conversationally, to Ypsilani, around a pepper, "What do you think about a firelizard?" His eyes flicker to Neryk, then back to Ypsilani, as if to complete that sentence. Subject: Firelizard. Verb: Impress. Object: Neryk. Opinion?

Ypsilani blinks with her one eye for several seconds, "No," she states. Been there. Tried that. Ended badly, "They seem to sense," the soul crushing loss, "Maybe later? Not now," she still hasn't succeeded in acquiring one of the endearing little creatures, and it could be as much her as the hatchling 'lizard. Right shoulder lifts, then drops again, "Of course," rasped out slowly, "I could be the problem," probably.

Time? Time. That wasn't what he'd been looking for. Then again, recently all questions turn up things he doesn't want. Even asking a bronze hadn't helped much. There is another draught of wine. This cup is empty. Damn it. He nods in response to her words, eyes searching for another cup when M'tej speaks. Firelizard? Hm. Wine. New friend. Also a brown. Looky at all these brown riders! Or former brown? Or. His cheeks are wet again, he hadn't noticed. He wipes it away, snags a new cup of wine and throws it back. Content to stand here if the other two wanted to talk. M'tej was a friend, a wingleader, and his ride home, and now this new friend Ypsi! The wine was starting to work it's magic, the tension that had kept Neryk company this whole time is easing away, though his attention remains as flighty as before.

Assume Neryk is spacing out or drinking or whatever!

Momentarily distracted by the idea of geese on the lake, Zavyr looks at Amarante with an ice-blue eyes that may also have widened also due to what Divale said. But the geese don't get the comment. Zavyr flicks his look to Divale, "Does he have his knife? Is he armed? With all these folks here, who knows where…" The last is left to implication. Zavyr then looks down to the lone chair that he'd not sat in yet, leaving it free for Nasrin, if she chose it. And the food. His grip on the staff tightens slightly, even as Zavyr shifts to lean a bit more against the table. And then he's gently collapsing into the chair, in a motion that's slightly heavier than it should be, and results in the staff slithering to the ground. Watch out, feet!

Eala isn't much of a role model either, considering she plucks something sweet off of that piled-high plate as soon as the kids' backs are turned. "Yes, ma'am. They live here now." This is clearly a recent development, but the greenrider doesn't seem particularly forthcoming with more information — especially when it's revealed that there's another desert table. "Shit." She groans quietly, leaning to the side to try to spot the kids down the line. "I-" Whatever excuse she's about to make is cut off as both Mayte and Diem excuse themselves, leaving the greenrider to search out the two kids. Better safe than malnourished!

Dimity, liaison between Kurkar and Igen Weyr, has been flitting through the crowds as a stripe of scarlet. Soon to be freed of the responsibility of seeing the fledgling Hold take flight, her presence moves like a sirocco wind, warm and dry and maker of storms. "Oh you made it!" Half leaping into the arms of Lord Kievol though she's met the man once. The widower is also as red as Dimity's floor-length dress, but laughs it off as the woman starts to talk about his vast herds of white cattle.

"Interesting. Thank you." M'tej appreciates the woman's candor, and he remains where he is, though he will pluck yet another glass of water off a serving tray, to settle at Neryk's elbow, or use perhaps to dilute Neryk's drink. All this, with the demeanor of mild entertainment, pleasant enjoyment of the scene and food. "How long has it been?" This, as well, to Ypsilani.

"I didn't see if he was, I'm sorry." Divale is quick to answer Zavyr again, though she'll spare Nasrin another look and a nod when she excuses herself. "We'll speak again, I'm sure." she murmurs, only to look concerned in which the way Zavyr shifts to lean against the table. "Hey — about Pathway? Don't worry about it. Let him cool down. He probably burned off half his anger just talking to me…" she attempts to reassure him. "You alright, Fool?" Frowning in concern when he collapses into that chair, she makes to attempt an awkward grab at the staff hopefully before it reaches the ground (or anyone's feet!).

