Kultir, K-ane, Hannah, Bailey, Linden, T-ral, Nathanael, Koreiraj, Quentin


The Candidates hold an impromptu beach party upon their return from the icy Southern Hold.


In Southern:
It is the fifty-fifth day of Summer and 99 degrees. The night is clear and humid.
In Southern Mountains:
It is the fifty-fifth day of Summer and 21 degrees. It's cold and dark out.


Beach, Southern Weyr

OOC Date


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An eerie mirror, the glass-quiet Sea of Azov: the clear waters stretch along the dark-pebbled shores, and along this narrow beach. Here the faintest lap of waves belies the calm beyond; here the rocks have been ground down into finest, softest sand - those observant would mark upon the similarity between it and the sands of the hatching grounds. The soft sand soaks up summer sunlight as a sponge; painfully hot during the warmer months, it is only truly pleasant at wintertime. Rocks rise to east and west, lichen-limned and green against the abyssal darkness of stone.

Glows swing as improvised lanterns across the sand, casting a warm glow over the beach and into the surf itself, as the low tide rolls up from the sea and back down again. No tables for this gathering, unofficial as it is, but food there is aplenty, the kind one wishes to eat when the weather is much too hot for comfort which sit spread across blankets that defy sand from creeping in. No music, as the ocean provides its own relaxing sound to the gathering. A sense of serenity, peacefulness and calm covers the Southern Beach, much like the heat of day which is only slowly beginning to fade with the onset of night. It is potential incarnate, as the night seeks to be filled as those who come would seek to fill it.

Linden is so happy to be BACK. Back in the warmth, back at the weyr, back among dragons and riders and away from the ice. Though, the ice hold does now hold a special place in his heart, as do some of the people who live there. STILL. He's happy as he walks down to the beach, with Aster swooping overhead.

Perhaps someone told K'ane that there would be booze there. WHATEVER half-truth was told, the newest weyrlingmaster of Pern is indeed walking from the direction of the boardwalk, dressed casually and obviously off-duty. It is much too hot for formal leathers. (Or formal boots… hmmm.) His eyes roam over the gathering, and the big man has a half-grin as he quietly moves to catch up to Linden's happy strides. "Hey."

Stripped down to short trous and sleeveless tunic, Kultir is toting what seems to be a crate of bottles on his shoulder as he makes his way down to the beach. The ex-tracker moves easily in his light clothing and bare feet, a grin meeting the greetings of the other Candidates and whatever weyrfolk and riders have chosen to welcome them back to the warmth. Setting his crate down on one of the blankets next to a pile of leather and turned wood mugs, he snags a tall mug and fills it full of the mango and pineapple juice he just added to the plethora of food and drink.

Linden jumps a little bit when he's addressed at such close range, turning, grinning, and then snapping off a salute. "Hi! Sir. Isn't this /great/? I'm so happy to be back. How're you?"

"Didn't like how th' ice hold is… attired?" K'ane dismisses the salute with a half-wave, "Ain't 'sir' right this second. Just K'ane." The bronzerider nods at Kultir as they approach the older candidate. "Looks like some little shindig y'all got goin' on here."

Kultir offers the Weyrlingmaster a salute even if the man is off-duty and grins at the bronzerider. "I don't mind going to work there but the living there … that was a bit tough. I don't think I was able to remain warm for a full day the entire time we were there." Not that the young man really complained, he rather enjoyed the time down at the icy Hold even if he was confined to chores that kept him close to the Hold instead of allowing him to run the traplines or go on hunting trips. "It's really nice to be back here where it's warm all the time though." A soft chuckle escapes at a stray thought. "Just watch, we'll be complaining about the heat before too long and wishing we were back in the ice."

Linden shrugs. "It's just really /cold/. I missed the warmth and the sand and the sea. This is where I belong!" He gestures with an arm, grinning. "Yeah, Nate's put on a good party! Hey, Kultir! Oh no, never. I'll never complain about the heat. I love it."
"Aye, it's cold." For K'ane to say that, it must be — given the man lived at the edge of the northern wastes for several turns of his life. "Oh, th' sand, is that it? Or th' sea part of it?" His voice is a little distracted to Linden - he's eyeballing the crowds as if he's looking for someone in particular. "Aye. You'll get tired of th' heat soon enough," back at Kultir.

