Clutching feast.
RL Date: 2/19/08
IC Date: 6/11/15
Not that weyrfolk need an excuse to celebrate, but it's always nice to have one! Nineteen eggs later, a day of hard-core cooking has ended with one heckuva spread in the living cavern, a feast to tempt every palate-- from buttered vegetables to succulent roasts to soft breads to heaped pies. Of course, of course, the wine cellar has been bled dry; kegs and wineskins fill whatever recess isn't already piled with food. Now that word's gotten out that Teonath is most assuredly done with her day-long ordeal, people arrive in clusters and clumps to eat and gossip.
Party? Party going on here? Vivy is willing to take any opportunity to enjoy herself and the tempting scents draw her in. Managing to sashay her way through the throng of residents who all have the same idea and are all in the same mood, she gaily giggles at an inane comment made by one of fellow seamstresses. "No, I don't think that the eggs would appreciate bassinets."
Having managed to avoid the sands and galleries all day, Satiet emerges shortly after word has gotten out that Teonath's 'most assuredly done.' Dressed warmer than the spring weather might call for, the white-clad weyrwoman makes her way in from the lower caverns, thong sandals clattering noisily. A pause here to converse with this woman, a halt there to point out details of the spread that don't quite come up to par, Satiet's meandering path leaves suggestions and directives in her wake until finally some smart woman shoves a glass of bubbly into the goldrider's hand. "Egg bassinets?" she inquires, blinking pale eyes at a nearby Viviana.
N'thei gives his vest a tug, gives his fresh shave a swipe with his fingers, deigns to grace the cavern with his presence. After having barely showed up to pop his head in to the galleries, he's among the first to show up at the party, all clean and crisp. Of course, now he suffers the so-called honor of shaking hands with a half-dozen people who insist on congratulating him for all nineteen eggs as if it were his doing. "--yes, thank you. I think I see the weyrwoman just there, why don't you make sure to congratulate her as well?" It's as good a deflection as any.
Niena is recently bathed and her dress is as clean as it gets; no new stains at least. She is not going out of her way to be noticed, though she does get into the line for the desserts.
With a smile put upon her face, Shan works her way into the venue of celebration along the outskirts of the crowd. Scooping up a glass along the way, she's waylaid by F'der, Icicle's wingleader. Whatever he says draws an honest grin from the weyrsecond, "You can collect tomorrow," likely having lost some or other bet she had with the man. Moving off shortly with a wink for him and amusement playing about her mouth she's quite content to people watch at this point, eyes skipping across those present.
Milani nods a couple of times to the kitchen-worker she's standing alongside of and relieves the other girl of a platter. "Here, I'll take care of it for you. Go on, go, hide." And she makes big eyes as Satiet does her meandering rounds, then pastes on a cheery smile and steers over to a table where a big bare spot is just begging for that platter of hors d'oeuvres she's carrying.
Viviana grins easily, answering a quick response before taking a good look as to who is speaking. "With sisal linings and ribbons. It was meant as a jo..." Oh! Taking a second look and a long one at Satiet, she blushes. "Ma'am, just passing the time, when were working on some tablecloths, is all." Looking over the room, she waves gaily to someone in a corner. "Well, look who pulled themselves out of their cavern...I must chat with her..." And she tries to scurry off.
Satiet looks a little absently at Viviana, the thought of egg bassinets fleeting in her thoughts despite her voiced inquiry. "A joke, right, sure." If Viviana aims to scurry away, the raven-haired woman's not in any state to stop her, as a wave of people seem to be headed her way. A good deflection, or just a death wish; it's unclear what N'thei's tactics might result in, but as her avoidance of such hostess duties comes to an end, Satiet's distracted features briefly freeze into pained before the effusive praise of such-and-such compels the well-practiced goldrider into faking a thin smile. "She /did/ do a magnificent job for an Interval. Truly. I'm sure the Weyrsecond would love to hear more of such praise for our Weyr I'm afraid, I-..." She doesn't even complete the excuse before she's scuttling closer to where Milani's placed the hors d'oeuvres.
A cluster of teenage girls come in from the bowl, their conversation enthused and a banter of sorts rising from other chatter: "That medium grey one, that one, Josilina would never have allowed that kind of egg on the sands, let alone two! But I did like it a little. It was all solitary, sort of lonesome." - "That's only because you like the tall, dark, mysteriously brooding type, Jiaye. I liked how striking the ice blue one looked like."
Milani settles the platter down carefully and with nimble fingers, rights a single tiny cheese pie that's tilted on its side so it matches all of its upright companions. "There we are," she murmurs softly and straightens, picking up a napkin to brush any lingering butteriness off her fingers before she smooths out the skirts of her very fine dress. This means she sees Satiet coming and she hurriedly pats at her hair. "Good evening, Weyrwoman," she says with her best polite-company voice.
N'thei claps a hand on the shoulder of some well-wisher with the added benefit of scooting him aside, of opening a channel between the weyrleader and the people-watching Shanlee. It's easier, once he swipes an ale-mug off a tray, to avoid the pitfalls of congratulatory small-talk by pretending to drink; in this way, he makes it toward the weyrsecond with minimal delay. "Pretty girls in frilly dresses, enough beer to drown in; this is really the reason I agreed to let you drag me off here in the first place. --What are we drinking?" He peers at her glass, not at her dress.
Shanlee's unable to hear Satiet's words but isn't able to miss the person she spoke them to, making a beeline for her. Mouth to glass, wine down throat, fortified, she arranges a pleasant enough smile and listens patiently while the speaker expounds the virtues of the queen, the bronze and the eggs lying out on the sands, offering a nod here and there. Desperation colors her expression briefly as its her arm next this one of many words seeks to grab and hold onto, likely sensing her on point of fleeing. Stepping back out of range, there's a hasty, "I'm sure the Weyr thanks you for your kind words. However, it appears I'm needed....Oh." relief paints clearly as N'thei appears, although confusion shows up next, "Let me drag you here?"