Amarante's feet, saved by Divale, even as she was also pulling them out of the way as quickly as possible. "Easy, easy," she says gently, and then, "Is it time to sleep? Might be time to get a nap, though I'm not really sure …" She casts a despairing look around all the crowds. Where to find a quiet, dark place for someone who likes hollows to get some rest.

"Five Turns," Ypsilani rasps out, she also snags a glass of water from that same tray. She lifts her veil enough to allow her to sip the water, then it drops back into place without revealing her face, "He left me behind," she whispers, that old venom of hate or perhaps regret can't be missed in that soft rasping voice. She hates the brown that left her behind, she loves him and can't bear living without him, "Pardon," she says again, glancing at Neryk, "I should not speak so," she sips the water again before setting it aside. There's times when she forgets that not everyone feels the way she does.

"All well. I'm alright." Zavyr assures both women, though he does lay a hand on the table, and glances after the staff with a 'Thank you'. A bronze lizard, half-grown, wafts down to land on Zavyr's shoulder and nudge his head against the youth's cheek, only to be batted back. "All's good. You two should… Talk about gory body parts or something. Don't mind me. And look," Zavyr points out, "There's food. You could practice grossing each other out with horrific healer stories while eating. Warm up for the big thing." A grin is produced, and Zavyr will even reach for a fried bit of dough, to take a bite of.

One moment Dimity is addressing a Lord Holder like they're old trade buddies, and the next, minus any sort of entourage, she's beside Zavyr. "Why, there you are." The temperate nature of the underground system means she goes bare armed without any fear of burning under a sun. Her voice is a husky trill, a lounge singer's purr. "And how are we?" 'We' of course meaning 'you'. She sees his tablemates and shares a portion of silent charisma, a right-sided smile.

Divale adjusts her grip on the staff but does not immediately hand it back to Zavyr; she seems to, in fact, take a moment to study it a little closer. Food will be enjoyed later and she'll keep the staff held safely at her side… though not with the same comfort or ease of its true owner. "You sure?" she'll stress again to Zavyr and may have joined Amarante in insisting he go rest but Dimity arrives then and she'll dip her head politely to the woman.

Amarante likes Dimity's brand of semi-crazy and gives the liason a welcoming smile, complete with a nose-twitch. But the kind that accompanies a smile, not the sort that is disapproving or irritated. "Probably, I shouldn't be describing how one dies from frostbite in public where people are eating." She doesn't want to torture Dimity like that, see, she's being nice.

Zavyr can't hide the stiffening of the unexpected arrival of the woman who has been put in charge of the Hold, much less Dimity's attention at Zavyr. Though, no doubt the difficulties that the former Undergrounder has presented to the harried healers in the Infirmary have been considerable: Healer Hall has no doubt gotten reports of their newest patient's delusions that she is male, that she is obsessed with a large stick, that she seems to have acquired (unwillingly?) a cantankerous guard who is not making any friends himself, that she isn't eating much, refusing to sleep… And she's just not right. But very distinctive. So Zavyr's reaction to Dimity only manifests after a moment of stalling, and a swallow of that bite he'd taken. "We…Ma'am, are just fine. I think. We are, right?" His gaze flicks to both Amarante and Divale, as if seeking some sort of … Rescue. "Thank you."

Neryk blinks at the sudden dilution of his wine, a sip is taken, a face is made, when did that happen? He gives the glass to M'tej and gets himself another red-flavored sweet, all thoughts of the peppers gone, "Miss?" His words are steady now, wine doing to the trick, "You live at Igen? You think you'd visit me sometime?" He sways slightly, attention being grabbed by a passing platter of that sweet liquor she'd given him only minutes ago and he snags one

Ypsilani gives a nod to the question of visiting, "I am," wandering, "visiting," lost, "I Impressed at Ista," from there she's wandered until she fetched up in Keroon. It's difficult to explain, "I don't know how long I'll be here."

