Who

K'lir, L'denn, Dione, Cha'el, Yules, K'ane, Bailey, El'ai, Ksenia, Hannah, T'ral, Prymelia, Neve, Niyati, Qu'inn, Arlemond

What

Southern's Weyrlingclass Graduates! Congratulations! Look out, Pern! HERE THEY COME!

When

It is mid-morning of the tenth day of the ninth month of the second turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Southern Weyr

OOC Date 30 Aug 2014 07:00

 

k-lir_default.jpg l-denn_default.jpg dione_default.jpg cha-el_default.jpg yules_default.jpg k-ane_default.jpg bailey_default.jpg el-ai_default.jpg ksenia_default.jpg hannah_default.jpg t-ral_default.jpg prymelia_default.jpg neve_default.jpg niyati_default.jpg qu-inn_default.jpg arlemond_default.jpg

clearing.jpg

Clearing

The rise from sea to Weyr is made serene by a charming road winding sand-trodden from beach below to stonecut entrance above. The path wanders among a surprisingly green valley where purple flowers bloom in charmingly unfettered profusion. The meadows themselves are often in high demand as picnic areas, for dragons are not allowed to land in the narrow valley itself. No trees nor cliff lies near to shadow the clearing, however, and the intensity of sun can be unbearable for those not familiar with the humid drench of Southern's summers.

It is the tenth day of Spring and 80 degrees. It is a bright, sunny day.


It is a crisp spring midmorning in Southern, bright and clear and gorgeous, not too hot and with pale blue sky for as far as the eye can see. It is more fitting than if K'ane could have crafted it himself. The weyrlingmaster stands by a low table erected just off the weyr road leading down to the boardwalk and the beach thereafter. It's in a meaningful spot for ONE weyrling, but that's just K'ane being a great big rat bastard — something no-one should be surprised at by now, surely. The weyrlings slowly wing in, as well as wingleaders and other riders crowding to see the ceremony, bringing with them nonriders and other innocent bystanders.

Off in the distance, glittering like a pale, white-gold star edged in honey sits Southern's senior queen, Dhiammarath: here to observe the proceedings of weyrlings turning to riders. Gone are the babies just shelled so long ago, and here are the grown dragons that will join the weyr's fighting force. While Dhiammarath watches from afar — seriously, no one wants that bulk too close up — Hannah's mixing with the rest of the weyr. Cheerily, on this spring day, she's wearing a dress of emerald green that sets off her eyes and the pale hair that spills about her shoulders. The thin straps and tight bodice that flows into a swishy skirt mark her for the Oldtimer she is. Brows lift towards K'ane, who is given a look for his choice of locations. Folding her arms across her chest, she turns to murmur something to the person next to her.

The location of this a most auspicious day, is not lost on Prymelia who every so often cuts the Weyrlingmaster a narrowed look. Rat bastard indeed! Dressed in those natty new flight leathers of midnight's hue trimmed with red, with Issaeryth smartly at her side gleaming with a fresh oiling, at least one of the green pair is starting to look more and more ill at ease as people gather to gawk…erm, bear witness to the closing of one chapter and the opening of another.

One of many in the crowd of observers, Neve's expression is one of gentle curiosity rather than the eagerness, or excitement, or proud that wreaths the faces of others. She's in simple pink today, a shade soft enough to be almost colorless, her hands slipped into cunning little front pockets added to the bell of her skirts. No apron for the healer, no emergency supply belt, nothing but her inexperience with ceremonies such as these and the smiling warmth that shows in brown eyes as she lurks at the fringes to watch the proceedings.

In brilliant contrast to her senior, Bailey is clad smartly in her dress leathers — things that never see the light of day normally. They are darkest black piped with a cherried rose-bronze so coincidentally close to her lifemate's colors to surely just be some glorious happenstance. Her hair is freshly shorn just to the shoulders and lays straight and shining, her grey eyes flashing enigmatic with mirth and other, less-easily read emotions. Tall, she moves through the crowds without issue, nodding to those she knows in aimless repositioning.

As part of the mentor wing, El'ai's presence here is guaranteed, although the young bronzerider stands off to the side. He would be affecting a casual lean if there was anything in the clearing to lean against, but as it is, he gives off the impression of lazy ennui. The weyrlings are watched, but so are a lot of other people. His own lifemate's appearance is no where to be seen. Idly, he itches at the center of his chest, where a dark blue shirt clings. Black trousers and shiny black boots complete the picture of stolen innocence and artful dishevel.

Not too far off from Dhiammarath is a mottled brown lump of rock, sorry, dragon, hunched and immobile, attention trained to those that will now fall ultimately under his command against the ancient threat. Cha'el is there too, a quiet presence speaking only when spoken to, his thoughts turned inward.

