[M'try] And then there was a little dancing.
RL Date: 7/26/10
IC Date: 4/24/23 --Ends promptly at 5:00pm RL. ;)
Courtyard, Peyton Hold(#1080RJ)
Just your standard courtyard.
The misty rain that falls upon the Fort Area hasn't seemed to put much of a damper Peyton's gather, even if it is more lightly attended today than it otherwise might have been. The vending stalls are all set up, the harpers still play on the dais, there are tables and chairs set up around the perimeter of the dancing square, which has been left exposed to the elements and thus empty for the time being. Some enterprising soul has arranged for awnings to be erected over both dais and the perimeter, colored glows strung between them so it looks both festive and allows harpers and audience to remain dry. The vendors have had to fend for themselves, but they've managed together to come up with something between tenting and tarps so shoppers may stay dry.
Nissa has taken the morning's cancellation of drills to slip away from the Weyr and is here alone. She's dressed up, probably overly so for the daytime, in a simple but finely-sewn garment of topaz has a faint shimmer to the soft material, the shoulderless and low-cut, the bodice clings to torso and hips, while the skirt falls in a graceful sweep to whisper about her long calves. She's got her hair up in some sort of complicated twist that someone has probably helped her with but the rain has teased tendrils down her temples and the back of her neck, oh well. Presently she's wandering in aimless fashion amongst the stalls with no particular interest in any of them.
M'try's best duds probably don't care much for the rain, either, but-- being a guy-- his clothes weather the weather (ha ha) better than most of the slightly wilted-looking women that wander the stalls. There is perpetually a bit of business for him at Gathers like this, and he's just rounding the corner from one of the booths in the waaaaaay back, the ones out of the way so the delicate sensibilities of proper society won't be offended by their wares, slinging his portfolio over one shoulder so the strap hangs across his torso, the actual bulk of it bouncing on the side of his thigh with his steps. Peering through the drizzle, he just catches sight of one damp greenrider the next aisle over, picking up his steps so he will, presumably, be able to intercept her at an intersection, jogging to make up the difference in distance.
And while M'try is jogging along, someone has decided the woman on her own absolutely must have an escort or is looking for one. Just how Nissa managed to give that impression to the man who has stepped in front of her, she has no clue, for she hasn't really been making eye contact with anyone. There's a brief discussion, she's shaking her head no, at the same time trying to disengage her arm from the fingers wrapped around her upper arm. It's a subtle tug-of-war going on, she's not in the mood to create a scene but in a minute she's going to if he doesn't let go and quit smirking at her.
Being that he practically has a glowing neon sign over his head that says 'bookworm, please ignore me,' M'try generally doesn't set off anyone's alarm bells when he approaches them. Instead, he's gotten all the way to the point of tapping the, er, gentleman on the shoulder with a politely alerting clear of his throat, explaining at his most polite, "Pardon me. I don't mean to intrude, but we're actually here together--" And he's perfectly braced to ignore any snickering that her being here with the likes of him is liable to incite. "--so will you excuse us? Thank you." There's a brief glance aside in the middle of this, an 'are you okay' lift of brows to Vanissa.
Vanissa's in the process of peeling those fingers off her arm one at a time and her Neratian twang thick with the under-her-breath string of cussing that goes with it because, yes, she's that irate at the moment. Her cheeks are flushed, eyes snapping, but she's keeping her face pleasant even while she's promising all manner of unpleasant and painful things she's going to do if he doesn't buzz off, so the 'gentleman' is indeed snickering when M'try taps his shoulder. There's a back and forth sort of look between the pair and he lets go the greenrider's arm with a shrug. His only reply is, "If you can survive her? You're welcome to her." Shoves both hands in his pockets and takes his leave. Nissa, resists planting a foot to his retreating backside, turns instead to the brownrider with a half-smile, "Thanks for that, M'try. I didn't expect to see ya here."
"Thank you for the goodwill, sir, enjoy the party." M'try sends the 'gentleman' off with a pleasant seeming smile, though there is a particular flatness to his expression while he looks after the man's retreat for a few extra seconds, now turning to Vanissa with an elbow extended. "I didn't expect to see you here, either, though I admit to attending every Gather that I can. Business, generally, though I enjoy music and frippery as much as the next person. Should we find a stall with a nice awning where we can drip-dry?" As if the whole interlude of Vanissa being manhandled never happened at all.