It becomes quickly apparent from the distraction with which Satiet greets Milani with that most of the weyrwoman's attention is focused on avoiding the hive-minded crowd now in search of the Weyrsecond. The slight woman hovers behind a tower of fruit and then slips closer to Milani and the pyramid pastry tray of cheese pies before she even offers words in return that are far from a greeting. Apologetic, her back turned to the living cavern, she looks rueful to the assistant headwoman, "Tell me when they're out of sight, please?" A beat. "Nice spread. Good job. Nice dress." As if her request might need compliments to buy the young woman's agreement in subterfuge.
The cluster of girls make their way to the dessert spread near Niena, pausing to give the nanny a once over. "Did you get to see any of the eggs get clutched?" asks one girl, a tall, fair-skinned blonde, flashing a quick smile to the other girl. "I tried to get in just to see one, but she was being ornery or something. I heard she took her sweet time and well, manure doesn't muck itself."
For all her bravado, Vivy is overwhelmed by the crowds. Keeping to the edges of the room, she manages to come along side Niena. "I've never seen anything like this, all these people. Shells, there are more people here than at the last gather we had.." She smiles pleasantly to the tall blonde. "They are a sight to be seen... the eggs."
Niena smiles politely and nods. "I saw the eggs early on. They're very colorful this time. I imagine she was getting tired near the end -- normal labor wipes out human mothers; imagine doing it nineteen times."
Peeking out into the crowd, Milani's lips twitch faintly with amusement at the hiding of the Weyrwoman. "Hold on ... hold on ..." she says out of the corner of her mouth, fingers delicately plucking up one of those pies to nibble on, waits another moment then clears her throat. "I think you might be safe now. And thank you. My mother made it."
B'yan walks into the cavern from the lower caverns.
B'yan has arrived.
"Excuse us." N'thei says it smilingly, like he knows the first thing about manners, and he offers his elbow to Shanlee. "We really must go--" He falters for some plausible excuse only to fall back on blunt dismissal: "--somewhere else." There's never really a chance to clarify the dragged-here comment, all ready to be distracted. With undue pleasure; "Look. Wallflowers." He's off at once to ruin Viviana's plans for sticking to the fringes, all long strides and deep drinks along the way and the idea to bring Shanlee along with him.
The slender shoulders slump visibly, relaxation and the downward cast of her features also then reminding her of the glass of bubbly she holds. Downed quickly in one gulp, a becoming flush finds Satiet's cheeks, and the flickering smile of apology deepens in its ruefulness. "I thought I'd manage to avoid any well-wishers all day," explains the weyrwoman. The stem of her flute passes from hand to hand idly, a glance cast over her shoulders surreptitiously to scope out the action. "Thank you." As for the dress, another look takes in what the assistant headwoman wears. "Your mother always did have the most appropriate taste in attire. Been busy all day I take it?" A simple gesture of the flute encompasses the entirety of the feast prepared.
Shanlee's face is starting to ache after smiling at the umpteenth well wisher in a row. Narrowed eyes shifting to where Satiet had been a moment ago, and find her gone. To those gathered about, "We're needed..," just as lame is her excuse for the abrupt departure. For all that he's getting her away from them, his offered elbow is eyed suspiciously but not taken, instead she reaches to exchange now empty glass for a fuller one and trails along behind him glancing at those the 'wallflowers' comment were likely to point out. Where he's off to make contact with Viviana, something distracts and the weyrsecond halts a moment to offer a low word in some rider's ear, then she'll likely take up that path again.
Vivy's eyes widen as N'thei approaches and she hisses to Niena. "Hide me, it's that Weyrleader who told me I was a tease!" Managing to grab a small glass of juice from a passing server, she nervously runs a finger along its rim as she speaks in a normal tone. "So tell me, Niena, how did your tatting practice go?"
The snickering tall blonde is jabbed in the stomach by a shorter girl's elbow. Oof. Red-faced, Jiaye lifts a hand to excuse herself, "I'm sorry, so sorry. It's just the idea of a dragon labor being like humans just..." Another helpless giggle shakes the blonde's shoulders and annoyed, her friend just gives looks of complete apology around and drags Jiaye off with a plate of fruit tarts.
Niena turns away from Jiaye and toward Viviana. "Hide you?" She stands where she is, so if Vivy takes the opportunity she will be hidden. At the question she says "It went pretty well. I stopped after two rows, and you were right. They are getting smaller of their own accord, it seems like."
It's likely that B'yan slips in while the party is in full swing, keeping to the back and ambling easily towards where he could find the drinks best. For now the well wishers keep from him, only slipping a quick smile here and there before his hand finds a filled glass.
Milani licking a thumbful of crumbs away, Milani avails herself of that napking again and slides a look over at Satiet, taking in the white gown and the flute more fully now that she's not pretending the Weyrwoman is not there. "I'll let her know you said so, I'm sure she'd appreciate the compliment," the assistant headwoman says boldly then lifts her shoulders a little. "Of course, we have to do the occasion proud, don't we?" And her smile flashes brightly. "The roasted beast is especially good if you fancy it. And they brought up some of the special reserve wines. Not to be missed." And doesn't she sound hostessly. Hayda must be rubbing off on the young woman.
Forsaken by his own 'second, N'thei trudges bravely onward with the delight of a bright smile in place for Viviana, a more polite and less tormenting one for Niena. "Ladies, looking lovely this evening. Lovely party, isn't it. --Getting our own drinks, I see?" Though he bandies the question between the two of them, he's looking more at Viviana's drink, the point of the question.