Linden smiles. "All of it," he answers K'ane happily. Moving to the drinks, he pours himself some cold fruit juice and breathes in deeply. Ahhhh.

There's a small party in full swing here, mostly white-knotted Candidates returned from the icy Hold in the southern mountains. Nearly all of said Candidates are in the minimal amount of clothing for modesty since they've been wearing forty layers of leather and fur for weeks on end. Food and drink is spread around the gathering in several different places on blankets, no tables, no servers, everyone is just having fun and enjoying the warmth of the southern Weyr once more. Kultir shakes his head at K'ane with a grin. "I never get tired of the heat, sir. I spent enough time wandering the northern mountains during the winters up there that I don't complain anymore … hot or cold, though I did miss the warmth."

Some of those candidates had long ago ditched the sands for a very different pursuit. The shallows have become a place to play. Only as thirst overwhelms the desire to be wet do they begin to peel off from the water and head upwards onto the sands and for the drinks. Nathanael is right in the middle of said group, though when he spies Linden he peels off after rescuing a drink that is weirdly purple, and begins to head in that direction.

The small party has not gone unnoticed by all of the weyr, for Hannah's slipped into the midst of Candidates dressed far more casually than she has been of late: a light sundress in shades of sapphire and sky. Barefoot and carefree — or visually at least, the Weyrwoman mingles with the assembled party-goers. Somewhere, there lurks a Weyrleader and a junior with luscious red curls. Somewhere, but as of now, she is alone.

Linden grins widely when he spots his friend, waving to Nathanael. "Hey!" he calls, lifting his drink in a far away toast. "This is fantastic, thank you! How's the water? I can't wait to swim."

Somewhere along the way, a smiling woman had pressed a kiss to the bluerider's cheek and then, cheekiliy, loaded him down with an abundance of softly fragrant and vivid leis. So festooned with flower necklaces is T'ral that he can't quite see who he's lei-ing. So, have fun with that. He moves towards voices, smiling and fumbles a strand of orange-red flowers over the head of someone.
Kultir nods slightly at the bronzerider and wanders off to refill his mug of juice though he's not to picky about getting the same thing and ends up having his original mango-pineapple being joined by some kiwi-melon mixture and one sip tells him it's pretty good. Passing Linden as the ex-tracker goes in search of foodstuff, he grins and calls back, "Well, what're you waiting for? It's not going to get warmer for waiting, Linden." He laughs and raises an eyebrow teasingly at the teenager. "Or did you want me to throw you in?"

Where there is a will, there is a… Bailey? Something like that. The redheaded goldrider is here in a bikini top and shorts that are better suited on an oldtimer whore — like, seriously, an actual whore. The POCKETS are longer than how high the shorts are cropped. She casually moves among people, a glass of wine in one hand and the rosy glow in her cheeks indicating that at least *one* person is gettin' her buzz on. She slips an arm through Hannah's arm seamlessly and drags the senior weyrwoman with her towards a certain bluerider. "T'ral!" she calls imperiously, her Benden accent tipsy, "Be a dear and give us a good pair of leis." She has a broad smile for the candidates that she passes on the way.

It doesn't take long for Nathanael to skirt his way around blankets spread upon the sands to plant himself firmly beside Linden. That strange purple drink is lifted towards in a rather strange toast. "'e water's feelin' real good. I was lovin' 'e ice but man…. t' be seein' 'e sea again…." Usually that kind of dreamy look is reserved for girls.

Or boys. If that floats your boat.

Linden laughs back at Kultir. "No thank you!" He flashes Nathanael a wide grin. "I know." He knows, he /gets/ it. Eyes widen a bit at the sight of Bailey, and then he's looking to the ocean again.

Startled at first, Hannah succumbs to laughter when Bailey hooks an arm through hers, tilting green eyes up towards her fellow goldrider. "Ah, yes! Leis. We need to be lei's." Is that the sly craft of smile that curves pretty lips. All that pale, white-blond hair is left undone to give the woman a much, much more casual stance. "It should be any day now, eh? Then you're freeeeeee?" Purposefully, she draws out the sound while glancing from Candidate to Candidate. "That one, over there. What do you think?" Yes, she's pointing at one of the sacrificial lambs.

