High Reaches Weyr Turnover.
RL Date: 6/21/09
IC Date: 13/28/19
Living Cavern, High Reaches Weyr(#350RJs)
Stalactites hang high above this enormous cavern like a jagged chandelier or an inversion of the Spires themselves, but shadows cling to them instead of light. Below lie great tables arranged in rows, each large enough to serve a fighting wing, while in the nooks and alcoves around the cavern's edge sit more sensibly-sized tables, from six- and eight-seaters down to intimate spots for just a couple of diners. The only really open space is around the kitchen entrance, smelling of food and rarely quiet, and by the nearby serving tables with their long buffet of the day's offerings.
Tapestries on the smooth walls -- some faded and others newly woven -- only slightly mute the sea of sound when a meal is in full swing, but they add cheerfulness augmented by the glowlight from wall sconces and the centerpieces of each table. Still, shadows always creep along the ceiling and into the mouths of the exits -- the myriad small hallways at one end of the cavern and, at the other, the twisting tunnel to the bowl near an array of coathooks and and hatracks -- and late at night, when the glows are allowed to dim, the chamber can seem very dark indeed.
A feline comes in carrying a couple of bottles of the really good brandy and sets these down at a table where someone is actually minding the store and pouring mixed drinks. "There you go, should about do it," the kitty says with a bright smile in Milani's likely familiar voice. The cat puts hands on hips and turns to regard the proceedings, blows out a puff of air, then turns back to the drink minder to get a glass of something suitably festive before she moves away to mingle.
Madilla is not /exactly/ instantly recognisable as Madilla, this evening, with her face covered by a mask, and a brightly coloured dress very much unlike her usual get-up. But she moves in a pretty Madilla-esque way, less floaty than a dress like this (even one slightly too short, with an extra long petticoat worn beneath) really deserves, stepping between a few people on her way off to one side where she can /watch/ without needing to get too involved. At least for now. And K'del? He's more towards the middle, flirting merrily with a group of woman, and pretty much instantly notable as himself, because although he's dressed up, the only thing really hiding anything is the eye-patch over one eye: a pirate, then, with that striped shirt and black hat.
Someone took pity on Alex and, before he could wander scruffily into the room, turned him around and marched him back with the stern reprimand that he could either get into the spirit of the party or he could just not come. This, having mystified him, results in him spending a good ten minutes staring at his repertoire of brown, beige, and brownish-beige clothes. A few puffs of dust and a quick comb later, he re-emerges in what he firmly believes is the spirit of the party. Except, at the edge of the cavern, frowning when he steps out of the way for people with more cumbersome attire to pass him, he realizes this is not the case. "What are /you/ supposed to be?" inquires one of those passersby. And the answer is, naturally, "Uninformed."
And W'chek--W'chek is not here. Of course he's not. He's moaned elaborately over the past day about how he's never setting foot at anything resembling a party every again. He was going to go for a walk, he said. With Zhikath. And that was the end of it. No chance. Absolute refusal. So, he's nowhere to be seen now, and he won't be. All the better; nothing worse for a party than a guy like W'chek, is there?
Ale and brandy and other fun drinks are sadly not to be imbibed. But hopefully, one can't get in trouble for just carrying a pint of ale around? So long as no one actually notices that it merely gets raised to lips for effect, and the liquid level never ever changes, it's as much a part of the costume as the ragged, tattered black-and-multigray clothing. The height and the build, and there's really only three guesses who this silent shadow could be. Though people familiar enough with the easy way a smile seems to hover about his mouth and crinkle the corners of dark brown eyes, might make an educated guess at K'ndro. Who is, at the moment, enjoying himself quietly in one of the shadows he's dressed as, trying to guess identities. For now.