It's Nissa. She has neither M'try's wit nor his aplomb and thus has to laugh at his oh-so-polite send-off to the bothersome fella. She turns almost as soon as the man is out of booting range with something regret that she didn't give in to that impulse, but she's behaving, lesigh. Slipping her hand into the crook of his elbow, she twinkles a look at him, "Oh do ya? I'll admit I've gone to few of them this season." And here there's a feigned sniff of disappointment while reaching out to test the misty rain with an upturned palm, "No one's asked me. But oh, if you like music, the tables are under cover if you'd like to sit for awhile?"
M'try, lightly, "I do. If nothing else, you may blame my continued attendance on the Harper in me that feels obligated to at least put in an appearance." His crowd navigation skills are still honed, at least, and he leads through the people coming and going to find his way toward those tables without jostling or being jostled, his head ducked just slightly in a natural response to the drizzle. "You look lovely, by the way. The water seems to be generally forgiving to your ensemble. If it clears up, we'll have to try dancing?" As much a 'do you want to' as anything.
Just as lightly in return, "The... harper in you, hmm? The part that doesn't sing but likes music?" As they thread their way through the crowd towards those tables, she's watching him rather than where she's walking, trusting him to steer her and not minding in the least the way the mist beads her lashes and hair. To his compliment, her reply is a breezy, "Thank you, M'try and I don't think I've seen you look so... " she could say well-dressed, but instead with an impish up-twist to the corners of her mouth she finishes, "unpainted." She squints a look at the sky, "What's wrong with dancing in the rain?"
With a mild laugh, M'try points out, "There is a certain level of indoctrination that comes with being a Harper. Whether or not a person has any talent for music, it would be impossible not to develop some fondness for it when one is immersed in it. For nearly twenty years." With unusual, playful vanity, he answers her 'unpainted' compliment like it was far higher praise; "Yes, I do clean up nicely, don't I. Alas, I find that velvet and watercolors simply do not play nicely together, and the idea of shaving every day is appalling." His only answer to her latter question is to reach up and, with a tug of one hand through his hair, wring out some of the water there.
Ah, then he took it as she meant it! Seriously, with a look flicked to his gather-wear and back up to him, "Yes ya do, M'try." And fast on the heels of that Nissa laughs and shakes her head, "Surely ya won't melt? And if it doesn't clear up, I shall be sorely disappointed for I have no clue when you'll make such an invitation again. I think..." And here she half-closes her eyes, does some mental calculations, "...yes. This is the first gather I've seen you at, I may never see you at another."
M'try has found them a spot at the edge of the tables, under the awning but not in among the throngs of people all pressed around tables to be in out of the rain. There's nowhere to sit, true, but it's safe enough to stand and talk, him with his hand dropping just to the small of Vanissa's back, providing a sort of zone in which she can exist without the possibility of getting jostled. One might almost suspect he's ushered quite a few women around Gathers in his day, surprise surprise. "I had no idea you were so eager to dance with me, Vanissa, or else I would have made sure to offer before now. How is this for a compromise: if the weather does not clear up here at Peyton, I promise I will extend the invitation at another Gather. Midsummer is usually fair, after all."
It might surprise some. Nissa appears unquestioning with the space he provides and if not surprised by it, she is at least appreciative. "There's a lot-" she shakes her head, striving for lightness in her tone, "Maybe I'd like to do something other than wreck your day? So if dancing would suffice?" She wrinkles her nose at the rain, but says graciously enough, "If I'm at said gathers, I'd be happy to dance with ya then, although one doesn't need harpers or a gather to dance, ya know." The music played is muted by the crowd's noise, difficult to hear with the light patter of rain on the canopy above them.
"Granted," M'try says with a dip of his head into the word, agreeing with her comments in a way that reserves the right to beg to differ. "I find, however, that it's much easier to keep time when there's music. I'm good with the steps, though not quite inventive enough to do without the tunes." As to wrecking his day... His palm flattens a little more snugly to the small of Vanissa's back, the slight pressure of his fingers meant to be reassuring. "I manage that entirely on my own, Nissa. I'm not sure which particular day we're discussing, but /you/ have ruined none of them."