The hostess, moreso than herself, garners a quick regard, a little surprised perhaps. "I'll be sure to try it. You should get out there and enjoy yourself," remarks Satiet, jerking her chin to the center of the caverns rather than up near the cheese pies. "I'm sure the pies will keep themselves upright and once people start digging in fully, well-, it's pointless to keep righting what'll be upset." Catching sight of B'yan's arrival, the thin lips twitch faintly, blue eyes narrowing faintly before a light smile curves lopsided on her mouth. "Perhaps ask our dashing, newly minted wingleader for a dance?"
Viviana scowls at the rude girl's back. "No need to be mean.." Says she. "Don't worry Niena, there are always her type everywhere you go, I was warned bout people like them before I got here.." She continues to dart her eyes back and forth, watching the room fill up with even more people. Oh joy, look who spotted her. She scowls slightly but nods politely enough. "Lovely redfruit juice, I think? I'm not sure what Niena here is drinking. Did you know she is learning to tat? She's a marvel, she is."
Niena has her trusty klah mug and is enjoying anonymity until she is pointed out by Vivy. At first not realizing the seamstress isn't talking to her, she raises her trusty klah mug. "Just the usual." Only when Vivy starts talking about her in the third person does Niena catch on, and when she sees to whom the seamstress is speaking, she smiles nervously.
Her ruse having worked just perfectly as N'thei moves off on his own, Shan's able to slip in between two rather large, broad shouldered wingriders and use them as cover. Both turning to look down at the diminutive weyrsecond are giving warning looks in return and a low, "Pretend I'm not here." Riiight. As a result any others arriving are likely missed at this point.
B'yan is not fully immune to the well-wishers about the clutch after all, a passing couple stepping in his way to remark about one egg or another. He uses the filled glass like a shield and edges on his way close to the wall. It's probably a good thing he's too far to catch the comment from the Weyrwoman, but he spots Satiet easily in the crowd as he chugs down his drink. He approaches with a casual air, his gaze turning on the faces in the crowd before he mumbles in her direction, "I trust things are well in your way, Weyrwoman," his smirk light.
N'thei turns to Niena with a great-big-smile, much fortified by a drink to match the size of it; "Learning to tat. You don't say. What exactly is tatting?" Somehow, chatting up a pair of teenagers is more desirable than shaking hands with half the weyr; he puts his back to the room and makes like talking with Viviana and Niena is just fascinating enough not to be interruptable.
"Oh I will in a second, it's kind of fun you know, watching the crowd move around, who talks to who and how and ..." she trails off and laughs. "The pies can definitely sort themselves out. I was just helping out. I'm not on pie-minding duty tonight." Millie follows Satiet's gaze towards said Wingleader, a little smile pulling at the corner of her mouth. "I might just at that. He /does/ owe me a favor or... three or four for that matter." She tilts another look towards the Weyrwoman and says more quietly: "I like your dress too. Pretty. Simple. And good luck hiding from the well wishes. I'm afraid they're going to wind up finding you eventually no matter how many fruit towers we've got on the tables tonight." Her smile ups the wattage a little as B'yan approaches. "Hey Baye!" she sing-songs.
Singled out this time, Niena takes a gulp of klah, then says "Tatting is lace-making, sir. I really only just started; Viviana is a great teacher and can tell you much more about it.
"Wingleader," the weyrwoman returns more formally than when addressing Milani. A likewise smirk, light and mocking, reflects the bronzerider's on Satiet's delicate features, turning pale eyes brilliant and heightening the bubbly-flushed hue of her cheeks. "There have been better days." Pause. "Better turns," she reassesses, but a shrug lapses any further ventures into what could be better as Milani compliments Satiet's white dress and then turns her charms onto B'yan. Self-consciously, a hand drops to smooth out the overlapping layers of the white fabric, the wooden jewelry clinking lightly against each other. Louder, humor filling her cool alto, she comments to both B'yan and Milani, "I'd ask what sorts of favors a wingleader owes an assistant headwoman, but perhaps it's better I don't know."
Melata meanders into the cavern from the lower caverns.
Melata has arrived.
Viviana eyes N'thei with growing suspcion but as his attention is on Niena for the moment, she takes the opportunity to snag a spicy meatroll from a tray, dipping it in even spicier sauce. "Your eggs look nice. I mean, your lifemate's eggs, sir." Nice and polite, that's her. Looking Niena's way, she appears to be awaiting the girls' response with bated breath. When the girl's answer is brief she shoots the nanny a /look/. "Oh, nothing as important as a wonderful clutch, I'm sure." A little evil glitter grows in her eyes as she suddenly raises her glass in toast, raising her voice just loud enough that a couple of Lord Holders nearby can hear clearly. "To the clutch on the sands and to the Dam and the Sire!"
Finding the Weyrwoman well-accompanied, B'yan turns the smirk to something more mischievious onto Milani and shortly lifts his glass to her. To Satiet, lips twitching once, "I'll take the better turns one," he drawls dryly on that, his head inclined. "I couldn't agree with you more," and yet, he's smiling. He sweeps a briefly glance from from to the other as he adds, "And the both of you look lovely, no surprise," in a brisk manner common with him. "I trust the assistant headwoman hasn't been boring you with the sort of favor-" and he stresses the singular word, hazel eyes lighting on Milani, "-that a poor wingleader would owe her. Some things are better not known."
Melata finally makes an appearance, stiffling a yawn as she edges her way into the living cavern. She pauses for a moment to get her bearing within the overly full cavern full of people moving here and here before making her way towards Satiet to offer congratulations upon the clutch. "Fine looking eggs, Satiet...wish there were more, as always, but what there are look good."
"Making lace. Very good. Marketable skill." N'thei empties his glass well before there's a toast, left to swallow the gulp while Viviana raises her glass and makes her proclamation. He holds a hateful smile on the girl until the ripple of hear-heres dies down and people resume their interrupted conversations "I'll just leave you ladies to your talk of tatting and redfruit juice. Enjoy the party."