Just one of a crowd. That's all Qu'inn has ever really aspired to be, and that's what he's managed so far, bringing Khozyvraith in amidst a cloud of weyrlings, slipping amongst them as they move to take their places. Hands shoved in the pockets of his utilitarian trousers, curly mop at least nominally brushed, the boy wanders amongst his peers, eventually ending up somewhere near Prymelia. "Nice day," he murmurs to the other weyrling, his gaze fixed on some distant point. Almost done with all this public crap that comes with Impressing. Yay.

Here's Ko'rei coming in, complaining LOUDLY about how he can't find his favorite pair of boots. Poor kid. Maybe he won't faint today.

N'tael and L'denn are probably hanging all over one another somewhere out here. And Tlazotezath is doing his thing at the very edge where he's way too important for all of this.

Flamboyant and bright, there comes a trader wrapped in all manner of layers of color: tangerine, lemon, fire-orange, banana, ivory. With nowtime modesty in observance, the layered skirt falls to her ankles, swelling over the belly that is no longer able to be hidden. The top part of the dress is in a beautiful tangerine color, the same color that's woven through the braid of her hair in the shape of silky ribbons that are tied jauntily at the ends of that braid. "Ooof." Muttered curse when her toe is stubbed on the way down into the clearing. In her arms is the fattest, laziest looking fire lizard ever. Her attention is scored away from the offending rock to eye the proceedings. "Oooooooh." Because she's not entirely familiar with all things weyr, and for good measure, "Aaaahhhhhhhh." This is exciting!

K'ane inhales a deep breath of fresh clean Southern air, smiling charmingly to all of those who acknowledge him — no stoic-faced weyrlingmaster today, in contrast to all the clutches familiar with Ja'kai's stonehearted manner. Everyone except for Prymelia, who he favors with a smile more a physical representation of a laugh than anything else. His point seems to be made, because he clears his throat and booms forth: "Wingleader Niyati! Present your weyrlings for final inspection!" He's not one for speeches, K'ane.

Nervousness shows through the determined set of Niyati's features as she makes her way from her dragon's side to stand next to Prymelia. It's only fitting, since they've worked at the fore of the Weyrling wing for so long now. Her own leathers are in shades of moon touched blue and midnight with hints of silver in the stitching- all colors that Kaiyth favors and clearly only meant for dress-wear. Ko'rei's complaining makes her wince and she stagewhispers in Prymelia's direction "Do you think he'll faint?". It's a genuine worry. She's seen the young man in fits before. Then there's K'ane's words and that 'final' gives her pause before she steps in to present the wing, not forgetting to emphasize the salute just a little this time for the benefit of those watching.

Yules is there with Desmeth, glowering. Not because there's something to glower about but this seems to be an occasion for it, to be Impressive and Foreboding. She's there in full regalia - Niyati might recognize the set of leathers she wears. As K'ane calls out, Yules' glower grows more glowersome - she's going to give herself a headache at this rate - but the eye she passes over the graduating class is approving.

Dress leathers crisp gleaming, T'ral stands arrayed to K'ane's left, chin up, eyes forward, the Assistant Weyrlingmaster and Esanth stand attentive, coiled awaiting the day's momentous unfolding. How many times had they been through this clearing? They'd launched their first flights from here. Passed here on the way to the beach for the first time. So many firsts. So many. And now a last. Eyes trained on K'ane's stalwart form, T'ral stands ready for that final inspection.

N'tael straightens up, and just barely manages to not stand on his tip toes, when they get presented. Yules' glowering gets a tiny wave. Hi Yules.

With K'ane starting the ceremony, Hannah scoots a little to the side so that she can see. This is the downside of having little to no height: the inability to easily see. Dhiammarath's soft rumble that marks this beginning of presentation is a soft sound of approval. Bailey is sought out — because her fellow junior is such a striking presence, and so she angles that way. "What do you think?" About the weyrlings, wings, or whatever. She's not clear.

Oh look, it's Hannah! Bailey grins down at the short senior, unabashedly cheerful. As cheerful as her brother is a study of too-cool-to-be-here, apparently. "EL'AI! DON'T SLOUCH!" Yeah, she just shouted that shit at him. Sorry kid. "Oh, I think they are going to be excellent. The weyrlings. Riders." Bailey gives a happy sigh. "They all look so well turned-out." She approves.