Linden's gaze takes Nathanael's eyes off the ocean to look backwards. A smile splits his lips (wait, was he already smiling? Whatever. It is BIGGER), and he lifts an arm to wave energetically at the two women before going to bounce right over to them. "A'lo ma'am! 'n Sir! Any've ye want a drink? Ain't got nothin' stronger 'n some juice but…."

Kultir's head slews around at the sound of the bluerider's name being called and finds his own eyes widening at the sight of the two weyrwomen, especially the one in that rather skimpy top. Amber eyes flick back to the two teens, amusement at the looks the two boys are giving all the feminine flesh without being allowed to touch. He continues his wandering and finds a blanket that holds most of the food items and crouches down to snag a handful of bite-sized meatroll things the cooks had put together for them. As he draws closer to the two women and his blueriding friend, he nods a greeting to the three. "Evening, weyrwomen. Evening, sir." A slight wink is given to T'ral, knowing the older man's dislike for formality but having to put up with it.

When Nathanael moves to the riders, Linden looks longingly at the sea. Then he's moving swiftly in that direction to just dive right in, clothing and all. Ahhhhh. BLISS. There is nothing the sea can't fix.

"That one? No, no, I don't think so." Bailey stretches a bit against Hannah, arching her back as if to ease a day of standing. "Him, maybe?" She curls a finger at a different one, then gives Linden and Kultir a little finger-wave due to their proximity. She waves her wineglass at Nate; "I'm good, thank you," with a smile declaiming just how tipsy she is. "Kultir," she greets, with a smile. "Glad to be back?"

"That one is…" Hannah shakes her head, leaning into Bailey when the woman stretches. "Nate! I would love something. Red? Anything alcoholic." Perhaps her and Bailey have some drunk weyr-crashing organized for later — when the kids are put to bed, the adults will play right? Right. "I imagine you are all happy to be back and out of the snow." This is stated to Kultir, Nate, and any other Candidate standing nearby. Linden's forward ambulation into the ocean fully clothed gets a startled choked. "Maybe the cold was…" Thought left unfinished, however.

Let it be known: T'ral is good for a lei. His head comes 'round at Bailey's summons and he trudges with his heavenly scented burden AT the weyrwomen. Flowers are heavy. Who knew? With a smile he makes a fuss over selecting two for the goldriders. Buttery yellow blossoms, deep green foliage and… are those feline teeth? (SOME kind of teeth) for the Senior Weyrwoman and lavender blooms with subtle red veins and a knobby kind of red-fleshed fruit (yay, Bailey, a snack!) for the Junior. After bestowing the riders with strands of woven flowers and fond looks he inclines his head to both of them, before slewing off to find the next reveler in need of a lei.

Some of Nathanael's face falls slightly as he glances over to where the drinks and food have been set. "I… Ain't got nothin' what's stronger 'n juice ma'am… Figured, was proly better t' not be providin' temptation… Got… redfruit juice?" A bit hopeful as Nathanael plays the underprepared host to all the people getting lai'd.

Kultir chuckles softly as he sips at his own mug of juice. "Very glad, ma'am. I had a good time at the Hold, but the jungle is home for me." With a wave backwards, he gestures to where the blankets are spread with fingerfoods and fresh fruits. "So long as no one gets crazy, the food should be sand-free." The young man has managed so far to remain un-lei'd and has no plans to get lei'd so he slips away as quickly as he can without being spotted by T'ral.

Linden emerges from the sea, wet but still carrying his juice. Important not to spill your drink, though he gulps it down as he approaches the others. "I can go fetch you some wine from the caverns?" he offers to Hannah.

Nature. One of Koreiraj's greatest foes. Up there with dust. Women. Heights. Dirt. Germs. Okay, so he has a lot of foes. Nature simply has a whole bunch of those foes combined into a SUPER VILLIAN. Though as the newly tagged candidate had heard of a shindig on the beach, the young man decided to venture forth. There's a frown slashed across his face as he walks, awkwardly, across the sand. Feet sinking in enough to cause the man to stop, shake one foot free of the grains, take a step, stop, shake the other foot free. Ew. It's all… clingy. He nudges closer and closer to the group of individuals, eyes the blankets (ON THE GROUND!?) dubiously, eyes the food, and there's a moment of hesitation where he's about to flee back inside to the safety of his library. There's some overheard word about sand-free food, which causes Koreiraj to walk closer, nodding and waving to a few people, but stopping at the morsels of tummy-delight and just staring. Perhaps he can SEE the germs.