"The Weyrwoman was suggesting a dance as a possible favor," Milani says gaily, eyes dancing as she looks between the white-clad Weyrwoman and the wingleader. "But nope, I know better than to try to bore anyone with too many details." An outright exaggeration given how much verbal patter she's usually prone to but -- "And thank you, my mother's handiwork and I think it came out really nicely. You don't look half bad yourself, a lot less /rugged/ than usual," the assistant headwoman teases B'yan a little.
Still there, still watching the various little knots of people engrossed in chatter, Shan is suddenly left out in the open when the pair of wingriders simultaneously move off with nothing than a smirk for her. Game turned around as she's left muttering, "Just typical," calling after them, "Extra drills bright early S'lish." Not likely, but worth a try at any rate, fingers pulling at the shawl she finally gives in and approaches a rather gaudily dressed pair exchanging one glass for another on the way, "Seen the eggs yet?" bright, overly so.
Niena holds up her mug at Vivy's toast, as usual oblivious to any ulterior motives. She does breathe a sigh of relief when the attention turns away from her and moves closer to where spice cake slices have been left out. Picking one decorated with a carrot, she returns to her spot, finding a seat.
The continued talk of favors passing between mini-headwoman and new-wingleader shift Satiet's eyes back and forth, perhaps this distraction making her more susceptible to being recognized from afar. Before she's able to respond to either Milani or B'yan, the raven-haired woman's shoulders stiffen at the voice behind her. Caught! "I uh- I...," turning finds Melata there and not any hive-minded well-wishers from out of the Weyr and almost instantly, the slender woman relaxes, her composure returning though not quickly enough. "It's a larger clutch than most Interval-minded clutches are. I don't think we can expect much better of late. But," the weyrwoman's lips twitch and a glance casts about the crowds, searching, "Please, if you see the Weyrleader, mention just how poor the clutch numbers look and how sires these days aren't like the sires of your days for me, will you please, wingleader?"
Melata holds a carefully neutral face at the unexpected request from the Weyrwoman, "As you say, oka-ay...although finding anyone in this crowd, on purpose, that is, is difficult. Well wishes, at any rate." She peers over her shoulder as she thinks she hears her name from another quarter, and is swept away by several rider whom are /already/ taking bets as to what color from what shell.
After withstanding the effusive babblings of the gaudy pair, and to her credit, smiling right the way through it all, Shanlee is finally able to escape with a congenial, "Enjoy the rest of the party, I'm afraid I need to go attend to something," gathering the narrow skirt of black lace and sisal up in one hand to aid quicker, heeled steps, the weyrsecond is off. Twisting around this knot, avoiding the hurtling form of a littlie escaping its nanny, she offers a smile Viviana and Niena's way, a longer look Satiet and her groupings way, and then she's gone.
"Was she?" B'yan quips on the talk of a dance, an amused raised brow send towards Satiet. He looks about to add more, and likely something very typical of him, when Melata arrives. Turning towards Milani, "I look better than you, anyway," he drawls on her teasing comment instead, turning up the smile enough for her. "Cuter, even. I still want that crate, by the way." Right. Teeth flash in a bright smile before he's abrutply looking away and his eyes is following the weyrsecond out the room with a bare twitch of brows.
Shanlee wanders outside to the bowl.
Shanlee has left.
"There's eggs, it's all good," is Milani's easy assessment and her head ducks a little, laughter sneaking out at B'yan's retort. "I'll grant you dashing like the Werywoman said, but I think I do /cute/ a lot better. And don't worry about your crate, it's safely set aside where no one can get to it but you." She nods once at Melata. "Good evening." Polite again. Mostly, but starting to shift from foot to foot restlessly.
Viviana smirks at N'thei's discomfort, polishing off her treat with a lick of her fingertips. "Well, once again, congratulations, sir and Niena? don't forget...try to relax and not do everything at once?" She eyes some iced fruit puree on the far table and without a farewell, makes her way to the rare treat.
Viviana strides outside to the bowl.
Viviana has left.
Niena reaches out and snags the child who nearly tripped Shanlee, handing him back to her grateful counterpart with a sympathetic smile. That accomplished, she looks around the room as if seeking familiar faces now that Vivy has left. She doesn't move yet, though.
"Wingleader," once Melata's in a whirlwind of betting theories and only after Satiet's looked about shiftily to make sure no dignitary's caught sight of her yet. Then her admonishment concludes: "Usually, when a girl asks to dance, you don't refuse. Or keep her waiting. Whatever crate that's needed or not." The last added ever so angelically in the coolest of the goldrider's wide-range of intonations.
Melata holds up her hands and shakes her head vemeliently, "No, no, no, no." This is said to the two brownriders whom are trying to get her to put down marks on the eggs. "At least let them harden...they are barely fresh from the dragon!" She finally manages to extract herself from the disappointed pair.
Chuckling, "So glad we understand each other," B'yan quips to the assistant headwoman on the account of who's prettier, than downs the rest of his drink before setting it aside. His smirk turns simpering on Satiet's words, amused. With a swagger to his step as he shifts a lifted hand towards Milani, "I'd really like to read the pack of hides you're getting these rules of etiquette from," is his quip to Satiet, chin lifting slightly. "Especially when I was taught once to always consider those you've danced with before an offer of your hand again." His hand lifts, "Call me generous, not a gentleman," he drawls to Milani - likely the best offer he's giving for a dance.
Melata turns to try to find Shanlee...she saw the Weyrsecond earlier, but has obviously missed that worthy's escape a short while ago. As she does so, the two brownriders are back, and with reinforcements. They have a new system for determining the color of dragonets, and for some reason are fixated on telling it to the Wingleader. With nary a whimper for 'help', Melata is swept into the (slightly) quieter lower cavern.