Inspect them K'ane does, stepping away from his table to peruse the first rank of riders with an expression of gleaming eyes and shining teeth here and there. He makes note of a few things, here and there. A strap too loose. A flustered face from too much beer the night before. A pair of boots unshined. Only after he's walked the line does he return to his spot, favoring T'ral with an approving nod for his assistant's demeanor and stance. Facing the others again: "Today you become riders." It's loud enough for all to hear, the way he throws his voice around. Without consulting a list — except perhaps a mental one, he starts rattling off a considerable list of names. It finishes in: "… L'denn, Niyati, Ko'rei! Up front and center." He gestures. Yeah, right there. In front of him. "Your lifemates can stay where they are," he calls as afterthought as SOME enthusiastic dragons (we're looking at you, Meichii) start to tumble forwards.

L'denn is here, yup, dressed in the leathers from Niyati. Which he /loves/. Up he bounds to K'ane, saluting.

Flamboyance is worth a glance, color and movement both drawing the eye. So it is that Neve glances at Ksenia, the other woman's garb and manner and even her willingness to make noises at an occasion such as this so at odds with her own presentation. Even so, the mood of the day is such that she's able to give a quick dip of head- perhaps unseen- to serve as a greeting. Friendly? More shy, the way her smile flickers there and gone again. Then she stretches taller, also vying for the height necessary to see how the weyrlings are ordering themselves before the weyrlingmaster's dais. As she goes up on tiptoes, as her eyes cast over K'ane and the rest, she tucks her lower lip between her teeth to worry it.

Arlemond, Raila and their girls (ever happy of an excuse to dress up, even Marle… especially Marle?) are at the edges of the crowd, beaming and proud of the weyrlings on the cusp of their new lives.

How odd to stand on the other side of the fence than the people being called up to get their just dues? Still, it doesn't prevent Dione from being in her Sunday best, as it were, and beaming fit to kill.

Taking his proper place among the Weyrling wing, Qu'inn tugs his hands free of his pockets to make an effort to stand straight, even if he looks supremely uncomfortable. Amidst all the gleaming finery, his simple outfit is quite disappointing - and perfectly Q. Back amongst the dragons, Khozyvraith snorts at the ground, stirring a dust cloud and looks bored… which might explain why Qu'inn's eyes seem to be twitching.. and why as soon as there are no obvious eyes on him, he's rubbing at his ears and looking a bit disgruntled.

Look at the honey sweet smile, Weyrlingmaster, sir. Wreathed in all kinds of innocence and light. And if you believe that, you'll believe anything. Qu'inn's appearance at her elbow earns him a more genuine article of a smile. "Good flying weather." She remarks. Perhaps she's anxious to be off to do whatever it is that Prymelia's do? Ko'rei's complaint earns the greenrider a twitch of lips but it's to Niyati that her focus shifts. "Ten marks says he's on the ground before we're done."

K'lir stands at attention in one of the further ranks of weyrlings and remains silent as the ceremony begins, the only break from that rigid stance being when Bryntaeroth rumbles his impatience with all this froofroorah as unnecessary. A slight smile curls his lips as his wingmates are called to front and center.

El'ai shoots Bailey a glare for yelling at him, but he doesn't move from his study-in-ennui and he manages not to shout at his sister who does her damnedest to embarrass him. Maybe there's also a look to his Wingleader, brows rocketing up for her glower. Arms fold across his chest and he looks… well. Interested now, at least.

Shyness? Ksenia is not stalled by shyness! In a sea of dragon riders, finding the ones that aren't bonded to dragons is something to be treasured! So while K'ane is doing his thingum, Ksenia is angling towards the healer with a bright smile curving her lips into one of welcome and friendliness. "Isn't this the most interesting thing? I've never seen one of these things…" What? Neve? You didn't want company? Too bad! "Yules!!" She's calling that out to her newfound friend, and perhaps to inject some sunshine into that shower. "Good luck Pyrmelia!!" That also is yelled out to her other newfound friend while she romances this friend, Neve. "I never got to introduce myself. I'm Ksenia, First Daughter of the Roma."

"Your Khalyssrielth has made some beautiful babies," Hannah states, looping her arm through Bailey's. Solidarity, see. The goldrider line. Something. "Desmeth too. I cannot believe they are already ready to become riders." There might even be a sniffle from Southern's Senior Weyrwoman. They grow up so fast! Her eyes catch to the weyrlings, noting all of their reactions on this auspicious day.

Impressiveness done, Yules stares and her lps twitch so slightly as one finger rises from where her arms are crossed to wave a little back at N'tael. Desmeth is looking regal and proud, having been reminded that this is HIS brood graduating today. And for her name being yelled out, Yules looks about in surprise, locating Ksenia. Okay, cheerful people win: the Wingleader gives her friend a nearly cheerful grin. Or at least, she's not glowering again. Same thing, right?