"I can sing. And not just T'rev's bawdies, either," Nissa reminds as she turns back to him from her idle study of those poor, damp harpers over there. With a half-smile that turns a little sad, "You've never danced under the stars to the music of the night birds' and the cadence of the insects while the moons set the dew on the meadow to diamonds underfoot, have ya?" The look in her eyes says that clearly she thinks he's missed out and that she hasn't a glimmer of hope that she can ever so move him to try it. A sigh escapes her lips, little reassured by his hand, "I was talkin' about the day on the island."
Though he will borrow a small smile at the thought she's conjured, M'try still has to look out from under the awning at the sogginess of the Gather and its Harpers to answer truthfully, "I have never, you're right. All of my dancing has been safely confined to squares whose sole purpose is dedicated to such." His forehead lowers to indicate the mostly abandoned dance square at Peyton, as an example. "You didn't ruin anything, Nissa, and the only lasting token of that day is the fact that the hair on my arm--" Burned. "--hasn't yet grown back, which is not at all your fault."
To that rainslick square, "Safety ain't all it's cracked up to be." Nissa's gaze meanders over the crowd and back to him with a lopsided smile, "Ah, but I did. And I know ya weren't happy with the fire, but what I did..." She shrugs, struggles with the phrasing, finally sums up her entire summation of it, "It sorta threw ya." The press of the crowd, the closeness under the awning, the gloomy day certainly seems to be getting to her as she casts increasingly uneasy glances to the surrounds. "I... shouldn't have come. I dunno why I did."
Safety isn't true, but-- "Neither is recklessness." M'try says it with a laugh, willing someone to slip on the muddy track leading to the dance square. No one does, alas, so he looks back to Vanissa, his eyes light with humor, though it starts to fade by the time he recognizes the change occurring in his companion. "Because, if the weather does break, it should turn out to be a fine Gather? Because you have a nice dress and you look nice in it, and this is a good excuse to wear it?" he offers helpfully.
"Ain't reckless to dance on a moonlit meadow?" Nissa, either having forgotten the dancing square entirely or was not referring to it all in that statement about safety. Of course she has to add right away with a quiet snigger, "Unless your younger brother forgot to stable the bull for the night." Right. He's not talking about the island, which confirms her sentiments on the ill-fated day. So she leaves that topic to glance down at herself dubiously, "Thanks? But I came to dance. And as I only put up with crowds for that reason..." She shrugs restlessly.
"Though I have no younger brother," M'try begins, clearing his throat after the widening of his eyes, "that perfectly exemplifies the sorts of mishaps that would be certain to befall me." He who lights himself on fire and falls down in the mud and so on and so forth. "I'm sorry," he adds suddenly after her latter comment, his hand coming away from her back now to be offered out, palm up toward the greenrider. "I didn't know that was the only reason that you were here. In that case. Though I'm fairly sure I can find some way to make a disaster of it, given long enough, shall we dance, Nissa?"
He /lit himself on fire/? And she MISSED it!!! "To be fair," Nissa smirks, "It only happened the once; I was careful to check the stable myself ever after before dancing. One learns much from near-disasters. I still dance under the stars when the mood strikes, while the tropical beaches must pine in vain for your return." But now, though her hand lifts to rest in his, there's uncertainty in the look she sends the nearly empty square. "Are ya that accident-prone, M'try? I ain't certain I'm so eager to dance on slippery stone if it comes to that. Because then, you'll never ever again dance at a gather. Or you'll decide I'm just bad luck and avoid me altogether." She's half serious in the offer: "We could go back to your place and dance where there's no audience to see you if you do trip?"
Accident prone, she says, and M'try takes a breath like he's got a quick answer for that. But then-- "Generally speaking, no. Only that, somehow, I've managed to make an utter fool of myself every time I've spoken to or done anything nearby you in recent memory. Assuming that things are going to continue along that path..." Her offer makes him laugh while he's starting out from under the safety of the awning, intending to draw Vanissa along with him by the held hand. "You would see it, and that's really my primary concern."