"You got it," Milani chirps blithely in response to that quip and her head ducks a little at the remark about etiquette. "No dancing yet, so I think she's got you on both counts," she continues and after a brief moment's hesitation, settles her palm atop B'yan's. "Just don't step on my toes," she offers over to the wingleader, grinning again. "O wise and generous Wingleader. And thank you Weyrwoman, for reminding us all about our manners!" She blinks wide eyes twice, then pushes away from the table she's been standing near a little.
Melata meanders through the archway, into the lower caverns.
Melata has left.
B'yan's words evoke a smaller smile, more genuine despite its tiny size, out of Satiet and as the pair continue to chat, the weyrwoman drifts off. Espying a familiar face, her drifting carries her near Niena. "Interrupting busy people, are we?" she asks, mocking, silent steps bringing her up behind the nanny.
Niena jumps obligingly, then whirls to see Satiet. "Ummmmmmm.. Hello, Weyrwoman. Not really, just returning Jerat to Dalina. I was afraid the little guy might get outside if she couldn't get through people as easily as he did." When she's nervous, Niena's words all tumble out with no punctuation in sight. This is one of those times.
B'yan watches the Weyrwoman move off with a mirrored grin, lips parting before he turns his attention abruptly back on Milani. Leading her out on the floor, "Just for saying that, I just might step on your toes for spite," he notes to her, catching her at the small of her back. "We've already established that I hardly follow the rules, hm?" He'll likely lead her into an easily led dance, nothing too strenuous enough to break them both into a sweat.
The best of a bad situation: N'thei's had as many handshakes as he can be expected to tolerate in one night, so he's moved on to food and drink. He's found someone with whom to fall into an innocuous conversation about cheese, a bald little baker with a pronounced lisp and an adoration for all things culinary. Between the two of them, they're making a sizable dent in the spread.
If Niena's reaction satisfies whatever mean-streak lies in the weyrwoman, it's hard to tell from the brows that hitch high along her forehead. Then, "Breathe," is Satiet's advice, voice cool and deliberately commanding. "You should breathe when you speak. I don't fancy catching you if you faint and I'm not sure the men of High Reaches are quite so gentlemanly enough to catch a damsel in distress."
Niena gulps. Air, this time, not klah, and nods to Satiet. After an uncomfortable pause she says "Thank you, Weyrwoman." This time the words are measured and even.
"Good girl." Indulgent, perhaps just a smidgeon condescending, Satiet lavishes the two-worded praise onto the nanny. "Are you enjoying the break from the children? It must be hard to find adult company in such an occupation."
"Grouchy, grouchy," Milani accuses lightly. "I was only teasing. And you didn't /have/ to. Though I guess it's usually a good idea to do what Satiet suggests." And the assistant headwoman peeks over B'yan's shoulder after said Weyrwoman. She's a little energetic, not quite following the beat, though graceful enough. "And who needs rules, right?" Milie has a dimpled smile to accompany that statement. "Seriously though, I've got your crate and you can come for it later if you want it tonight."
Niena smiles, still somewhat nervously. "It is nice to be away for the evening. I don't envy the ones watching the infants tonight -- teething is still going on full force."
At that, Satiet's rosy lips thin further, the hitched brows poised in amusement over her pale eyes. "When is it not?" is her rhetorical question. "I'd enjoy adult company while you can before being beckoned back to the bowels of the nurseries. Indulge. Wine. Food. Perhaps leave the domesticated conversation aside and tell me more of yourself." Those close might actually believe she's sincere in her inquires. Might!
As if it was a calculated slip, B'yan passes a foot over Milani's as if to trip her up. It doesn't execute all the way, stopping only to tap against her boot and the wingleader passes over a smile. "And what makes you think I didn't want to dance, regardless?" he plays on his words, never giving nor taking as he swings Milani about the floor. "He follows her look over towards the Weyrwoman, and his remains neutral. Her innocent agreement gets short laughter from him and a shake of his head. "Next you'll be justifying theivery," he drawls blithely with a faceitious air. "I appreciate the crate. If not tonite, before drills tomorrow."
Niena nods obediently and gets herself a goblet of the commonly available red wine before beginning, "There isn't much, really. I was born here, and my parents are assistant cooks. I've been helping in the nurseries as long as I can remember, and I became an assistant nanny when I turned sixteen." A voice from nearby yells out "Tell her how you can't cook!", and the person who raised that voice gets a glare. "Oh, and I have a brother. Two, in fact. And neither of them can cook either, to mum and dad's chagrin."
"Maybe you did and maybe you didn't," Milani makes very obviously fake wide-eyes about that pass of the bronzerider's foot. "As for thievery, we all know what is and isn't justified around these parts, don't we?" Sweetly. Oh so sweetly. "Before drills tomorrow, that'd be some slip up if you wind up leading drunk, wouldn't it?" Blinking at B'yan innocently for that and Millie cranes her neck to see around the cavern again. "It's a good party and good seeing people having fun again." This she says with more thoughtful seriousness. "Not like last turn."
"Two brothers. My, my." The Weyrwoman's response begins with her mouth parting then shutting; then it opens again to spare: "I've five older brothers. Brothers are both comforting creatures and irritating, but a conversation for another day perhaps. Good night, Niena, I see a man in need of rescue from a growing gut." Satiet inclines her head to the nanny before making steps towards N'thei. "Sir." A delicate hand extends to the bronzerider. "If you'd escort me home?"
Niena inclines her head politely as well, then covers her surprise at being relatively unscathed by taking a few sips of her wine.
B'yan's smile nearly slips down at Milani's response on theivery oddly enough, but he recovers it nicely enough in the face of the crowd. Shrugging, "Everyone has their own opinions," is all he quips vaguely to that, then tacking on, "I'd slip up sober. Don't give me any ideas, Milani." Cuz clearly, he is surrounded by those in his wing. He passes a glance about the crowd, her comment on the previou turn drawing a pinched look from the bronzerider. "Can't exactly dance when your toes are freezing off," he jokes at the past in his way, continuing to lead her across the floor.