Niyati steps forward after giving a measuring look toward Ko'rei before giving an encouraging grin toward L'denn before nodding at Prymelia. "I say in the midst." NOT that she's letting the subject of their bet hear that. Or anyone else for that matter. Kaiyth makes no move to move forward, being far more interested in observing those around her as she sits gleaming in the sunlight.

T'ral, drawn up, resolute, turns towards the weyrlings as they come to attention and those summoned approach. His jaw muscles bunch and anyone paying close mind will note a tight swallow, and the slightest shift in his parade ground presence.

It takes a minute for the called weyrlings to assemble, and K'ane's careful to greet each of them individually, even if some are nonverbal: a great big grin for L'denn, hugely approving, a sassier thing for Ko'rei, and a very proud nod for Niyati. "You flew high and proud, weyrlings," K'ane seriously declares to the group that assembles before him. "But from here on forth, ye shall all fly low and fast and hellbent on savin' those below you. Welcome to riderhood, riders of Serval!" Weyrlings are made riders by knots pinned upon them by helpful assistants - not AWLMs, this time, but grizzled riders that bear visible threadscores with their Serval patches and wingrider knots for those they are now bestowed upon. K'ane leads a round of applause for them, grinning. It is only after they've been cheered for that he calls the next round, voice booming, a long list that rattles to a close with: "… K'lir, Qu'inn!"

(Glory of all glories, Ko'rei doesn't faint. It's a close thing, though, the greenrider who knots him bearing a wicked scar that curves over her cheek and mars the otherwise-sweet set of her lips.)

L'denn looks fit to burst with pride as he's knotted by a Serval rider. Snapping off a smart salute, L'denn then strides (bounds) back to his place, flashing Nate a wide grin and finding his father in the crowd to wave. D'ren looks just as proud.

It isn't that Neve minds shouting, exactly. It's just that…she minds yelling when it's a draw to eyes turning her way. Not that anyone's likely to notice the pink-clad mouse hunkered down beside Ksenia, with the way the journeyman scrunches down. She curls her fingers against her mouth, gaze darting this way and that to see if anyone noticed the yelling. Did they? She can't tell! Too short! But she can sense glances and that's enough to reduce her to suffering a burning face. "Neve. Journeyman," she whispers to Ksenia's introduction, but it's performed from the side of her lips, and under the safety of a roll of applause to greet the new riders' induction into their wing.
Dione leans a little forward on tiptoes to get a better view, silently cursing her luck that she hadn't gotten a place behind the shorties. Still, finding a moment to look around instead of over, she settles back gleefully, now with a better view. A surreptitious wave for her friends getting their knots, likely too small to be seen.

That flash of tangerine isn't hard to miss for Cha'el could pick his weyrmate out from a hundred feet in the air. Okay, his eyesight isn't THAT good. But that's what dragons are for. Having caught sight of Ksenia, he's about to push away from immobility when she pairs up with the healer from the infirmary and he's assaulted by the loud arrival of several Lynx wingriders all eyeing the fresh meat and passing comments.

It's a strange cocktail, the mix of pride and longing on T'ral's face, as three of the best (and some of his favorites) are tapped into Serval, the Wing that's still in his heart… home.

Oh, look. It's time. Qu'inn takes a deep breath, his expression easing as, among the dragons, Khozyvraith's attention swings to K'ane, his expression intense. Stepping from among the ranks, he approaches the Weyrlingmaster and offers a precise salute, blue eyes intent on the older man's face. Doesn't he look so thrilled to be there? No? But that is a hint of pride and pleasure among the discomfort and… yes, there it is, the relief.

Patting his bronze's foreleg with a mental request to remain still and quiet, K'lir slips through the crowd with his feline grace. The crowd before him parts easily until the young man reaches the front and tugs his tunic straight before marching to where the weyrlingmasters are assembled. He nods respectfully to the goldriders as he passes before snapping a sharp salute to his superiors. Gone the hesitant and (though still quiet and stealthy) self-effacing tracker-hunter, present the proud, resolute and eager bronzerider.

Niyati wears an expression that's a mix of pride and sadness. Being Searched and then becoming a Weyrling were the first taste of a 'settled' life that she'd had. Even her "posting" to the Weyr didn't seem quite so permanent. She may be one of the few that will actually miss weyrlinghood, alochol restrictions aside. Still, she's made the wing she'd hoped to be tapped into and Kaiyth couldn't appear prouder of herself. Sadly, it looks like no one is going to win the Ko'rei bet unless someone flashes him or makes a surprise pass. Well, it can't all be perfect.