One of those dancing girls, one of the lucky ones who pounced on the hand-me-down firelizard costume before her neighbor, breaks off to make a dive for the food tables, too, only to be intercepted by a hoop-skirted woman in various shades of blue who's apparently been watching from the side for much the very thing. While the girl gets a repeat lecture on no, not too much food, and no, she has only an hour because yes, she still has a bedtime, a second costumed woman winces to a third, "Better you than me." Number two? Another kitty, this one in black because there always has to be one of those, with kohl whiskers drawn in beneath her satin black mask and... /green/ ears atop her head, to match the /green/ sash of a tail. Number three, who shakes her head but otherwise doesn't say much of anything: dressed in a healer journeyman's garments, complete to the khaki pants, though surely Delifa never had such decolletage. But with the treat secured, and the lecture duly listened to, off bounces the girl again... threatening to knock into who-knows-whom as the woman in hoopskirts runs behind her. Gangway!
Some people have gone all out with their costumes. Tiriana is not one of these. Too vain to hide her identity, she remains easily recognizable, if certainly ornately attired for the occasion. But of course, as is usual these days, it's the dignitaries who first command her attention, a small coterie of Holder-blooded who are out to enjoy the freedom of the Weyr--all the moreso if their masks keep them from being recognized, at least to a small degree. As testimony to improving diplomatic skills, Tiriana doesn't much scowl at them, and doesn't even have to liquor herself up before exchanging a few pleasantries.
Holding her glass carefully close, the feline headwoman makes it over to the Weyrleader's elbow and leans in to murmur something to him, then draws back with a smile. "Happy turnover, Weyrleader," is what's audible, though the cant of Milani's head is just a little flirty. "Having fun yet?"
As the music continues and the crowd grows and the dance floor remains pretty well barren in that you-go-first-no-you-go-first way of things, one of the jovial, portly uncles starts working the crowd. Which is to say, he goes about the outskirts with a tray of small pastry-wrapped sausages, looking for people who seems uncertain or ill-at-ease to hand them to. Or even those who're just hungry.
"Yes, though I think you mean to say... cerebral?" Alex guesses when he has to explain the second time why he's not in-costume. "Could you just tell me--" But glitter-and-gauze is already sweeping off toward sparklier pastures, leaving him to ruin all efforts to comb his hair the way he scratches his head. "Can I-- excuse me-- stop please?" This to the portly man with the food, his smile brightening when he's able to divest the man of some sausages, regardless of the dark look the Starsmith receives for standing on the train of some woman's train. --Correction. Some /man's/ train.
Purple exchanges a family sort of kiss before the blonde in the feathered mask wanders back into the crowd and the one with the glass jeweled 'sash' is left to himself once more. Despite being alone, he still manages not to look awkward and his gaze is watching everything before him with open curiosity. Especially when someone passes by with drinks. He even takes one. But he just holds onto it. Life of the party, this one.
So, no W'chek. We've established no W'chek, right? That guy, the one in the peeling mask and the threadbare clothes, that is definitely not W'chek, because he's actually being sociable. Well, sort of. Not a lot of talking, anyway. But waves, claps on the shoulder, a thumbs-up to the pretty girl who brushes past and says, "Nice hat!" The first time he speaks after several minutes of milling about, it's wondering, and too few words to identify a voice with anyway--"Is that a *man*?"
Off to the side, some teenaged boys and a few girls have begun to chant, "Twen-ty! Twen-ty! Twen-ty!" ... at least until man-with-the-sausages has sufficiently supplied Alex and started to move on towards them, at which point the locusts descend and if people don't get lucky, that platter's going to be wiped clean in a matter of seconds. Or maybe they'll just be the ones getting lucky. That way.
With the harpers on stage, Rorkes has charge of the Reaches' contingent of players for the time being, as they cycle through upbeat songs, of the sort to encourage people to get to dancing. This early, when things are just trying to get underway, he still looks awkward, not yet settled into the night. Of course, it's somewhat hampering to also be trying to keep half an eye on one little girl in a paper mask, who seems to want to hover in Daddy's vicinity instead of running off to play ring-around-the-rosey with friends her own age.