One of Dimity's slender arms crosses her chest and latches onto the opposite shoulder. In a sort of repose. That Zavyr identifies as male, is female, and was injured under her jurisdiction seems to be irrelevant in a setting such as this. As Zavyr brings Divale and Amarante into the fold, so does she. "The food is quite good, no? I would have went with less green, but the Weyrwoman really tied it all together." Perhaps Dimity is mocking Mayte's good taste, or the oversight of it, but the woman has the good sense to not quarrel over minutiae, and in front of guests.

"I'm still holding you to that discussion over lunch or dinner sometime, Amarante." Divale belatedly comments on the earlier joked remark that the two of them should go on to talk Craft while eating. One way to kill the mood? Glancing sidelong to Zavyr, she'll smile vaguely but reassure again: "We are. I've your staff…?" It'll be lowered in offering though she seems to be content to keep holding it for the time being. Dimity's comment on the food brings a clearer expression and another slow glance about the plaza. "The food has been delicious for the few bites I've managed to savour here and there. I did marvel at the decorations too. Quite the transformation…"

M'tej is thwarted. Ah well. Good thing that Neryk isn't eating the spicey food, because whatever else is going down is likely going to be coming back up again with the volume of booze the lad is helping himself to. The diluted wineglass is set aside and M'tej merely continues as observer. His little green lizard, having tired of attempting to chase younger lizards away from this table, has settled upon M'tej's shoulder, to imperiously study the rest of the guests from that vantage.

There is a nod, a half smile, "Come visit me! In the Infirmary! Third cot from the door on the left! I'll be there!" The drink is sipped again, a sway, "Miss? I didn't know that there were other people who lost someone, ya know of any others?" It is possible he did know of them at some point, or at least some kind soul mentioned other dragonless individuals in passing, but memory is one of those things that Neryk has found slipping.
"It's, yes, it's different." Amarante's tone does not belie whether that is good-different or bad-different. "And I think the green actually suits quite well, even if I never would've picked it either. Potluck idea was a good one, plenty of food to go around." And she didn't bring any. Maybe she shouldn't have been let in. But she's been helping in the infirmary so much. "And yes, we'll definitely talk about it over food, but not while also around other people who might not be able to keep the food down."

Ypsilani finds something that's heavy in carbs, slightly greasy, and very sweet, "Should eat this," she says handing the savory sweet pastry. It's a voice of experience that speaks. Ypsi looks at M'tej, "You have him around people. I was left alone completely," left to wander away, "I think they were relieved when I left," well most of them, she knows there was one that had sought to keep her at Ista, "Eating helps, but it should be sweet, with just a little savory," less painful when it comes back up.
"Yes ma'am." Zavyr agrees with the compliment of the food. He has been eating, actually, from some of the nine plates of food Amarante brought over. To Divale, a nod. "Thank you." Evidently, the youth's moments of delusion are punctuated with flurries of being polite but that may also be due to the nature of his current infirmity. But Zavyr looks again at this woman who came out of Baham's chambers, who sleeps where Baham's family slept, and who has had a lead role in shifting mood and purpose of this hold from what it was, to what it is. So it's a much more considered study that Dimity receieves, even as the rumors Zavyr has heard of this dragonless rider patter through his memory. "How are you finding your stay here?"

Neryk takes the offered food and eats it with gusto, successfully getting hands sticky with the stuff. He hums happily, then sways again, his mouth opens as if intending to speak, then promptly keels over, passing out into an unceremonious heap.

Oh. That was a bit sooner than M'tej expected. But it was expected. He settles, in quick succession, his kabob and his glass, to the side. After a hasty swipe of his hands on his pants, M'tej kneels by Neryk. "Alright, lad. Mission accomplished? But you do need a bit more practice, before you start drinking with the big boys." He's hefted the lad up, then, easily taking the weight, but having some small issue with the lad's lanky length. "Right, then. It was lovely meeting you all. But I do think my boy here is ready to head back."

Dimity laughs, a contagious form of expression. "As sure as Faranth was shelled, I didn't bake or cook anything. Stick to one's talents, I say." The hand that was gripping her shoulder lifts to string some golden hair around her ear. "Eat it all up," food in the desert spoils far too quickly. "I will leave you now to continue my socializing. Now you may talk about how one dies from frostbite." She caught that earlier comment, shows little offense (stick to one's talents), and secures a glass to toast the trio before spinning her back and introducing herself to M'tej, Neryk and Ypsilani.