K'ane watches after the group of latest Serval wingriders, grinning still to himself. The next group assembles, and this one gets his jauntiest expression, probably too-wicked and telling: he winks at Qu'inn's visible discomfit and smirks at his fellow bronzerider in K'lir. "Weyrlings! You endured my PT an' yelling.. and won't have t' miss it, now. Cha'el shouts just as loud as me. Welcome to riderhood, riders of Lynx!" Again go 'round the grizzled riders, formidable and powerful reminders of the costs of being a rider, and K'ane cheers regardless, his smile bright for this particular round of tapping. Then another round is called up, including N'vik, which lends itself to Siberian, and a round thereafter. Until finally he's calling one last list, his voice starting to go hoarse: "… N'tael, Prymelia!"

Ksenia is warmth and sunshine, and she turns all of this friendliness upon the mousy woman next to her. "Well met, Neve," she answers brightly, not really noticing the way the other woman whispers. "It's a glorious — oh look, there's Cha'el." That waving arm is now directed at Cha'el while the six month pregnant woman tries a little jumping motion to get her waves over the heads other others. Nooooot a good idea, but then she's turning all of that vibrant attention to the weyrlings. Miracle of miracles, the woman can be quiet.

Hannah's attention turns just in time to see K'lir and Qu'inn called forward for their wing assignments. A smile given for those who have already been given theirs. Shifting her weight from one foot to the other, she's carefully watching as each new weyrling turns into full, wing-assigned riders. A slip of a smile touches the Senior's lips for each, an almost maternal feel for each of them that surely comes from the massive queen that watches over everything. She croons for each new rider, a sound of congratulations.

El'ai's attention, having drifted a bit, is now drawn back when K'ane starts his yelling in again. He does eye his Weyrleader, but also his Wingleader. In a sea of high-brow knots, the boy's easily able to fly under the radar, see. Prymelia's name being called gets a perk of interest and a touch of a smile. Otherwise, the bronzerider is pretty nonexistent at the edges of this little party.

Fingers set to her lips Prymelia saves her voice and emits instead a piercing whistle of congratulations as one after the other her fellow weyrlings are assigned to their wings. From Issaeryth there is but a ladylike croon of approval. With her and N'tael a part of the next list called upon, she sends the young bronzer weyrling a wide smile and takes her place, expression a faade of calm. She's totally got this!! No she does not for there's a sudden flare of panic being fought back. It all started here and now, here is where it will end. "Sir." A smart salute snapped off.

Drawing in a deep breath, K'lir manages to restrain the whoop of joy he feels building in his throat but his grin is probably the widest anyone has seen on the somewhat taciturn young man's face as he is tapped into the Lynx. Amber eyes sparkle at the senior that pins his knot upon his shoulder before he searches the crowd for the ones he knows are aready in that wing that he will join. A slightly evil light enters his eyes as he remembers that his nemesis resides in Lynx and perhaps said brownrider and he will have a little jostling going on for their place in the Weyr.

And there it is. Catching that grin and wink of the Weyrlingmaster's, Qu'inn responds with a wrinkled nose and just a hint of glint in his eye. Beyond that, however, he's not foolish enough to break the required formality of the occasion to offer anything… stronger. Yet. Accepting the assignment and the welcome from the Lynx riders with a murmured "Thank you," the boy makes his hurried way from the eye of the storm, edging quickly into the crowd once more. Nope, no brownrider here.

Bailey is belated in her response to Hannah but favors the goldrider a deep grin regardless. "She did, didn't she? And Desmeth too I suppose," Bailey grudgingly agrees, giving a little finger-wave over Yules-wards. She hairy-eyeballs El'ai, though, because she CAN. "I swear that boy," she grumbles, mostly to herself.

Having leaned sideways to murmur something into the ear of the closest Lynx rider, a craggy-faced bronzerider, his gaze focused to the weyrlings just tapped to his wing, Cha'el's grin is positively wicked. The message is passed on to the others clustered together generating a hearty bout of cackling that can mean only one thing - hazing plans are afoot. Straightening again, Ksenia's wave is seen and returned with a wink with the Weyrleader's attention once again stolen by a comment made by another bearing the Lynx patch. "Just remember I need 'em in one piece for drills."

Awww Qu'inn, don't you LOVE being in the spotlight? No? K'ane grins after the brownrider and K'lir's bright amber eyes, clapping the latest bronzerider's shoulder before the young man goes off. This last group receives the most somber expression from the weyrlingmaster yet, including N'tael and Prymelia. "You have all given me grey hairs." (Total hyperbole.) "But t'day… t'day you get to give Yules grey hairs, going forwards." That's right, Yules. WATCH OUT. "Welcome to riderhood, riders of Ocelot!" FOR REAL THIS TIME OKAY. He takes a step back to clap, then gestures at all of the weyrlings assembled to lead the crowd in an unabashed round of applause for those gathered. Except … he has that glint. That glint that means he is up to NO GOOD.