Madilla? Yeah, at catching sight of 'Delifa', she lets out an outright peel of laughter, clapping one hand over her mouth to avoid /too/ many people looking at her as a result. K'del, in the meantime, looks positively delighted as Milani approaches, leaning across to rest a hand on her shoulder as he gets close enough to whisper something in her ear, in response. "And to you, also, Headwoman. I am! At least, I am /now/." But that's hardly true, since he's been smiling so warmly, all this time.
The shadow detaches himself from the corner, finally, after those moments of necessary observation. He moves carefully, trying to just steer clear entirely of some of the more... elabroate... costumes that look like they're in danger of either falling apart if someone breathes on them, or possibly of killing someone accidentally. He's heading towards the finger-food filled table, and very rarely there might be an 'excuse me' or 'pardon me' rumbled out in a baritone voice, but mostly he's trying not to talk. Because that would just give K'ndro away in about .3 seconds flat, and it's too fun right now to be anonymous.
Excusing herself from her present company, Tiriana starts to saunter the crowd, stopped here and there to chat with other people, compliment them on their outfits. She takes up a glass of wine from a server in the process, and continues on through until finds herself drawn to one very bright spot in the midst of paler colors. "Evening," she tells the young man in the dashing purple shirt. "Don't suppose you know the name of the weaver who got that particular color onto a shirt?"
Covetous Alex sees the fuss over the food and quickly fishes a handkerchief out of his pocket to keep his fingers de-greased; this has the added benefit of adding a copious amount of dust to the sausages, but that doesn't seem to bother him a great deal. Wallflower Alex gives someone, some girl who clearly has not made his acquaintance yet and is thus on her way over to chat-him-up, a terrified look and finds a conveniently empty patch of wall to occupy. When that same girl manages to track him down and opens up with what she thinks is a clever quip-- "Did you come to hold up the wall or to dance?" --she's subjected to a lengthy dissertation about how physics and not Alex himself is holding up the wall. Dazed, she leaves, and he eats.
Beaming up at K'del, Milani gives his shoulder a little pat. "Well good. Let me know if I can get you anything," the feline says in her best hostess voice and scans the party for a moment. "Looks like a good gathering. Lots of interesting costumes. "Have you started playing who's who yet?"
At least one of the people looking over at Madilla is 'Delifa' herself... once the green-eared kitty nudges her. She strikes a very instructor-ly pose, although was Delifa ever /this/ stern? and beckons over the girl in blue while mouthing: Food. Like K'ndro, she's not talking much, though she does give him a speculative nod when he heads toward where they've stationed themselves at the food tables too. Meanwhile, green-ears is making the rounds, this time making off with some little puffs of pastry filled with fruit and soft cheese, and /look/, she's found a short suave man to feed them to. Already.
Tight purple shirt looks down at his shirt, smooths his free hand over it slowly, "I don't actually. I wish I did, though. I'd love to talk to them myself." He sounds completely sincere, too. Maybe he likes purple. He looks back up and over the Weyrwoman slowly, appraisingly. "You're looking exceptionally lovely tonight," he tells her, just as sincere as his previous words.
"Not a /dragon/," says the person in question to not-W'chek, turning around, though the timbre of the voice may not help matters. He gets a long look from beneath unfairly long lashes. "Be a dear, get me a drink."
Tiriana's brow lifts slightly at the voice of Purple, but she doesn't declaim his identity yet if she recognizes it. "Well. If you find out, let me know. I might like a commission myself. --And thank you," is added at the end, as she pushes her loose hair back over her shoulders. "I don't get to be quite as... frivolous as some," not that she's that type anyway, but the cat-people sure do get a long look. "What with having to go to other parties. Fort, Nabol's..." Not that she sounds upset about a full day of parties, either, but.