Seconds too late, Dimity.

Kairmine pauses from building a little hut from some flavorless looking vegetables and flinches when Neryk just… keels over. His little building collapses on his lap and thankfully there's no sauce or the weaver would likely be having a conniption… Though sauce or oil or something would've been nice. "Um…"

Ypsilani blinks as Neryk passes out. He'll feel that in the morning, "Probably best," she says with a sigh. At least the now passed out youth has put a little food on his stomach? Dimity is noticed as the woman enters Ypsi's peripheral. Should she slip into the shadows? Should she stay put? Too late, Dimity is there so she'll speak in her soft rasping voice, "Greetings."

There are the odd gasps and stutterings when Neryk collapses from the chair, but as his guardian appears to take it in stride, Dimity doesn't impede M'tej's end goal. But she does ask someone capable to trail and ask just to be sure. There have been enough blood stains on this ground. "Friend of yours?" Dimity, in this table visit, sits. She has the posture of Hold nobility but the carelessness to not fully use it.

"Just met him formally, this evening, m'lady." M'tej inclines his head to the woman, s she approaches, with a half-grin that sobers, "He lost his dragon at Keroon fall. N'yk. Hogback. I'm temporary wingleader for them. Figured it'd be good for him to get out of the Weyr for a bit. Thank you, m'lady, for your hospitality. Ypsilani also gets a glance, "And thanks for talking to him. He's having a rough, rough time of it. Pretends to be asleep, or hides. But his wingmates love him, trying to take care of him. We lost half of Hogback." No doubt the rumors of the toll paid by that noble wing have been spread. Kairmine as well, gets a nod even if the man's reaction was only the spilling of his building.

Ypsilani gives a one shouldered shrug, "Just met," she answers honestly. Her veils are adjusted to better cover her scarring, "Probably see him again," it's difficult, the life she has.

Can the food be packed up to go? Because Divale doesn't seem to be keen on lingering much longer, but she has a good reason and that reason is named Zavyr. She'll give her friend another lingering look before gesturing to Amarante and likely plotting with her on having him brought back to the infirmary with minimal fuss. "Perhaps we can enjoy the rest of the food somewhere a little quieter?" she suggest and then, adding to Dimity's words with a faded wry smirk. "And discuss certain topics not fit for a setting such as this. Think you can walk that far, Fool?" If not, she'll lend her help if need be, stepping in to one side while Amarante takes the other. She'll keep her hold on the staff too or offer it back for Zavyr to use as they all move off towards the quiet of the infirmary — or what passes as one.

Dimity has a crooked tilt to her legs though from the waist up she appears Gather-poised. "So I heard," she responds to the obliteration of Hogback, the planes of her face kept low. "Each rider takes their separation uniquely." She has no need to search for the right word, she, too, has lived them. "I hope the experience did him some good, beyond that part at the end." Her tone, an expression of her craft, lilts higher as if buttressing the mood: "That is exactly the reaction I would have gotten had I cooked anything he ate." Recovering with a crafty grin. "I am among the hosts here. If you need anything, it will be provided for. Same goes for you," broadening the scope of her voice to include Kairmine.

Kaitlein has spent much of this gather situation hiding in her lair, not usually one for big crowds. But, hearing the gaeity goig on without, she meanders out to take a look, curious. She weaves her way through the crowd, brown eyes taking in the sigts and smells of all that home cooked food. Smells delicious. She's heading towards a promising looking table when a familiar face swims into view. "M'tej." She greets, a smile on her face. "Good ta see ya out an' about." Is out before she notices the unconcious one in M'tej's arms.

Willimina arrives grciously by flight on the back of a friend's brown dragon. She probably shouldn't be flying, but she needed to get away from the weyr and the caravan a bit. All the hovering was getting oppressive, she loves her people, but she isn't made of glass dangit! She sweeps into the hold dressed for the occassion in an orange flowing dress that sets off the sienna highlights in her chocolate brown eyes. It flows loose around her middle, something odd for the Zingari dancer, who is most always bare of belly.