T'ral's reserve of pride and pomp is fraying a bit about the edges. That proud stalward mien, totally disintegrating into a smile. SHOCKING. He gives a nod to Qu'inn and K'lir as they take their places in the formation again. By the time Prymelia and N'tael take their places before K'ane, he's full-on grinning. And then he straightens. This is an august occasion. AHEM. But he can't help it. His WEYRLINGS! They're so grown up! (sniff!)

There's a skittering of applause from Dione, and a look over her shoulder towards the weyr. There's an impatient shifting from foot to foot, a desire to hoof it back to the Kitten to check on things, but for now she remains where she is — got to get in her congratulations first.

"Well met," comes Neve's murmur for the more exuberant woman beside her. She even summons a smile for Ksenia, a scant curve of lips soon hidden behind more lip-chewing. Relief from socializing comes in the form of more applause and it's used to good effect- though the likelihood of her soft palm-claps being heard in this din is slim to none. Still, she celebrates for these newly minted riders and perhaps- where she can- she notes their faces in case they wander through her infirmary some day.

"Is he driving you crazy? He's of the right age for it…" Hannah twists around to look at El'ai, and while there's some amusement to her expression, there's also something else. Because if Bailey's brother is growing up, there's always a chance for something that should never happen ever to happen. A shudder for that thought and she turns back in time to see the next members of Ocelot to get assigned. "Is it just me or is it getting hot? I feel like I'm starting to cook here…" It's all that pale flesh, Hannah.

El'ai might give a start of surprise when the trader-girl joins his wing, but it's quickly smoothed away. A toss of his head to get his hair out of his eyes and he's back to nonchalant ennui. With a quick glance towards Yules. Gotta check on the Establishment at these times, see.

K'lir chuckles at the clap of his shoulder by K'ane, his nod of respect given to the older man. He moves to the edges though he doesn't return to his dragon's side and is immediately assaulted from two sides as he receives a loving kiss from a special greenrider and an enthusiastic hug from a tall, lanky bronzerider as they both welcome him to the wing. The aforementioned (NPC) brownrider glares at the newly minted Lynx wingrider who's chill gaze finds those unfriendly eyes. Turning his attentioon to his fellow ex-weyrlings turned Lynx riders, he chuckles and claps them all on the shoulder in congratulations.

Hazel regard slips to her brightly hued accomplice then sling sideways to El'ai a gleam of impishness awarded to both before Prymelia's attention is once again front and center. Lips part with an immediate quip for the Weyrlingmaster's comment about gray hairs about to fall saved from doing so only by a bark that comes from the genteel green waiting off to one side. But its there, dancing in her eyes even if her expression is now on of professional sobriety. "Sir. Thank you, sir!" Crisp the salute and now wide the grin that's slipped to Yules. Wingleader and klah spice peddler. It don't get much better. Or maybe it does because the dude that pins her knot to her shoulder is totally HOT!! Bonus!

"T'ral!" K'ane booms. Just in case anyone is getting complacent with all this dewey-eyed fluffy good-vibe girly shit. "Would y' please do us th' honor of showin' the weyrl… new riders our graduation gifts for them, good sir?" K'ane smirks at T'ral as he pads a step off, the better to give the bluerider the FULL attention of everyone amassed. He favors Prymelia with one, last, sardonic smile before retreating almost to the edge of the crowd. Almost as if he's trying to get the most space between him and the new riders as possible, really…

New Oceloters! Yules NODS proudly, lips pursing to try, and fail, not to smile. The new members of Ocelot at least have her flushing with pride. That's enough demonstrative emotion. She starts to relax her stance, looking around - her neck cracks a little from the tension. One hazel eye catches El'ai's, an eyebrow rises. There's a message there, but like a game of Telephone, who knows if the bronzerider will get what she's saying. Hint hint. To Prymelia and N'tael, she tries for gruff. Because this will last until their first drills-to-music. And yes, we certainly have hot ones in Ocelot.

Ksenia is not deterred from Neve's desire to not socialize! For the greeting is met with the sun-bright smile as the woman starts to do a shuffle. Maybe it's not entirely happenstance that she came upon the little healer. "Um." She almost does a psssst towards Neve at the same time she's enthusiastically applauding. With Cha'el distracted by his rider things, the woman sidles closer to the little healer. "I don't usually — healers are — well, but maybe I could come by for an appointment…" Is she making her own appointment? Maybe! "Oh would you look at that?!" They're graduating! "I didn't realize they did this with all this … pomp and ceremony." Her voice drops, because Neve is still listening, right? "I shouldn't be surprised, however. They are dragon riders."