K'del's hand doesn't linger, perfectly professional, and after his whispered comment, he draws back again. Warmly, "Certainly will, Headwoman, and thank you." Following the feline's gaze, he considers the warm, laughing. "Not much; seems like a bunch of people put an awful lot of effort into it, though. Impressed." 'Delifa's pose makes Madilla giggle even more, though she's managing to control herself as she approaches, and notes in a more or less 'normal' voice; "You should possibly smile a little more. At least at me. Or ask why I'm not spending more time doing fun, though, clearly, I am right now." And food. Which is definitely something of a draw. "Happy Turnover, though."
The one not-W'chek in the gold mask does stare. For just a moment. Lips move, words don't actually emerge. Then, one gloved finger held up--'one moment'--and he bolts... no, well, actually does something closer to sauntering over to where there are drinks, more gesturing--'that', 'two'. The first, he downs almost half of all at once. And then he's headed back, holding out the second drink. "Can I just say--wow." Hushed tones, though.
K'ndro is, above all else, young and male, with a young man's eye for a pretty figure. And when pretty figures are being displayed in certain intriguing manners, can he really be blamed for admiring them? Though he just might try to hide if he figures out who's actually behind that costume. Hello, nurse, indeed! What with his self-imposed muteness, she only gets a slow nod in return, a vague little tip of his glass, and then he's attempting to ease past towards a platter full of cheese.
Obligingly, 'Delifa' discovers a smile just for Madilla, a warm curve of her lips. She waits to speak until K'ndro's past, though, aided by a well-timed shift of her hips that makes for just those few inches' worth of room. More high-pitched than is her usual wont, a little more High Reaches in the intonation and about as low on the smokiness as she can get it, "Happy Turnover! Be sure to spend more time doing fun. Things." 'Delifa' is looking a little helpless before she musters herself. "Madilla. Do plenty of fun things, and afterwards I have herbs for you."
The good thing about all the bright-shiny-distractions is that no one is likely to notice when Alex disappears. Not literally or anything-- that would really throw his whole concept of science out of whack. Rather, after a few minutes of carefully avoiding anyone who looks like they might mistake him for social, he shoves the rest of his snack into his pocket (where it will be forgotten until he goes looking for his fancy duds again in another decade) and ducks into the lower caverns.
IC Date: 13/28/19
Living Cavern, High Reaches Weyr(#350RJs)
Stalactites hang high above this enormous cavern like a jagged chandelier or an inversion of the Spires themselves, but shadows cling to them instead of light. Below lie great tables arranged in rows, each large enough to serve a fighting wing, while in the nooks and alcoves around the cavern's edge sit more sensibly-sized tables, from six- and eight-seaters down to intimate spots for just a couple of diners. The only really open space is around the kitchen entrance, smelling of food and rarely quiet, and by the nearby serving tables with their long buffet of the day's offerings.
Tapestries on the smooth walls -- some faded and others newly woven -- only slightly mute the sea of sound when a meal is in full swing, but they add cheerfulness augmented by the glowlight from wall sconces and the centerpieces of each table. Still, shadows always creep along the ceiling and into the mouths of the exits -- the myriad small hallways at one end of the cavern and, at the other, the twisting tunnel to the bowl near an array of coathooks and and hatracks -- and late at night, when the glows are allowed to dim, the chamber can seem very dark indeed.
A feline comes in carrying a couple of bottles of the really good brandy and sets these down at a table where someone is actually minding the store and pouring mixed drinks. "There you go, should about do it," the kitty says with a bright smile in Milani's likely familiar voice. The cat puts hands on hips and turns to regard the proceedings, blows out a puff of air, then turns back to the drink minder to get a glass of something suitably festive before she moves away to mingle.
Madilla is not /exactly/ instantly recognisable as Madilla, this evening, with her face covered by a mask, and a brightly coloured dress very much unlike her usual get-up. But she moves in a pretty Madilla-esque way, less floaty than a dress like this (even one slightly too short, with an extra long petticoat worn beneath) really deserves, stepping between a few people on her way off to one side where she can /watch/ without needing to get too involved. At least for now. And K'del? He's more towards the middle, flirting merrily with a group of woman, and pretty much instantly notable as himself, because although he's dressed up, the only thing really hiding anything is the eye-patch over one eye: a pirate, then, with that striped shirt and black hat.