To Ypsilani, M'tej gives a slight bow, "If you need anything, ma'am. You let me know. M'tej, brown Temyrth." He gives Dimity a bright grin, instead, though, "Forgive me for not saluting, ma'am." Though he does take Neryk's hand as if he might use that to salute with, but instead lays the lad's hand over his stomach and for himself, extends one of those half-bows to Dimity too. Before he's quite built up his momentum, a familiar voice hooks M'tej's attention and M'tej's grin is quick, warm and sincere. "Kait! I was hoping to see you here, but I've a charge, and need to get him back." Obviously this is not exactly a recommendation for M'tej, for caring for children, eh? "My regrets, my dear."

Ypsilani once more gives the one shouldered shrug, her left shoulder remaining still, "The one with him. He asked about firelizards," she hasn't had luck with them. She'll slip away while Dimity and the rest are distracted. Running, it's kind of her thing. She's bumping into someone, and rasps out a sorry before she's moving along. The place is crowded, and this is the longest she's been around such a large gathering that wasn't involved in groundcrew.

Though respectfully it was kept relatively quiet, enough time has elapsed for musicians to be cued for performances. Harpers, some, but many are locals simply enthralled to play their favorite instruments. The first is an upbeat melody heavy on the percussion, but it doesn't stop Journeyman Renthis to ask to partner with Dimity. The scarlet-clad woman sizes him up, and decides to tire him out. "Regrettably, I am being dragged away. Health to your friend, there!" She doesn't see Ypsilani, but does include Kaitlein in her supernova smile.

Just in from sweeps, L'xan enters the gathering with some trepidation, which isn't helped as he is involved in some minor jostling before he can do much of anything. He has taken the time to clean his face and straighten his clothing, but that kind of just makes his tall frame still out that little bit more. With pleasant confusion he nods and "Hello. Hi. Hey"'s at the stream of people on either side of him, searching for something or someone vaguely familiar, or perhaps he's looking for the drinks. A drink would probably go a long way right now.

Kaitlein nods to M'tej and sighs. "Some other time then." She blows him a kiss and saunters off to locate that table that had the delicious looking buns on it! She'll nod to those who greet her or say their goodbyes. But riht now she needs food, the smells have been torturing her all night.
And, carrying the young man he's arrived walking with, M'tej heads out.

Willimina weaves through the crowd, enjoying the bubble of anonmity this sort of gathering affords her. She's a well known face in Igen, not so much in the underground. She smiles at the music being played and aches to go dance, but she really shouldn't. Juice. She'll get some juice. And so, she heads for wherever the drinks are being served, nodding and smiling at people when the need arises. What a lovely gathering.

Ypsilani has found a place to mostly hide, it's going to be a slow process of weaving her way out. She's fast reaching her limit of social interactions for one day, "Pardon," she rasps softly turning to keep her face mostly hidden. She's tired, and though she's been lucky to not have to dodge questions she doesn't want to risk that luck running out.

If there is one benefit to being tall, it is that L’xan can find the drinks table over the heads of those who are better doors than windows. The flip-side of that is being a bit too large to get to your destination quickly, you've gots to watch out for the little people. Slowly he negotiates the crowds, more awkward greetings, and clumsy smiles scattered in each direction. "Ypsi…?" He questions a face half-seen, and certainly not expected. Interrupting his careful forward pace, he half-turns, but that hastily glimpsed face, and the body it belongs too have been swallowed up in the crowd again. Right! He has a mission! Forward, to the drinks!

"Ypsi…?" That's a voice she hasn't heard in a long time. A voice she didn't expect to hear at all, and it has Ypsilani stopping right where she is. The crowd swirls around her, and she's left to turn in place to try and find the owner of that voice. It couldn't be, "L'xan?" called out in return, her raspy voice raised above her carefully held whisper causing her to wince in pain. A reflex, but she doesn't regret it she has a single question to ask. This means she can't leave. She's off looking for the rider.