"Utter fool?" This prompts a blink and a stare from the greenrider, who reluctantly now, allows herself to be drawn along with him into the square. The rain, while wet, at least isn't the drizzly stuff it was, more like a gentle mist now. "Does it help to know I don't think ya sound or look like one?" Her tone is completely sincere if a little baffled, the stones underfoot given another long look before she sends him a rather beseeching look, "You... could blindfold me? Because seriously, I don't wanna injure ya or have a buncha people laughing if you do and it'll be all my fault and..." And Nissa's chattering nervously now.
"First," M'try begins with a laugh, managing his way across the lawn through the mist with no mishaps, which bodes well, "I'm going to pretend you didn't just offer that." With the blindfold. Though why he insists on assuming Vanissa's going to follow his train(wreck) of thought... "Second, I will make every effort to keep to my feet, Nissa. As you said, you came to dance, so we should really do so." The number of people in the square is pretty small, most still huddled under the awnings, but there are a brave few damp souls out there by now, at least, so it won't be all-eyes-on-them.
All-eyes-on has never concerned Nissa in the slightest, but now she's worried about his dignity, so there's that. Her brows knit, "What? Why's that? It wouldn't help ya?" As usual, she's not following him there, nope, even though the offer was made half in jest. Her free hand drops the skirt she's lifted for that lawn crossing and she waves the topic away, her cheeks tinged pink, "Never mind. It's probably best I don't ask." Now that they're out of the crowd she seems to be having an easier time with her breathing and the musicians, thankfully, are playing the slower numbers rather than the fast, rowdy up-tempo stuff that could kill M'try, the type she usually dances. She warns him, "I'm, not very good at the slow (which sums up her life nicely, too by the way)."
Just to be amply metaphorical, M'try answers mildly, "I'm not very good at the fast, so, between the two of us, perhaps we'll manage." For all his worry over stumbling and killing himself (or Vanissa), the brownrider knows enough about dancing-- at least the mechanics of it-- to bring his partner up to the floor and into an appropriate starting pose without likely causing harm to either of them. It is the sort of thing one would expect a promising apprentice to have learned, after all.
Vanissa's had the basics in weyrlinghood etiquette class, probably danced these a few times, so though she's rusty, she knows at least to face him and wait for the music to start, meanwhile lifting a hand hesitantly to hover halfway to his shoulder, sending a sidelong glance at a nearby couple to see which one this is. Does she leave her other hand in his or place both on his shoulders? Back to him she lifts her chin, "As long as ya don't regret it later? Cos that's the part that eats at me, M'try. I don't much care if I mess up, most the time."
Regardless of what /they/ do, M'try does things classically. He holds a hand at the curve of Vanissa's waist, the other folded around her palm, expecting she can figure out to put her own fingers to his shoulder from there, and he leads into the first steps with just enough fluidity that it's clear he must at least marginally enjoy the act for all he does it by-the-book. "I promise not to," he assures, finding the steps easily despite the damp.
While he does things by the book, it's this copy-cat tendency that Nissa's employed to skate through most of her social learning at the Weyr. She's quick enough to find his shoulder as they move and able to follow his steps with graceful ease. She's moving and out from under that oppressive crowded tarp and thus able to relax, smiling once more. "Do you? Even if you break your neck and I must come visit you in the infirmary for the next whoever knows how long?"
"At least I've been smart enough to make friends with a Healer, so I might have someone who cared enough not to just lace me with fellis and let me sleep it off?" M'try suggests with a small smile, his own acknowledgement of that self-inflicted cold comfort. "But it's nice of you to offer to visit me while I'm infirm." At the very least, dancing for a while means he won't have to try to do anything more clever to keep her engaged? Takes some of the pressure off?
Why he thinks Nissa, of all people needs clever to be engaged... "You'd rather not sleep it off? Now see, if it were me, I totally would. Because the infirmary... is boring. Unless there's someone in there fainting and crying about being stitched up. I'd come for more than just the entertainment alone, though. I ain't just bein' nice. I'd miss ya." At least it's a tame sort of activity, even if there is that bit of a dangerous element (rain!) thrown in.