Someone took pity on Alex and, before he could wander scruffily into the room, turned him around and marched him back with the stern reprimand that he could either get into the spirit of the party or he could just not come. This, having mystified him, results in him spending a good ten minutes staring at his repertoire of brown, beige, and brownish-beige clothes. A few puffs of dust and a quick comb later, he re-emerges in what he firmly believes is the spirit of the party. Except, at the edge of the cavern, frowning when he steps out of the way for people with more cumbersome attire to pass him, he realizes this is not the case. "What are /you/ supposed to be?" inquires one of those passersby. And the answer is, naturally, "Uninformed."
And W'chek--W'chek is not here. Of course he's not. He's moaned elaborately over the past day about how he's never setting foot at anything resembling a party every again. He was going to go for a walk, he said. With Zhikath. And that was the end of it. No chance. Absolute refusal. So, he's nowhere to be seen now, and he won't be. All the better; nothing worse for a party than a guy like W'chek, is there?
Ale and brandy and other fun drinks are sadly not to be imbibed. But hopefully, one can't get in trouble for just carrying a pint of ale around? So long as no one actually notices that it merely gets raised to lips for effect, and the liquid level never ever changes, it's as much a part of the costume as the ragged, tattered black-and-multigray clothing. The height and the build, and there's really only three guesses who this silent shadow could be. Though people familiar enough with the easy way a smile seems to hover about his mouth and crinkle the corners of dark brown eyes, might make an educated guess at K'ndro. Who is, at the moment, enjoying himself quietly in one of the shadows he's dressed as, trying to guess identities. For now.
One of those dancing girls, one of the lucky ones who pounced on the hand-me-down firelizard costume before her neighbor, breaks off to make a dive for the food tables, too, only to be intercepted by a hoop-skirted woman in various shades of blue who's apparently been watching from the side for much the very thing. While the girl gets a repeat lecture on no, not too much food, and no, she has only an hour because yes, she still has a bedtime, a second costumed woman winces to a third, "Better you than me." Number two? Another kitty, this one in black because there always has to be one of those, with kohl whiskers drawn in beneath her satin black mask and... /green/ ears atop her head, to match the /green/ sash of a tail. Number three, who shakes her head but otherwise doesn't say much of anything: dressed in a healer journeyman's garments, complete to the khaki pants, though surely Delifa never had such decolletage. But with the treat secured, and the lecture duly listened to, off bounces the girl again... threatening to knock into who-knows-whom as the woman in hoopskirts runs behind her. Gangway!
Some people have gone all out with their costumes. Tiriana is not one of these. Too vain to hide her identity, she remains easily recognizable, if certainly ornately attired for the occasion. But of course, as is usual these days, it's the dignitaries who first command her attention, a small coterie of Holder-blooded who are out to enjoy the freedom of the Weyr--all the moreso if their masks keep them from being recognized, at least to a small degree. As testimony to improving diplomatic skills, Tiriana doesn't much scowl at them, and doesn't even have to liquor herself up before exchanging a few pleasantries.
Holding her glass carefully close, the feline headwoman makes it over to the Weyrleader's elbow and leans in to murmur something to him, then draws back with a smile. "Happy turnover, Weyrleader," is what's audible, though the cant of Milani's head is just a little flirty. "Having fun yet?"
As the music continues and the crowd grows and the dance floor remains pretty well barren in that you-go-first-no-you-go-first way of things, one of the jovial, portly uncles starts working the crowd. Which is to say, he goes about the outskirts with a tray of small pastry-wrapped sausages, looking for people who seems uncertain or ill-at-ease to hand them to. Or even those who're just hungry.