'Evening, Sir.' Kultir! T'ral grins, fumbling and seemingly hopelessly tangled in his delightful floral miasma before extracting a choice strand, soft fluttery white petals interspersed with clusters of glossy seedpods and feather strands. He looks up… where'd Kultir go. Merf? Hand aloft, the bluerider spins, THERE. Kultir. This lei has your name on it. Tromp tromp tromp. Seeeeee avian feathers.
"T'ral, this is a piss-poor lei! THERE IS NO SATISFACTION HERE!" Those are Bailey's quite capable lungs shouting that. "He's a bad lei," she conversationally finishes up with those around her. "Nate, are you telling me you have no wine here?" Like it wasn't *announced* beforehand or anything. She smirks at Kultir's quick retreat. And then she's pointing. "Him," she dramatically declares at Hannah, pointing to the incoming Koreiraj.

"T'ral is a — " Hannah chokes when she fingers the lei about her neck. "Hey, mine's got teeth. I guess I'll let Th'seus know that I got lei'd by T'ral and gifted with teeth." T'ral, are you worried yet? Th'seus is a tree! Linden's offer is seized upon, "That would be lovely," because Hannah is intent upon the alcohol, although Nate is given the benediction of, "I would also love some juice." Because why not? Double fisting! She regards Koreiraj and chokes. "Who — where — what?" Coherent. Are we sure Hannah's not imbibed a little too much already? Maybe the pressures of the knot (which is conspicuously ABSENT from her shoulder) are getting to her.

Linden dips his head to Hannah and turns, bolting off towards the caverns, just as he's promised. He's going to get WINE. Hopefully they believe him.

"Well…." Nathanael manages to look a bit LOST at Bailey's shouting, as he reaches up to rub a hand through wet sandy blond hair. "I'll jus' be goin' 'n gettin a juice f'r ye ma'am…." And he is OFF, AWAY from T'ral who is apparently not very good at getting people lai'd to fetch a drink just for Hannah.

Unbeknown that people (WOMEN) are pointing at him, Koreiraj is set in his own little world. Trying, desperately, to find a scrap of dirt or sand that may have touched the food in front of him that will allow him to decline any. Not that he's being forced or even asked to eat anything, but the urge to be polite burns deep within his Holder soul. Perhaps he'll simply ignore it. For now. A handkerchief is drawn from his front pocket, brought up to cover his nose as he turns towards the other participants at this bonfire. A light dab-dab at his nostrils, and the square of cloth is refolded in a delicate and quick manner before being placed back into the confines of his front tunic pocket. There. All orderly! "…hello there." he finally gets out, nodding to one somewhat familiar candidate face, then another. Most females are disregarded completely, his eyes on the sand or his feet as he shuffles on by them. Where is a wall for this wallflower when he NEEDS ONE!?

Aaahhhh! Kultir got lei'd! By T'ral! Oh no, what will he do now? "Err … thanks, T'ral." He chuckles softly as he lifts the floral necklace and shakes his head in amusement. He watches as the bluerider continues on before returning to the blanket upon which the food is spread out. "Hey, how goes?" he greets Koreiraj who is examining the food on the blanket. Crouching down, he keeps his sand-dusted feet off the blanket and reaches across to pluck a handfull of fried fliptail-balls to pop into his mouth. Eyes flick to the white knot and sandy-haired head tilts curiously. "You weren't down at the Hold with us were you?"

Howabout flowers for the wallflower? Perhaps Koreiraj can even see the mites and vermin that live in the amassed bounty of flowers T'ral is burdened with and headed for him. Colonies of spinners to nest in his ears and the darknesses of his pockets, secret delves of his handkerchiefs. The bluerider gives Koreiraj smiles, attempting to bestow a strand of scarlet blooms and knife-weed foliage on his fellow bibliophile. On his way to the Candidates… hey… where are the all going? He registers mild affront at Bailey and, with a free hand -the other is be-lei-ing Koreiraj if he'll sit still, shows Bailey that she's to eat the fruit. That lei is INTERACTIVE. Now… Koreiraj… The bluerider is squinting off around, making a plan of attack to collar the rest of those scattered Candidates.