IC Date: 4/24/23 --Ends promptly at 5:00pm RL. ;)
Courtyard, Peyton Hold(#1080RJ)
Just your standard courtyard.
The misty rain that falls upon the Fort Area hasn't seemed to put much of a damper Peyton's gather, even if it is more lightly attended today than it otherwise might have been. The vending stalls are all set up, the harpers still play on the dais, there are tables and chairs set up around the perimeter of the dancing square, which has been left exposed to the elements and thus empty for the time being. Some enterprising soul has arranged for awnings to be erected over both dais and the perimeter, colored glows strung between them so it looks both festive and allows harpers and audience to remain dry. The vendors have had to fend for themselves, but they've managed together to come up with something between tenting and tarps so shoppers may stay dry.
Nissa has taken the morning's cancellation of drills to slip away from the Weyr and is here alone. She's dressed up, probably overly so for the daytime, in a simple but finely-sewn garment of topaz has a faint shimmer to the soft material, the shoulderless and low-cut, the bodice clings to torso and hips, while the skirt falls in a graceful sweep to whisper about her long calves. She's got her hair up in some sort of complicated twist that someone has probably helped her with but the rain has teased tendrils down her temples and the back of her neck, oh well. Presently she's wandering in aimless fashion amongst the stalls with no particular interest in any of them.
M'try's best duds probably don't care much for the rain, either, but-- being a guy-- his clothes weather the weather (ha ha) better than most of the slightly wilted-looking women that wander the stalls. There is perpetually a bit of business for him at Gathers like this, and he's just rounding the corner from one of the booths in the waaaaaay back, the ones out of the way so the delicate sensibilities of proper society won't be offended by their wares, slinging his portfolio over one shoulder so the strap hangs across his torso, the actual bulk of it bouncing on the side of his thigh with his steps. Peering through the drizzle, he just catches sight of one damp greenrider the next aisle over, picking up his steps so he will, presumably, be able to intercept her at an intersection, jogging to make up the difference in distance.
And while M'try is jogging along, someone has decided the woman on her own absolutely must have an escort or is looking for one. Just how Nissa managed to give that impression to the man who has stepped in front of her, she has no clue, for she hasn't really been making eye contact with anyone. There's a brief discussion, she's shaking her head no, at the same time trying to disengage her arm from the fingers wrapped around her upper arm. It's a subtle tug-of-war going on, she's not in the mood to create a scene but in a minute she's going to if he doesn't let go and quit smirking at her.
Being that he practically has a glowing neon sign over his head that says 'bookworm, please ignore me,' M'try generally doesn't set off anyone's alarm bells when he approaches them. Instead, he's gotten all the way to the point of tapping the, er, gentleman on the shoulder with a politely alerting clear of his throat, explaining at his most polite, "Pardon me. I don't mean to intrude, but we're actually here together--" And he's perfectly braced to ignore any snickering that her being here with the likes of him is liable to incite. "--so will you excuse us? Thank you." There's a brief glance aside in the middle of this, an 'are you okay' lift of brows to Vanissa.
Vanissa's in the process of peeling those fingers off her arm one at a time and her Neratian twang thick with the under-her-breath string of cussing that goes with it because, yes, she's that irate at the moment. Her cheeks are flushed, eyes snapping, but she's keeping her face pleasant even while she's promising all manner of unpleasant and painful things she's going to do if he doesn't buzz off, so the 'gentleman' is indeed snickering when M'try taps his shoulder. There's a back and forth sort of look between the pair and he lets go the greenrider's arm with a shrug. His only reply is, "If you can survive her? You're welcome to her." Shoves both hands in his pockets and takes his leave. Nissa, resists planting a foot to his retreating backside, turns instead to the brownrider with a half-smile, "Thanks for that, M'try. I didn't expect to see ya here."
"Thank you for the goodwill, sir, enjoy the party." M'try sends the 'gentleman' off with a pleasant seeming smile, though there is a particular flatness to his expression while he looks after the man's retreat for a few extra seconds, now turning to Vanissa with an elbow extended. "I didn't expect to see you here, either, though I admit to attending every Gather that I can. Business, generally, though I enjoy music and frippery as much as the next person. Should we find a stall with a nice awning where we can drip-dry?" As if the whole interlude of Vanissa being manhandled never happened at all.