N'thei and his balder-rounder friend, exactly what the weyrleader will look like in twenty turns if he keeps on at this pace, had just reached the point of sampling the desserts. Some tremendously fluffy-filled pastry prevents him from immediately retrieving Satiet's hand, leaves the baker ample time to seize it and shake it with relish. "A fantastic party, Weyrwoman, a lovely clutch of eggs for it. Have you tried these fruit tarts? You really must. I made them with you in mind," the baker babbles good-naturedly. N'thei lets it go on longer than he really should under pretense of wiping his mouth, too-bright eyes turned to the goldrider.
"No? Okay." Milani shrugs a little, fingers tapping a little atop B'yan's shoulder, vaguely in time with the music though her eyes scan his face and she makes a little face at that pinched look. "No. You can't. So, it's all good now, right?" And she tries on an encouraging smile, then reaches for his hand, to duck under and force a skirt-swirling spin. "Have you actually taken a gander at the eggs?" she inquires as she pops back into place. "Or is that a case of seen them once, seen them all?"
Oily, once-pastry filled hands clasping hers twitches the weyrwoman. More like convulses, and it takes a feat of self-control for her not to wrestle her hand away long enough for her to compose herself. "I'm don't eat, I'm afraid. Haven't you heard, sir? I subsist on wine and breathing fire." In light of the bald man's age, there's a wry teasing flirtation in Satiet's intonation. "But I'll be sure to try some when the leftovers of this are laid out for hangover breakfast tomorrow morning."
He could agree with the sentiment that it's all good, but somehow B'yan's voice fails at this moment. Moving Milani in time with the music before it starts to fade, he lets her take his hand easily and answers on the clutch. "I haven't seen it yet, but I just might catch you up on the stands sometime," he drawls with non-chalance. "I usually catch a look when the stands are empty. Late at night. You?" He matches her easily step for step, and when the song is on its end he adds to it, "I have the feeling I'm not the first you've danced with, assistant headwoman," in an open tease.
With the baker too bemused by the wine-and-fire answer to say anything for a long spell, N'thei intervenes with a timely elbow offered toward the goldrider. He's had just long enough to ever-so-delicately plate one of the fruit tarts in question, to cover it with a napkin, and wait for Satiet to accept the offer of his arm and be led away. --Finally recovered, the fat man blunders his way through a reply; "Yes. No. I hadn't heard. Good night." He stuffs himself with a cream puff and calls it a night.
"Good night." Far more gracious than at her norm, Satiet bestows departures on the balding man, leaning forward to kiss a particularly shiny bald spot and then turns to accept N'thei's elbow. Mischievous? Perhaps. Determined to go home? Definitely.
Satiet strolls outside to the bowl.
Satiet has left.
You stride outside to the bowl.
IC Date: 6/11/15
Not that weyrfolk need an excuse to celebrate, but it's always nice to have one! Nineteen eggs later, a day of hard-core cooking has ended with one heckuva spread in the living cavern, a feast to tempt every palate-- from buttered vegetables to succulent roasts to soft breads to heaped pies. Of course, of course, the wine cellar has been bled dry; kegs and wineskins fill whatever recess isn't already piled with food. Now that word's gotten out that Teonath is most assuredly done with her day-long ordeal, people arrive in clusters and clumps to eat and gossip.
Party? Party going on here? Vivy is willing to take any opportunity to enjoy herself and the tempting scents draw her in. Managing to sashay her way through the throng of residents who all have the same idea and are all in the same mood, she gaily giggles at an inane comment made by one of fellow seamstresses. "No, I don't think that the eggs would appreciate bassinets."
Having managed to avoid the sands and galleries all day, Satiet emerges shortly after word has gotten out that Teonath's 'most assuredly done.' Dressed warmer than the spring weather might call for, the white-clad weyrwoman makes her way in from the lower caverns, thong sandals clattering noisily. A pause here to converse with this woman, a halt there to point out details of the spread that don't quite come up to par, Satiet's meandering path leaves suggestions and directives in her wake until finally some smart woman shoves a glass of bubbly into the goldrider's hand. "Egg bassinets?" she inquires, blinking pale eyes at a nearby Viviana.
N'thei gives his vest a tug, gives his fresh shave a swipe with his fingers, deigns to grace the cavern with his presence. After having barely showed up to pop his head in to the galleries, he's among the first to show up at the party, all clean and crisp. Of course, now he suffers the so-called honor of shaking hands with a half-dozen people who insist on congratulating him for all nineteen eggs as if it were his doing. "--yes, thank you. I think I see the weyrwoman just there, why don't you make sure to congratulate her as well?" It's as good a deflection as any.
Niena is recently bathed and her dress is as clean as it gets; no new stains at least. She is not going out of her way to be noticed, though she does get into the line for the desserts.
With a smile put upon her face, Shan works her way into the venue of celebration along the outskirts of the crowd. Scooping up a glass along the way, she's waylaid by F'der, Icicle's wingleader. Whatever he says draws an honest grin from the weyrsecond, "You can collect tomorrow," likely having lost some or other bet she had with the man. Moving off shortly with a wink for him and amusement playing about her mouth she's quite content to people watch at this point, eyes skipping across those present.
Milani nods a couple of times to the kitchen-worker she's standing alongside of and relieves the other girl of a platter. "Here, I'll take care of it for you. Go on, go, hide." And she makes big eyes as Satiet does her meandering rounds, then pastes on a cheery smile and steers over to a table where a big bare spot is just begging for that platter of hors d'oeuvres she's carrying.
Viviana grins easily, answering a quick response before taking a good look as to who is speaking. "With sisal linings and ribbons. It was meant as a jo..." Oh! Taking a second look and a long one at Satiet, she blushes. "Ma'am, just passing the time, when were working on some tablecloths, is all." Looking over the room, she waves gaily to someone in a corner. "Well, look who pulled themselves out of their cavern...I must chat with her..." And she tries to scurry off.