Linden is back in a jiffy with a glass of wine for Hannah, which he carries carefully. No running with this, and there's no sand or sea water in it either. "Here you are ma'am," he says with a bright smile. Delivery made, he heads off to grab some food.

"Wine." Bailey forlornly looks after Nate, still finds herself eyeballing Koreiraj. It's like she's a shark and she can smell the blood in the water. Or something. "Excuse me," ONE MINUTE Hannah, she has to go see this. Because there is a person with a candidate knot that she doesn't know. "You. YOU THERE. Are you trying to murder my candidates?" She demands this of poor Raj, coming to a stop probably too close to him: she's dressed only in a bikini top and the skimpiest shorts, bare feet and a wine glass in one hand.

Stay calm, Koreiraj. They can smell fear.

HERE. Now Hannah will have TWO glasses, because Nathanael comes trotting back on the heels of Linden with a juice drink in hand. Provided she TAKES said drink, Nathanael casts a glance at Linden. "Race ye t' 'e ocean." The challenge is only just out of his lips before Nathanael takes off for the surf.

Double fisting! Nate and Linden's arrival as well as Bailey's departure leaves Hannah startled and alone with two glasses of drink. One wine and the other juice. She sips the wine first and smiles at the boys, "Thank…" but then they're racing off to the ocean, "… you." And then there was Hannah. slurping on the wine - and - juice combo. Hmmm. And hey, her lei has teeth. Life is GOOD, right? Or something like that. The Weyrwoman will watch Bailey and Koreiraj with an idle sort of curiosity.

A male voice captures Koreiraj's attention, allowing him to look up and stop mid-shuffle. "Ah, hello! No, no, I wasn't. Only got Searched yesterday, actually. Didn't even get a chance to get to the Hold when I was told you all were coming back. So I just, stayed here." The candidate gives a slight grin, extending a hand. "I'm Koreiraj, by the by. A bluerider by the name of T'r—Oh! T'ral!" It was his first time. His first time getting lei'd by a man (or a woman). The flower and weed combination are allowed over his head, to sit around his neck, before a delicate sniff is taken. And then another. He's about to say more to T'ral, to Kultir, but a sneeze is tickling the back of his nose. Hands scramble for that same handkerchief, but he's sidelined as a woman is suddenly in his space, demanding things of him. Koreiraj's eyes go wide, his breath hitches back in the wake of Bailey's sheer feminine presence, and he's backpedaling. All the while his hands are up, shaking back and forth, his head miming the same movement. Raj's mouth forms the words 'no, no, no' though not a sound comes out except for an undignified squeak. A frantic gesture to his own knot, a point to T'ral, another to Kultir, than back to himself. Surely someone has played charades and can get his wordless statement!

Linden whoops and bolts after Nathanael, but the cheater probably gets there first.

Hopefully there aren't too many people between Nathanael, Linden and the coast. Well, except for that blanket full of half-naked teenage candidates that Nathanael jumps right over in his effort to reach the ocean before Linden does. Though, you know, Linden is taller….

And then there is K'ane, turning from his stance right by the water, slow-motion to significantly eyebrow raise at the oncoming freight trains of candidates racing straight in his direction.

Punctuality is usually a virtue to which Quentin subscribes, but this time the young man is rather unfashionably late. The dampness of his mop of curls and the freshness of his clothing might attest to why - likely he had a need to wash and change before being seen in any company at all, much less that which could nominally be termed 'polite'. Hesitantly, he approaches the gathering, hands shoved in the pockets of his pants and shoulders slightly hunched in the manner that just screams 'uncomfortable with crowds'. In other words - typical Quinn.

Linden is too busy pausing to apologize to the half naked candidates. He'll be last.

Maybe Linden needs to go get some of those Lei's. Maybe he'll have better luck. Nathanael, grinning his head off looks backwards to see that Linden has STOPPED, but not that a rather large bronzerider is in his way. Hopefully it doesn't hurt when the scrawny kid runs into him? Unless he moves, of course.