It's Nissa. She has neither M'try's wit nor his aplomb and thus has to laugh at his oh-so-polite send-off to the bothersome fella. She turns almost as soon as the man is out of booting range with something regret that she didn't give in to that impulse, but she's behaving, lesigh. Slipping her hand into the crook of his elbow, she twinkles a look at him, "Oh do ya? I'll admit I've gone to few of them this season." And here there's a feigned sniff of disappointment while reaching out to test the misty rain with an upturned palm, "No one's asked me. But oh, if you like music, the tables are under cover if you'd like to sit for awhile?"
M'try, lightly, "I do. If nothing else, you may blame my continued attendance on the Harper in me that feels obligated to at least put in an appearance." His crowd navigation skills are still honed, at least, and he leads through the people coming and going to find his way toward those tables without jostling or being jostled, his head ducked just slightly in a natural response to the drizzle. "You look lovely, by the way. The water seems to be generally forgiving to your ensemble. If it clears up, we'll have to try dancing?" As much a 'do you want to' as anything.
Just as lightly in return, "The... harper in you, hmm? The part that doesn't sing but likes music?" As they thread their way through the crowd towards those tables, she's watching him rather than where she's walking, trusting him to steer her and not minding in the least the way the mist beads her lashes and hair. To his compliment, her reply is a breezy, "Thank you, M'try and I don't think I've seen you look so... " she could say well-dressed, but instead with an impish up-twist to the corners of her mouth she finishes, "unpainted." She squints a look at the sky, "What's wrong with dancing in the rain?"
With a mild laugh, M'try points out, "There is a certain level of indoctrination that comes with being a Harper. Whether or not a person has any talent for music, it would be impossible not to develop some fondness for it when one is immersed in it. For nearly twenty years." With unusual, playful vanity, he answers her 'unpainted' compliment like it was far higher praise; "Yes, I do clean up nicely, don't I. Alas, I find that velvet and watercolors simply do not play nicely together, and the idea of shaving every day is appalling." His only answer to her latter question is to reach up and, with a tug of one hand through his hair, wring out some of the water there.
Ah, then he took it as she meant it! Seriously, with a look flicked to his gather-wear and back up to him, "Yes ya do, M'try." And fast on the heels of that Nissa laughs and shakes her head, "Surely ya won't melt? And if it doesn't clear up, I shall be sorely disappointed for I have no clue when you'll make such an invitation again. I think..." And here she half-closes her eyes, does some mental calculations, "...yes. This is the first gather I've seen you at, I may never see you at another."
M'try has found them a spot at the edge of the tables, under the awning but not in among the throngs of people all pressed around tables to be in out of the rain. There's nowhere to sit, true, but it's safe enough to stand and talk, him with his hand dropping just to the small of Vanissa's back, providing a sort of zone in which she can exist without the possibility of getting jostled. One might almost suspect he's ushered quite a few women around Gathers in his day, surprise surprise. "I had no idea you were so eager to dance with me, Vanissa, or else I would have made sure to offer before now. How is this for a compromise: if the weather does not clear up here at Peyton, I promise I will extend the invitation at another Gather. Midsummer is usually fair, after all."
It might surprise some. Nissa appears unquestioning with the space he provides and if not surprised by it, she is at least appreciative. "There's a lot-" she shakes her head, striving for lightness in her tone, "Maybe I'd like to do something other than wreck your day? So if dancing would suffice?" She wrinkles her nose at the rain, but says graciously enough, "If I'm at said gathers, I'd be happy to dance with ya then, although one doesn't need harpers or a gather to dance, ya know." The music played is muted by the crowd's noise, difficult to hear with the light patter of rain on the canopy above them.
"Granted," M'try says with a dip of his head into the word, agreeing with her comments in a way that reserves the right to beg to differ. "I find, however, that it's much easier to keep time when there's music. I'm good with the steps, though not quite inventive enough to do without the tunes." As to wrecking his day... His palm flattens a little more snugly to the small of Vanissa's back, the slight pressure of his fingers meant to be reassuring. "I manage that entirely on my own, Nissa. I'm not sure which particular day we're discussing, but /you/ have ruined none of them."