Satiet looks a little absently at Viviana, the thought of egg bassinets fleeting in her thoughts despite her voiced inquiry. "A joke, right, sure." If Viviana aims to scurry away, the raven-haired woman's not in any state to stop her, as a wave of people seem to be headed her way. A good deflection, or just a death wish; it's unclear what N'thei's tactics might result in, but as her avoidance of such hostess duties comes to an end, Satiet's distracted features briefly freeze into pained before the effusive praise of such-and-such compels the well-practiced goldrider into faking a thin smile. "She /did/ do a magnificent job for an Interval. Truly. I'm sure the Weyrsecond would love to hear more of such praise for our Weyr I'm afraid, I-..." She doesn't even complete the excuse before she's scuttling closer to where Milani's placed the hors d'oeuvres.
A cluster of teenage girls come in from the bowl, their conversation enthused and a banter of sorts rising from other chatter: "That medium grey one, that one, Josilina would never have allowed that kind of egg on the sands, let alone two! But I did like it a little. It was all solitary, sort of lonesome." - "That's only because you like the tall, dark, mysteriously brooding type, Jiaye. I liked how striking the ice blue one looked like."
Milani settles the platter down carefully and with nimble fingers, rights a single tiny cheese pie that's tilted on its side so it matches all of its upright companions. "There we are," she murmurs softly and straightens, picking up a napkin to brush any lingering butteriness off her fingers before she smooths out the skirts of her very fine dress. This means she sees Satiet coming and she hurriedly pats at her hair. "Good evening, Weyrwoman," she says with her best polite-company voice.
N'thei claps a hand on the shoulder of some well-wisher with the added benefit of scooting him aside, of opening a channel between the weyrleader and the people-watching Shanlee. It's easier, once he swipes an ale-mug off a tray, to avoid the pitfalls of congratulatory small-talk by pretending to drink; in this way, he makes it toward the weyrsecond with minimal delay. "Pretty girls in frilly dresses, enough beer to drown in; this is really the reason I agreed to let you drag me off here in the first place. --What are we drinking?" He peers at her glass, not at her dress.
Shanlee's unable to hear Satiet's words but isn't able to miss the person she spoke them to, making a beeline for her. Mouth to glass, wine down throat, fortified, she arranges a pleasant enough smile and listens patiently while the speaker expounds the virtues of the queen, the bronze and the eggs lying out on the sands, offering a nod here and there. Desperation colors her expression briefly as its her arm next this one of many words seeks to grab and hold onto, likely sensing her on point of fleeing. Stepping back out of range, there's a hasty, "I'm sure the Weyr thanks you for your kind words. However, it appears I'm needed....Oh." relief paints clearly as N'thei appears, although confusion shows up next, "Let me drag you here?"
It becomes quickly apparent from the distraction with which Satiet greets Milani with that most of the weyrwoman's attention is focused on avoiding the hive-minded crowd now in search of the Weyrsecond. The slight woman hovers behind a tower of fruit and then slips closer to Milani and the pyramid pastry tray of cheese pies before she even offers words in return that are far from a greeting. Apologetic, her back turned to the living cavern, she looks rueful to the assistant headwoman, "Tell me when they're out of sight, please?" A beat. "Nice spread. Good job. Nice dress." As if her request might need compliments to buy the young woman's agreement in subterfuge.
The cluster of girls make their way to the dessert spread near Niena, pausing to give the nanny a once over. "Did you get to see any of the eggs get clutched?" asks one girl, a tall, fair-skinned blonde, flashing a quick smile to the other girl. "I tried to get in just to see one, but she was being ornery or something. I heard she took her sweet time and well, manure doesn't muck itself."
For all her bravado, Vivy is overwhelmed by the crowds. Keeping to the edges of the room, she manages to come along side Niena. "I've never seen anything like this, all these people. Shells, there are more people here than at the last gather we had.." She smiles pleasantly to the tall blonde. "They are a sight to be seen... the eggs."
Niena smiles politely and nods. "I saw the eggs early on. They're very colorful this time. I imagine she was getting tired near the end -- normal labor wipes out human mothers; imagine doing it nineteen times."
Peeking out into the crowd, Milani's lips twitch faintly with amusement at the hiding of the Weyrwoman. "Hold on ... hold on ..." she says out of the corner of her mouth, fingers delicately plucking up one of those pies to nibble on, waits another moment then clears her throat. "I think you might be safe now. And thank you. My mother made it."
B'yan walks into the cavern from the lower caverns.
B'yan has arrived.
"Excuse us." N'thei says it smilingly, like he knows the first thing about manners, and he offers his elbow to Shanlee. "We really must go--" He falters for some plausible excuse only to fall back on blunt dismissal: "--somewhere else." There's never really a chance to clarify the dragged-here comment, all ready to be distracted. With undue pleasure; "Look. Wallflowers." He's off at once to ruin Viviana's plans for sticking to the fringes, all long strides and deep drinks along the way and the idea to bring Shanlee along with him.
The slender shoulders slump visibly, relaxation and the downward cast of her features also then reminding her of the glass of bubbly she holds. Downed quickly in one gulp, a becoming flush finds Satiet's cheeks, and the flickering smile of apology deepens in its ruefulness. "I thought I'd manage to avoid any well-wishers all day," explains the weyrwoman. The stem of her flute passes from hand to hand idly, a glance cast over her shoulders surreptitiously to scope out the action. "Thank you." As for the dress, another look takes in what the assistant headwoman wears. "Your mother always did have the most appropriate taste in attire. Been busy all day I take it?" A simple gesture of the flute encompasses the entirety of the feast prepared.