"Yes, though I think you mean to say... cerebral?" Alex guesses when he has to explain the second time why he's not in-costume. "Could you just tell me--" But glitter-and-gauze is already sweeping off toward sparklier pastures, leaving him to ruin all efforts to comb his hair the way he scratches his head. "Can I-- excuse me-- stop please?" This to the portly man with the food, his smile brightening when he's able to divest the man of some sausages, regardless of the dark look the Starsmith receives for standing on the train of some woman's train. --Correction. Some /man's/ train.
Purple exchanges a family sort of kiss before the blonde in the feathered mask wanders back into the crowd and the one with the glass jeweled 'sash' is left to himself once more. Despite being alone, he still manages not to look awkward and his gaze is watching everything before him with open curiosity. Especially when someone passes by with drinks. He even takes one. But he just holds onto it. Life of the party, this one.
So, no W'chek. We've established no W'chek, right? That guy, the one in the peeling mask and the threadbare clothes, that is definitely not W'chek, because he's actually being sociable. Well, sort of. Not a lot of talking, anyway. But waves, claps on the shoulder, a thumbs-up to the pretty girl who brushes past and says, "Nice hat!" The first time he speaks after several minutes of milling about, it's wondering, and too few words to identify a voice with anyway--"Is that a *man*?"
Off to the side, some teenaged boys and a few girls have begun to chant, "Twen-ty! Twen-ty! Twen-ty!" ... at least until man-with-the-sausages has sufficiently supplied Alex and started to move on towards them, at which point the locusts descend and if people don't get lucky, that platter's going to be wiped clean in a matter of seconds. Or maybe they'll just be the ones getting lucky. That way.
With the harpers on stage, Rorkes has charge of the Reaches' contingent of players for the time being, as they cycle through upbeat songs, of the sort to encourage people to get to dancing. This early, when things are just trying to get underway, he still looks awkward, not yet settled into the night. Of course, it's somewhat hampering to also be trying to keep half an eye on one little girl in a paper mask, who seems to want to hover in Daddy's vicinity instead of running off to play ring-around-the-rosey with friends her own age.
Madilla? Yeah, at catching sight of 'Delifa', she lets out an outright peel of laughter, clapping one hand over her mouth to avoid /too/ many people looking at her as a result. K'del, in the meantime, looks positively delighted as Milani approaches, leaning across to rest a hand on her shoulder as he gets close enough to whisper something in her ear, in response. "And to you, also, Headwoman. I am! At least, I am /now/." But that's hardly true, since he's been smiling so warmly, all this time.
The shadow detaches himself from the corner, finally, after those moments of necessary observation. He moves carefully, trying to just steer clear entirely of some of the more... elabroate... costumes that look like they're in danger of either falling apart if someone breathes on them, or possibly of killing someone accidentally. He's heading towards the finger-food filled table, and very rarely there might be an 'excuse me' or 'pardon me' rumbled out in a baritone voice, but mostly he's trying not to talk. Because that would just give K'ndro away in about .3 seconds flat, and it's too fun right now to be anonymous.
Excusing herself from her present company, Tiriana starts to saunter the crowd, stopped here and there to chat with other people, compliment them on their outfits. She takes up a glass of wine from a server in the process, and continues on through until finds herself drawn to one very bright spot in the midst of paler colors. "Evening," she tells the young man in the dashing purple shirt. "Don't suppose you know the name of the weaver who got that particular color onto a shirt?"
Covetous Alex sees the fuss over the food and quickly fishes a handkerchief out of his pocket to keep his fingers de-greased; this has the added benefit of adding a copious amount of dust to the sausages, but that doesn't seem to bother him a great deal. Wallflower Alex gives someone, some girl who clearly has not made his acquaintance yet and is thus on her way over to chat-him-up, a terrified look and finds a conveniently empty patch of wall to occupy. When that same girl manages to track him down and opens up with what she thinks is a clever quip-- "Did you come to hold up the wall or to dance?" --she's subjected to a lengthy dissertation about how physics and not Alex himself is holding up the wall. Dazed, she leaves, and he eats.