T'ral, is standing with two leis held out for Nathanael and Linden who have hared off for the waters edge. He winces, spotting the collision course of Nathanael/Linden/K'ane, plotting trajectories, windspeed, velocities, momentum. Poor, poor Linden and Nathanael if they run into the bronzerider. Peering around for new targets, T'ral comes up along beside Quentin and tips a look over at the hunched teen, a tight little smile for the crafter-candidate as he sorts the flower strands, finding a string of orange ribbon, candlenuts and a four-lobed dense white flower nipped at petal-ends with red: dogwood blossoms. If allowed, he drops the lei over Quentin's head and moves on.

Bailey ARCHES AN EYEBROW at Raj and then turns back in the direction that leads back towards Hannah. She cups one hand around her mouth: "I THINK WE FOUND THE MURDERER!"

And so the Senior Weyrwoman was left standing with a fruity drink in one hand, a wine in another, in the midst of Candidate chaos. This would be the point where an internal groan is executed and with a half-turn, she downs the entire glass of wine in one go. Almost choking for the power of it. Then she scuttles towards Bailey, almost knocking into K'ane — Hi, FruityCatcher! — and hisses, "Not helping, Bailey!" T'ral's lei bouncing around her neck like a travesty to feline-tooth-kind.

Kultir is about to reply when the goldrider is suddenly there with demands of the newly Searched white-knot. Pushing himself to his feet, he steps backward a little since he's not wanting to get in trouble along with this fellow he just met. When Bailey turns to actually yell toward the Senior Weyrwoman, his eyebrows seem to lodge into his hairline. His amber eyes narrow slightly at the other young man as he frowns. "Murderer? He ain't been caught yet?" The ex-tracker thought that was why they'd been brought back, that the killer or killers had been found and dealt with.

Suddenly, flowers. And nuts. On a string. Around his neck. Quentin looks up in surprise, one hand pulling free of his pocket to touch the lei as he stares after T'ral, jaw gaping slightly. "Thank you?" His squeak might well carry to the bluerider's ears, but with the weyrlingmaster making his way onward, he doesn't attempt to say anything else. Still fingering the blossoms, the boy trudges onwards - only to stutter-step to a halt and even back up a pace at Bailey's pronouncement. "Huh, what?" What'd he miss? More importantly, why didn't he just stay in the baths?

Nathanael's impact against against K'ane is felt in Nathanael's shoulder to, as is the hand that is suddenly ALL OVER his neck and shoulder. He shakes blond hair, droplets of water spraying off it and onto the man. "What? Oh! Sir, sorry!" Blue eyes will gaze ALL innocently up at the Weyrlingmaster.

Koreiraj's eyes go even wider than before (if that is even possible). All the blood leaves his face. Heck, it all leaves his entire head. There is a look of stricten terror as he stares at Bailey, as the words "MURDERER" leave her mouth. Another glance towards both Kultir and T'ral, then suddenly, suddenly. Everything gets all swimy. And FLOP! Onto the sand Koreiraj falls. Fainting. Right there. In front of everyone.

"SEE." Bailey, accusing. And maybe victorious.

T'ral hurries to Koreiraj's side and dumps the leis to the side. He stoops, kneeling parallel to Koreiraj's body and settling the candidate's head, stabilized, in the channel between his thighs. (HAWT) Grabbing the candidates arm and exposing the wrist (scandalous), to give a vigorous chafe. Get that blood flowing back to the brain. T'ral's brow is knit, looking around for Nevik. Where is that healer-candidate!?

Meanwhile, K'ane's peering over Nate's head: "What th' shell is goin' on out there?" Maybe he gives the scrawny candidate a little push towards the CLUSTER.

Kultir peers down at the younger man and frowns slightly as the other passes out at the weyrwoman's feet. Still a little wary of the young man he'd just barely met, he glances from Bailey to T'ral who is suddenly there and trying to rouse Koreiraj from that faint.
Oh look. Bailey made someone faint. Why doesn't Quentin look particularly surprised about that? Still, the Candidate switches his path, heading towards the scene of the crime - criminal? - tossing a rather proper, if somewhat absent, salute at the goldriders. "Too hot?" he asks, tilting his head to the side as he watches T'ral's actions from a safe distance. "Need anything, sir? Water?" There's a whole ocean of the stuff right over there, after all.

Nathanael tilts his head sideways as he is shoved forward and goes more than willingly. A few almost skipped steps and Nate pauses next to Hannah. "Ye know, ain't seen no'un faint 'n a while. Leastways, I'm hopin' he's jus' faintin'. Else mayhap 'e party might have t' be endin'." And THAT would be sad.