"I can sing. And not just T'rev's bawdies, either," Nissa reminds as she turns back to him from her idle study of those poor, damp harpers over there. With a half-smile that turns a little sad, "You've never danced under the stars to the music of the night birds' and the cadence of the insects while the moons set the dew on the meadow to diamonds underfoot, have ya?" The look in her eyes says that clearly she thinks he's missed out and that she hasn't a glimmer of hope that she can ever so move him to try it. A sigh escapes her lips, little reassured by his hand, "I was talkin' about the day on the island."
Though he will borrow a small smile at the thought she's conjured, M'try still has to look out from under the awning at the sogginess of the Gather and its Harpers to answer truthfully, "I have never, you're right. All of my dancing has been safely confined to squares whose sole purpose is dedicated to such." His forehead lowers to indicate the mostly abandoned dance square at Peyton, as an example. "You didn't ruin anything, Nissa, and the only lasting token of that day is the fact that the hair on my arm--" Burned. "--hasn't yet grown back, which is not at all your fault."
To that rainslick square, "Safety ain't all it's cracked up to be." Nissa's gaze meanders over the crowd and back to him with a lopsided smile, "Ah, but I did. And I know ya weren't happy with the fire, but what I did..." She shrugs, struggles with the phrasing, finally sums up her entire summation of it, "It sorta threw ya." The press of the crowd, the closeness under the awning, the gloomy day certainly seems to be getting to her as she casts increasingly uneasy glances to the surrounds. "I... shouldn't have come. I dunno why I did."
Safety isn't true, but-- "Neither is recklessness." M'try says it with a laugh, willing someone to slip on the muddy track leading to the dance square. No one does, alas, so he looks back to Vanissa, his eyes light with humor, though it starts to fade by the time he recognizes the change occurring in his companion. "Because, if the weather does break, it should turn out to be a fine Gather? Because you have a nice dress and you look nice in it, and this is a good excuse to wear it?" he offers helpfully.
"Ain't reckless to dance on a moonlit meadow?" Nissa, either having forgotten the dancing square entirely or was not referring to it all in that statement about safety. Of course she has to add right away with a quiet snigger, "Unless your younger brother forgot to stable the bull for the night." Right. He's not talking about the island, which confirms her sentiments on the ill-fated day. So she leaves that topic to glance down at herself dubiously, "Thanks? But I came to dance. And as I only put up with crowds for that reason..." She shrugs restlessly.
"Though I have no younger brother," M'try begins, clearing his throat after the widening of his eyes, "that perfectly exemplifies the sorts of mishaps that would be certain to befall me." He who lights himself on fire and falls down in the mud and so on and so forth. "I'm sorry," he adds suddenly after her latter comment, his hand coming away from her back now to be offered out, palm up toward the greenrider. "I didn't know that was the only reason that you were here. In that case. Though I'm fairly sure I can find some way to make a disaster of it, given long enough, shall we dance, Nissa?"
He /lit himself on fire/? And she MISSED it!!! "To be fair," Nissa smirks, "It only happened the once; I was careful to check the stable myself ever after before dancing. One learns much from near-disasters. I still dance under the stars when the mood strikes, while the tropical beaches must pine in vain for your return." But now, though her hand lifts to rest in his, there's uncertainty in the look she sends the nearly empty square. "Are ya that accident-prone, M'try? I ain't certain I'm so eager to dance on slippery stone if it comes to that. Because then, you'll never ever again dance at a gather. Or you'll decide I'm just bad luck and avoid me altogether." She's half serious in the offer: "We could go back to your place and dance where there's no audience to see you if you do trip?"
Accident prone, she says, and M'try takes a breath like he's got a quick answer for that. But then-- "Generally speaking, no. Only that, somehow, I've managed to make an utter fool of myself every time I've spoken to or done anything nearby you in recent memory. Assuming that things are going to continue along that path..." Her offer makes him laugh while he's starting out from under the safety of the awning, intending to draw Vanissa along with him by the held hand. "You would see it, and that's really my primary concern."