Beaming up at K'del, Milani gives his shoulder a little pat. "Well good. Let me know if I can get you anything," the feline says in her best hostess voice and scans the party for a moment. "Looks like a good gathering. Lots of interesting costumes. "Have you started playing who's who yet?"
At least one of the people looking over at Madilla is 'Delifa' herself... once the green-eared kitty nudges her. She strikes a very instructor-ly pose, although was Delifa ever /this/ stern? and beckons over the girl in blue while mouthing: Food. Like K'ndro, she's not talking much, though she does give him a speculative nod when he heads toward where they've stationed themselves at the food tables too. Meanwhile, green-ears is making the rounds, this time making off with some little puffs of pastry filled with fruit and soft cheese, and /look/, she's found a short suave man to feed them to. Already.
Tight purple shirt looks down at his shirt, smooths his free hand over it slowly, "I don't actually. I wish I did, though. I'd love to talk to them myself." He sounds completely sincere, too. Maybe he likes purple. He looks back up and over the Weyrwoman slowly, appraisingly. "You're looking exceptionally lovely tonight," he tells her, just as sincere as his previous words.
"Not a /dragon/," says the person in question to not-W'chek, turning around, though the timbre of the voice may not help matters. He gets a long look from beneath unfairly long lashes. "Be a dear, get me a drink."
Tiriana's brow lifts slightly at the voice of Purple, but she doesn't declaim his identity yet if she recognizes it. "Well. If you find out, let me know. I might like a commission myself. --And thank you," is added at the end, as she pushes her loose hair back over her shoulders. "I don't get to be quite as... frivolous as some," not that she's that type anyway, but the cat-people sure do get a long look. "What with having to go to other parties. Fort, Nabol's..." Not that she sounds upset about a full day of parties, either, but.
K'del's hand doesn't linger, perfectly professional, and after his whispered comment, he draws back again. Warmly, "Certainly will, Headwoman, and thank you." Following the feline's gaze, he considers the warm, laughing. "Not much; seems like a bunch of people put an awful lot of effort into it, though. Impressed." 'Delifa's pose makes Madilla giggle even more, though she's managing to control herself as she approaches, and notes in a more or less 'normal' voice; "You should possibly smile a little more. At least at me. Or ask why I'm not spending more time doing fun, though, clearly, I am right now." And food. Which is definitely something of a draw. "Happy Turnover, though."
The one not-W'chek in the gold mask does stare. For just a moment. Lips move, words don't actually emerge. Then, one gloved finger held up--'one moment'--and he bolts... no, well, actually does something closer to sauntering over to where there are drinks, more gesturing--'that', 'two'. The first, he downs almost half of all at once. And then he's headed back, holding out the second drink. "Can I just say--wow." Hushed tones, though.
K'ndro is, above all else, young and male, with a young man's eye for a pretty figure. And when pretty figures are being displayed in certain intriguing manners, can he really be blamed for admiring them? Though he just might try to hide if he figures out who's actually behind that costume. Hello, nurse, indeed! What with his self-imposed muteness, she only gets a slow nod in return, a vague little tip of his glass, and then he's attempting to ease past towards a platter full of cheese.
Obligingly, 'Delifa' discovers a smile just for Madilla, a warm curve of her lips. She waits to speak until K'ndro's past, though, aided by a well-timed shift of her hips that makes for just those few inches' worth of room. More high-pitched than is her usual wont, a little more High Reaches in the intonation and about as low on the smokiness as she can get it, "Happy Turnover! Be sure to spend more time doing fun. Things." 'Delifa' is looking a little helpless before she musters herself. "Madilla. Do plenty of fun things, and afterwards I have herbs for you."
The good thing about all the bright-shiny-distractions is that no one is likely to notice when Alex disappears. Not literally or anything-- that would really throw his whole concept of science out of whack. Rather, after a few minutes of carefully avoiding anyone who looks like they might mistake him for social, he shoves the rest of his snack into his pocket (where it will be forgotten until he goes looking for his fancy duds again in another decade) and ducks into the lower caverns.