"He is," Bailey complains to Hannah. And no. She hasn't ever thought about El'ai as weyrleader. BANISH THE THOUGHT guys. "It is hot," Bailey complains again, clinging a little closer to Hannah while simultaneously eyeballing the situation up there. "I have a bad feeling about this."

Niyati has seen that glint before, and suddenly K'ane has her all wary which totally distracts from all of that sadness about Weyrlinghood being done. At least for now. She's grinning and, once the last of their group has been tapped, she reaches out to give L'denn's shoulder a light squeeze. "Well, we've made it. …K'ane's up to something…" As if that needed to be pointed out. She may do more than provide the glitter for the next prank if this ends as she's suspecting it will.

L'denn turns his head to grin at Niyati, returning her shoulder squeeze. "We did, wingmate! And is he? Isn't he always? Are we done, can we go cool off now?" Fidget.

Wait. Wait. Something's going on isn't it? With narrowed eyes Prymelia follows K'ane's retreat then warily eyes T'ral. Run?

Dione frowns at the mention of gifts. Faranth, how long is this ceremony still going to last? She tilts her head this way and that, trying to gauge from the restfulness of the rest of the crowd, and gives a step backwards, starting to shuffle out towards the edge of the gathered crowd.
"Yes." Just that, from Neve- and is there a glint of relief in the warmly hued eyes that lift to Ksenia. Perhaps. Healering is far easier than this interacting with other people thing. She does think to add (as the crowd goes wild), "I'll be in the infirmary, the next several days. Just ask for me," in the lowest of low murmurs. And then? Then she shows an incredible instinct for shenanigans- and how to avoid them. As the audience waits with bated breath for whatever is about to be unleashed on the new riders, the journeyman seizes the opportunity to slip through the crowd. Quiet as a…well, a mouse. Awaaaay!

El'ai's radar dish isn't working today, Yules. That look is met with one blank one of his own, affecting confusion and a little shake of his head. What? He's totally innocent! Although he does catch Prymelia's look and she gets an affected look of innocence too. He's just a boy, standing over here, doing nothing and being GOOD. Riiiiiight. However, the mention of gifts for the weyrlings once more turns his head, attention firmly on T'ral and the newly minted riders.

That particular bellow of K'ane to T'ral has K'lir's eyes turning back to the front of the ceremony that is winding down. Amber eyes narrow slightly in suspicion, wondering just what the weyrlingmasters have coked up. "If they try to carry me off and dunk me … someone's coming in with me.

"You need to take a firmer hand with him," Hannah comments, voice choked with laughter. But as K'ane escapes and T'ral takes the stage, the Weyrwoman groans. "What is K'ane planning, Bailey? I swear that man doesn't deserve that dragon's he got." It's no secret whom the Weyrwoman has a soft spot for in that dragonriding pair! So she turns to see just what has been cooked up.

Oh! The glint. OH. T'ral catches K'ane's eye, his own alight with mischief at that bellowing. He snaps a crisp salute at the Weyrlingmaster, "Yes, Sir." That long table behind the review stand? The one draped with innocuous bunting in Southern Colors. That one? T'ral takes a post at the front of the front of the formation, "Riders!" his tenor resonant, clear, cutting shiver-bright, a trumpet's summons, "There's one more piece of your uniforms you'll need." T'ral sweeps the covering aside and … dozens of pairs of boots. But… not just any boots. BEDAZZLED BOOTS. And … uh… the might just be yours weryli-RIDERS. It looks as if the Weyrlingstaff had tossed a load of bubbly pies and glitter, crepe-paper and glue AND BOOTS into the Nursery and barred the door. Which… they may have done. ENJOY!

"I'll come to you then, soon, yes-yes?" Ksenia is firing that off towards Neve as the healer turns to fleeeeeee. The flamboyant trader is now all ALONE and looking like a bright splash of color set off all by herself. Neve abandoned her. But this is when she gets an eyeful of the weyrling's uniforms and she gasps. "I knew it." This is exclaimed loud enough for those around her to hear it. "Fancypants dragonriders!" Pause. "Maybe, fancyboots dragon riders…"

<Southern Weyr> Esanth senses that: Dhioth can just be overheard, a measure of his discontent. Silver swords lifted, snicker-snack, the gleam of brilliant jeweled-stars and velveteen sky — a scape mostly hidden behind the towering cliffs of his fortress, revealed only in this moment of irritation. Only the last of his internal argument voices in a, « … unjust! » before fading into the background.