"Utter fool?" This prompts a blink and a stare from the greenrider, who reluctantly now, allows herself to be drawn along with him into the square. The rain, while wet, at least isn't the drizzly stuff it was, more like a gentle mist now. "Does it help to know I don't think ya sound or look like one?" Her tone is completely sincere if a little baffled, the stones underfoot given another long look before she sends him a rather beseeching look, "You... could blindfold me? Because seriously, I don't wanna injure ya or have a buncha people laughing if you do and it'll be all my fault and..." And Nissa's chattering nervously now.
"First," M'try begins with a laugh, managing his way across the lawn through the mist with no mishaps, which bodes well, "I'm going to pretend you didn't just offer that." With the blindfold. Though why he insists on assuming Vanissa's going to follow his train(wreck) of thought... "Second, I will make every effort to keep to my feet, Nissa. As you said, you came to dance, so we should really do so." The number of people in the square is pretty small, most still huddled under the awnings, but there are a brave few damp souls out there by now, at least, so it won't be all-eyes-on-them.
All-eyes-on has never concerned Nissa in the slightest, but now she's worried about his dignity, so there's that. Her brows knit, "What? Why's that? It wouldn't help ya?" As usual, she's not following him there, nope, even though the offer was made half in jest. Her free hand drops the skirt she's lifted for that lawn crossing and she waves the topic away, her cheeks tinged pink, "Never mind. It's probably best I don't ask." Now that they're out of the crowd she seems to be having an easier time with her breathing and the musicians, thankfully, are playing the slower numbers rather than the fast, rowdy up-tempo stuff that could kill M'try, the type she usually dances. She warns him, "I'm, not very good at the slow (which sums up her life nicely, too by the way)."
Just to be amply metaphorical, M'try answers mildly, "I'm not very good at the fast, so, between the two of us, perhaps we'll manage." For all his worry over stumbling and killing himself (or Vanissa), the brownrider knows enough about dancing-- at least the mechanics of it-- to bring his partner up to the floor and into an appropriate starting pose without likely causing harm to either of them. It is the sort of thing one would expect a promising apprentice to have learned, after all.
Vanissa's had the basics in weyrlinghood etiquette class, probably danced these a few times, so though she's rusty, she knows at least to face him and wait for the music to start, meanwhile lifting a hand hesitantly to hover halfway to his shoulder, sending a sidelong glance at a nearby couple to see which one this is. Does she leave her other hand in his or place both on his shoulders? Back to him she lifts her chin, "As long as ya don't regret it later? Cos that's the part that eats at me, M'try. I don't much care if I mess up, most the time."
Regardless of what /they/ do, M'try does things classically. He holds a hand at the curve of Vanissa's waist, the other folded around her palm, expecting she can figure out to put her own fingers to his shoulder from there, and he leads into the first steps with just enough fluidity that it's clear he must at least marginally enjoy the act for all he does it by-the-book. "I promise not to," he assures, finding the steps easily despite the damp.
While he does things by the book, it's this copy-cat tendency that Nissa's employed to skate through most of her social learning at the Weyr. She's quick enough to find his shoulder as they move and able to follow his steps with graceful ease. She's moving and out from under that oppressive crowded tarp and thus able to relax, smiling once more. "Do you? Even if you break your neck and I must come visit you in the infirmary for the next whoever knows how long?"
"At least I've been smart enough to make friends with a Healer, so I might have someone who cared enough not to just lace me with fellis and let me sleep it off?" M'try suggests with a small smile, his own acknowledgement of that self-inflicted cold comfort. "But it's nice of you to offer to visit me while I'm infirm." At the very least, dancing for a while means he won't have to try to do anything more clever to keep her engaged? Takes some of the pressure off?
Why he thinks Nissa, of all people needs clever to be engaged... "You'd rather not sleep it off? Now see, if it were me, I totally would. Because the infirmary... is boring. Unless there's someone in there fainting and crying about being stitched up. I'd come for more than just the entertainment alone, though. I ain't just bein' nice. I'd miss ya." At least it's a tame sort of activity, even if there is that bit of a dangerous element (rain!) thrown in.