T'ral is slowly becoming Koreiraj's new hero. As he is stabilized and given some wrist chafes (that sounds so dirty), Raj's eyes start to flutter open. The fluttering stops, and turns to just being plain old, open. He looks to the left. Looks to the right. Then looks straight up at T'ral. If there weren't a ton of people around, he'd possibly throw his arms around the bluerider's neck and declare "MY HERO!" but there are, so instead he'll just lean up a bit and whisper, "I-i-is she gone? The demon lady?" He sure hopes so.
When he approaches closely enough, T'ral gives K'ane a we're-gonna-have-to-watch-this-one look. With a tight headnod, the bluerider sends Quentin off, but he gestures the herdcrafter towards the refreshments table and fresh water. He keeps working at the fallen man's wrists. Alternating now.

"HEY. Ma'am Bailey ain't no demon!" Nathanael is just going to draw a line there and FROWN down at Koreiraj. "She's 'e best!"

Bailey stares down at this little drama playing out at her feet (she ain't movin') and takes another long sip of wine. "Demon lady? I'm not the one who has been killing people," she sweetly states to Koreiraj. "Who are you exactly, again? Who Searched you." She narrows her eyes at T'ral as if this is somehow all his fault. (Ha.)

"Right'o." Quentin is being rather laconic about this - but maybe that's just a factor of too many shocks in one day. Just what exactly was he doing to be so late for the party? Boots crunching on the sand, the boy heads to the refreshment table and snags a mug and a pitcher of water. Filling the former, he returns with both, offering the mug to T'ral while keeping the pitcher ready in case either bluerider or Candifaint decide they need more.

It takes a bit of effort, but Koreiraj is able to sit himself up. Just going to ignore the whole 'fainting' thing as if it didn't happen. Real men don't faint. As Nathanael speaks, Raj frowns at the younger candidate. "The best? The best?" Indignation reigns supreme over the Holder-born's face. "It is ungentleman like to speak ill of a lady, of any lady, but I've never met such a brute of a wom—" And then he stops talking. Again. Realizing the brute is still there. Rendered mute he's only able to gesture yet again. This time pointing at T'ral. ALL FINGERS AT T'RAL. Eat him, not me, plzthx.

"I… uh…" This would be Hannah standing with her mouth opening and closing like a fish. "I…" That's right. Speechless! And so she just stands and stares and can only blink at Nate. "I haven't either."

To Hannah, "Ma'am… I dun think he be very sart…" crouches down and is just going to WHISPER into Raj's ear. He's not really good at whispering. Unless the mutter command works right.

"A brute, you say?" SOMEHOW that makes Bailey… smile. It's not a healthy smile. She dumps the dredges of her wine in the general direction of the seated candidate, turns, and WALKS AWAY. Yeah. "Hannah," she calls, "Isn't it time for a real drink?" That's right. They came, they chaos'd, and now they are… out to do things that don't involve causing scenes. (Or maybe they do, but they will be ELSEWHERE.)

You overhear Nathanael mutter, "… … … 'e ma'am what's eggs … … … … … be … … … …" to Koreiraj.

K'ane melts into the background, after trading that Look with T'ral, his own face just faintly concerned.

T'ral flashes a smile at Quentin and takes the glass, wetting the handkerchief that is still limply clutched in Koreiraj's hand. He helps get the candifaint upright, eyes widening at the unwise tumble of words coming out of the doesn't he knows she's standing right there she's ALWAYS STANDING RIGHT THERE. And then, thrown under the wagon. Great. The bluerider levers up onto his feet just in time for wine splash. Well, at least he didn't get THAT.

Hannah totally slips off with Bailey — to do nefarious things and cause adult-level chaos. Don't think too hard about that, little Candidates.

There might be something of a groan coming from Koreiraj as Nathanael mutters something to him. "T-thanks T'ral," is let out quietly as the candidate gets to his feet. "It's been, er, nice… meeting some of you tonight." He states out with only minor difficulty now that the Terrifying Woman is gone. "I do believe it's quite past my bedtime. So I'm… going now." He points in the direction of the Weyr before actually walking in that direction. There might be some other sounds heard. Like that of a hand smacking into a forehead a good half-dozen times before he's out of earshot.