It takes a few moments for Prymelia to process once T'ral whips that covering back and when she does, she literally jaw-drops. "What in the name of Faranth's fu..fardling arse!!? Those are my" And then it hits her and one of Ocelot's newest riders about falls about laughing. Doubled over, giggle-fitting, tears streaming down her face, howling with laughter. And it takes a few moments for her to gather herself and step up to the table to claim the pair that are hers. Quick as a wink she's hauled the ones off that she's wearing and shoving her feet into the modified BEDAZZLED - so PURDY! - pair and grinning like a crazy woman. "Now THAT'S how you do it!!" Oh yeah, she's gonna wear those damn things until the last little piece of glitter wears off. Sorry, Yules.

L'denn darts forward to grab a pair, and then he vanishes into the crowd to go put them on. BLING.
El'ai cannot help it. He bursts out laughing at that foolish array of glittering boots. With a shake of his head and a way to duck his Wingleader for those satellite messages he's trying to send, the bronzerider takes a slip a turn and suddenly, POOF. No one can find El'ai! That is his exist, stage left.

Dione is frozen for a second, looking at those horrifically ugly shoes so suddenly on display. There's a paling of her face - how is Niyati not passed out from that huge atrocity? - and she clears her throat. Okay, rather get them at the party. Slipping away, confident they'll be directed to the Kitten, she takes herself there as well.
Dione walks to the Weyr Entrance.

The laughter that comes from K'ane is, in fact, entirely unjust. What? This joke is one he is wholly behind, and it shows in how he walks up to T'ral and demands a high five of all things. At least it wasn't a bro-fist. That's so last turn. "Party in th' Kitten — drinks on me this afternoon!" He calls at all the weyrlings, before bowing exaggeratedly at Prymelia and the others that seem to be estastic about this rather than sulky.

Yules's face is horrified at the boots. HORRIFIED. No, absolutely NO. But she's so horrified she can't bluster out her refusal to allow those at drills. Or on Sweeps. Or ANYWHERE the Ocelot Badge is. Just No.

Niyati just eyes those boots, then K'ane, then T'ral because HE WAS IN ON IT. Those comfortable old boots of hers, she'd planned on making comfortable wear for travel. "You've redecorated our old…" Then she laughs. "And they say men have no sense of fashion. I'll have to stuff them and put them on a table for show." Pause. "After I've worn them once or twice." She glances toward Prymelia and holds up the boots. "What's that saying about reaping what one sows? I'll have to wear these with my new dress."

Bailey laughs so hard that she has to lean against Hannah to keep herself upright. "Well, that's one way to do it," she announces, beaming down at her blonde companion. "I say we go to to the riverbank for the afternoon." Eyebrow waggle. "Get some sun on these nasty-white legs of mine." Since it's so GORGEOUS outside!

Oh sure, Qu'inn rescues his boots - but if you think he'll be wearing them… just, no. For all his lack of fashion sense, even he understands that would be a disaster waiting to happen. For one thing, it would make him stand out in the crowd. Eying the bejuiced and beglittered leather with something akin to exasperation, he exits stage left in an effort to find something to clean them up with.

"Oh my… Oh my my my. On days like these? I am so glad I am not in charge of the fighting dragons." Hannah's laughter is also pealing out, as she clings to Bailey. "Yes, let's go escape all of this." Pro-tip, she's totally wearing a swim suit under this dress, because she knows Bailey SO WELL. "How about we go to the lake shore." Because it's so much more PRIVATE there. But whatever or wherever they go, the pair of gold riders will go with giggles and laughter. Oh. Weyrlings. Welcome to Southern, where things are NEVER normal.

K'lir huffs a sigh as he moves forward to claim the boots that are obviously his favored pair and shakes his head at the brightly colored THINGS that have been attached to the carefully tanned wherhide. Tucking them under his arm, his head is already spinning on how to get the things OFF before heading toward his dragon's side. Fastening the boots to the bronze's straps, he sends his dragon to lounge on his ledge while Kul turns toward the tavern, an invitation to get roaring drunk too much to resist at this moment.

T'ral feels the need. The need for speed. He meets that high-five of K'ane's with a resounding CRACK. It might even reverberate off the hills. Birds might even take flight. Pregnant ladies' water may break (not you Kiss-kiss, YES CHA'EL, T'ral just nicknamed your Weyrmate KISS-KISS). There are hugs and more high fives and bro-fists, because T'ral's no gesture-ista, and he leans in to K'ane to murmur…

Ksenia half-turns and is quickly trundling her pregnant sell back to the weyr, but not before yelling out a, "Kiss-kiss!" To Yules? Prymelia? Cha'el? K'ane? It's a farewell and one she delivers before wandering right on back to the weyr at a slow, duckling waddling pace. It's hard work lugging things off the front of your body. Fleee! She flees!

T'ral mutters, "… … … tell … … glue's water soluble?" to K'ane.

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