Kaitlein has discovered the buns and is gleefully helping herself to both bread and butter. As is usual, people weave around the ex-rustler, giving her a wide berth. MOst think she has gone insane and are afraid of this new, happy Kaitlein. At least old grumpy Kait had been easy to predict, mood wise. This newer Kaitlein was something else to behold. Who are you and what have you done with the real Kaitlein, Kait????

L'xan's face falls as a voice that definitely goes with the face he wasn't sure he had seen answers his tentative calling into the crowd. He knows this is going to be rough. "Excuse me! Coming through!" He announces, and plunges with less caution, reaching the drinks table. "Excuse me." He bobs his head to a scarlet and gold clad woman paitently waiting her turn before snagging a skin of something hopefully alcoholic and tossing a mark in the direction of the vendor. Mission accomplished he searches for an ebb in the crowds close to where he last saw the dragonless woman. Here goes.

Is that him? Is it L'xan? "Did Ch'vion send you?" Ypsilani asks when the bronzer is close enough. She's been doing her best to avoid her former weyrmate, hopefully the greenrider has found someone new. The skin is spotted, and with luck it's ice cold and very alcoholic. This isn't going to be an easy visit for her. Good eye blinks back a tear, while the scarves and veils are checked to make sure they hide her scars as completely as they can, "Tell me that's cold?" the contents of the skin.
You are empty-handed.

Willimina finally reaches the drink station and is rewarded with a skin ful of /ice/ cold juice. Yes. This is eactly what she needed. She takes a long gulp from the sin before turning to face the crowds. Suddenly, she finds herself wishing she'd brought her husband along. This is fun, but she's suddenly feeling lonesome. Darn hormones. Sighing, she drifts through the crowd.

"Ch'vion?" L'xan blinks, weighting the skin in his hands as he considers his next words. "No. I live back here now. And they don't know where you went. Mereath even tried looking." In the beginning, when she first went missing. Before offering the skin, he collects her into one of those awkward bear-hugs that large men are capable of. "How are you, though?" He asks with a quiet voice, bending at the knee so his grey eyes can meet her eyes with gentle interest. The drink is offered as he releases her, discomfited and concerned his conversation is stilted, but he has his heart in the right place.

Ypsilani accepts the hug, though she does stiffen just a little, "I am," still not feeling like she belongs, "good," as well as one such as she can be, "I had to leave," she couldn't handle being what she was where she was any longer. A firm nod is given, "Good. He's happy," well probably not, but better off without her at this point.

L'xan's face scrunches in disagreement he really can't voice. It's the unspoken rule that the dragonless are to be protected from any futher pain as much as possible. "I also had to leave." His brow quirks, and his lips twitch. "Got caught sleeping with Jelri's mother." It is perhaps an inopportune attempt to brighten the darkness he can only imagine, but he tries anyway.

Ypsilani laughs. A sound that is soft, hissing, and easily mistaken for soft sobs. There was a time her laughter would have been bright, and tinkling, "I bet that went over well," she's grinning beneath her veils and scarves, "So just like that you left? Or were you afraid of the consequences?" more teasing of an old friend. Someone who knew her from before, "I'm thinking of going up to High Reaches," she'll be walking if she goes. Perhaps she's finding reasons to stay in one place again? Neryk? That girl out in the fields of Keroon? Now L'xan, "I should go," away from the party? Or away from the Weyr?

"The disapproval was made known next time Uhrith went up." L'xan admits with another grimace. "Figured, I'd head home rather than cause any more problems." And that is the story of how he is back. But, as she continues he listens. "Yeah. Before you go though." Another hug is bestowed. "And consider the skin a gift. You were a fine rider, and you are a fine woman." He speaks with a great deal of sympathy. "If you need anything…"

Ypsilani holds the skin, and gives a nod, "I know," she really does. She's heard it so many times before, but L'xan's words are different. The sympathy does not turn them hollow, "I'll have Yarmoth," she winces again, "No, sorry. I'll find you."

(At this point the Logger’s internet cut out and required a restart. Apologies for the poses missed! )

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