Tucking his tongue in his cheek, Quentin merely stands at T'ral's shoulder, holding the pitcher and doing his best impression of a good little helper. That doesn't stop his blue eyes from rounding slightly at Koreiraj's words, and giving a slight intake of breath at Bailey's shot of words and wine. When the two Weyrwomen walk off, he lets out a breath. "Man, you got lucky," he breathes to his fellow Candidate, shaking his head.

"He be weird." Nathanael just throws that out there before he rises to his feet again and brushes sand off. T'ral, Kultir and Quentin are eyed rather speculativly. "Bet none've ye can get Roxie t' date ye once either 'e hatchin's o'er or 'e dragons be grown." A pause, then his eyes flash back to T'ral, "Not, that I'd be doin' nothin' sir."

T'ral fishes around in the pile of fallen leis and selects one out, a riotous colorful one that he peers at speculatively, looking off and over at the cluster of candidates who, now that the inevitable minor-disaster has transpired, are chatting amiably. His grin goes lopsided and he hands the lei to Nathanael, not letting it go until the Candidate meets his eyes. T'ral give Nathanael a you-know-the-rules look. Where's that gitar? AH. Now seems as good a time as any to pull up next to that bonfire and strum a bit.

Kultir laughs softly at Nathanael's comment and nods slowly. "Yeah, a bit, huh? Maybe he's just from some snooty Hold up north." When the challenge is given, he laughs out loud and shakes his head. "You don't want to challenge me, Nathanael. If I don't Impress this time, I'm still taken and if I do … well, we'll have to talk about it after that." He glances at the other two and shrugs slightly. "Besides … Roxie isn't my type."

"Hey, not everyone from snooty Holds up North is weird," Quentin objects mildly, shooting Kultir a meaninful look. If that expression is supposed to indicate that he, himself, is proof of that - well, let's just say it probably doesn't work very well. Then the conversation turns to that and, with a sigh and another shake of his head, the herder-candie is off to the refreshment table to replace the pitcher where it goes.

Nathanael's eyes are TOTALLY INNOCENET MAN. He'll just turn back to Kultir as he loops that lei over his neck and nibbles on the fruit that MUST be on it. Yum? "Ye know, most riders ain't exclusive. Leastways, what I've been seen. 'n Roxie's sweet."
Kultir offers an apologetic smile to Quentin, the young man not having had much luck with the folks from the northern holds though the Fortians he has met aren't so bad. "And not all the Holds up north have snooty people in them … just that he seems to be, you know … the kind that can't stand to get a bit of sand or dirt on 'em?" Glancing down at the young Seacrafter, he chuckles softly and nods. "Yeah, I know that. And Kalea isn't … I mean, she tries to stay at her weyr when Rya rises but … I don't expect it of her." The comment about Roxie being sweet earns another shrug. "I suppose … I don't know her too well but she's just a bit … girly, isn't she?"

T'ral, the only 'grownup' left, perches on a log and idly observes his Candidates in the last days of their Candidacy, eyes deep, contemplative as he watches the interplay between them. Fingers trip across the gitar strings, and he ocasionally pauses to brow-twitch at a tricky part he hasn't practiced in some time. Eyes back to the Candidates. The big day was coming soon… and they're talking about mating flights. The bluerider clears his throat and looks into the flames. Pretty, pretty flames.

"No, she's nice. Was askin' jus' 's mornin' if'n mayhap she could be stayin' at 'e hold if'n she don't impress." Over THERE is Roxie by the way, with some of the other girls who have been tempted into dresses and bikini tops. Their eyes are looking back over at the three male candidates too. Except for when their eyes move to T'ral. LOTS of whispering there.

Quentin wanders towards T'ral, flopping down to the sand at the bluerider's feet. He sprawls his legs before him, hands planted in the sand behind to support himself as he leans back his head and stares upside-down at the weyrlingmaster. "I like your music," the boy observes quietly. Of course, anything to distract him from the other Candidates' conversation. "You're Harper, right?" He seems to remember that from their previous conversation.

Something catches Nathanael's attention that ISN'T that group of girls over there, before Kultir can answer. "Look at that!" Reaching out the yunger and smaller candidate grabs Kultir's arm and drags him towards the surf, leaving the party behind- though they are careful to stay within sight of the riders who are WATCHING.

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