Shanlee's face is starting to ache after smiling at the umpteenth well wisher in a row. Narrowed eyes shifting to where Satiet had been a moment ago, and find her gone. To those gathered about, "We're needed..," just as lame is her excuse for the abrupt departure. For all that he's getting her away from them, his offered elbow is eyed suspiciously but not taken, instead she reaches to exchange now empty glass for a fuller one and trails along behind him glancing at those the 'wallflowers' comment were likely to point out. Where he's off to make contact with Viviana, something distracts and the weyrsecond halts a moment to offer a low word in some rider's ear, then she'll likely take up that path again.
Vivy's eyes widen as N'thei approaches and she hisses to Niena. "Hide me, it's that Weyrleader who told me I was a tease!" Managing to grab a small glass of juice from a passing server, she nervously runs a finger along its rim as she speaks in a normal tone. "So tell me, Niena, how did your tatting practice go?"
The snickering tall blonde is jabbed in the stomach by a shorter girl's elbow. Oof. Red-faced, Jiaye lifts a hand to excuse herself, "I'm sorry, so sorry. It's just the idea of a dragon labor being like humans just..." Another helpless giggle shakes the blonde's shoulders and annoyed, her friend just gives looks of complete apology around and drags Jiaye off with a plate of fruit tarts.
Niena turns away from Jiaye and toward Viviana. "Hide you?" She stands where she is, so if Vivy takes the opportunity she will be hidden. At the question she says "It went pretty well. I stopped after two rows, and you were right. They are getting smaller of their own accord, it seems like."
It's likely that B'yan slips in while the party is in full swing, keeping to the back and ambling easily towards where he could find the drinks best. For now the well wishers keep from him, only slipping a quick smile here and there before his hand finds a filled glass.
Milani licking a thumbful of crumbs away, Milani avails herself of that napking again and slides a look over at Satiet, taking in the white gown and the flute more fully now that she's not pretending the Weyrwoman is not there. "I'll let her know you said so, I'm sure she'd appreciate the compliment," the assistant headwoman says boldly then lifts her shoulders a little. "Of course, we have to do the occasion proud, don't we?" And her smile flashes brightly. "The roasted beast is especially good if you fancy it. And they brought up some of the special reserve wines. Not to be missed." And doesn't she sound hostessly. Hayda must be rubbing off on the young woman.
Forsaken by his own 'second, N'thei trudges bravely onward with the delight of a bright smile in place for Viviana, a more polite and less tormenting one for Niena. "Ladies, looking lovely this evening. Lovely party, isn't it. --Getting our own drinks, I see?" Though he bandies the question between the two of them, he's looking more at Viviana's drink, the point of the question.
The hostess, moreso than herself, garners a quick regard, a little surprised perhaps. "I'll be sure to try it. You should get out there and enjoy yourself," remarks Satiet, jerking her chin to the center of the caverns rather than up near the cheese pies. "I'm sure the pies will keep themselves upright and once people start digging in fully, well-, it's pointless to keep righting what'll be upset." Catching sight of B'yan's arrival, the thin lips twitch faintly, blue eyes narrowing faintly before a light smile curves lopsided on her mouth. "Perhaps ask our dashing, newly minted wingleader for a dance?"
Viviana scowls at the rude girl's back. "No need to be mean.." Says she. "Don't worry Niena, there are always her type everywhere you go, I was warned bout people like them before I got here.." She continues to dart her eyes back and forth, watching the room fill up with even more people. Oh joy, look who spotted her. She scowls slightly but nods politely enough. "Lovely redfruit juice, I think? I'm not sure what Niena here is drinking. Did you know she is learning to tat? She's a marvel, she is."
Niena has her trusty klah mug and is enjoying anonymity until she is pointed out by Vivy. At first not realizing the seamstress isn't talking to her, she raises her trusty klah mug. "Just the usual." Only when Vivy starts talking about her in the third person does Niena catch on, and when she sees to whom the seamstress is speaking, she smiles nervously.
Her ruse having worked just perfectly as N'thei moves off on his own, Shan's able to slip in between two rather large, broad shouldered wingriders and use them as cover. Both turning to look down at the diminutive weyrsecond are giving warning looks in return and a low, "Pretend I'm not here." Riiight. As a result any others arriving are likely missed at this point.
B'yan is not fully immune to the well-wishers about the clutch after all, a passing couple stepping in his way to remark about one egg or another. He uses the filled glass like a shield and edges on his way close to the wall. It's probably a good thing he's too far to catch the comment from the Weyrwoman, but he spots Satiet easily in the crowd as he chugs down his drink. He approaches with a casual air, his gaze turning on the faces in the crowd before he mumbles in her direction, "I trust things are well in your way, Weyrwoman," his smirk light.
N'thei turns to Niena with a great-big-smile, much fortified by a drink to match the size of it; "Learning to tat. You don't say. What exactly is tatting?" Somehow, chatting up a pair of teenagers is more desirable than shaking hands with half the weyr; he puts his back to the room and makes like talking with Viviana and Niena is just fascinating enough not to be interruptable.
"Oh I will in a second, it's kind of fun you know, watching the crowd move around, who talks to who and how and ..." she trails off and laughs. "The pies can definitely sort themselves out. I was just helping out. I'm not on pie-minding duty tonight." Millie follows Satiet's gaze towards said Wingleader, a little smile pulling at the corner of her mouth. "I might just at that. He /does/ owe me a favor or... three or four for that matter." She tilts another look towards the Weyrwoman and says more quietly: "I like your dress too. Pretty. Simple. And good luck hiding from the well wishes. I'm afraid they're going to wind up finding you eventually no matter how many fruit towers we've got on the tables tonight." Her smile ups the wattage a little as B'yan approaches. "Hey Baye!" she sing-songs.
Singled out this time, Niena takes a gulp of klah, then says "Tatting is lace-making, sir. I really only just started; Viviana is a great teacher and can tell you much more about it.
"Wingleader," the weyrwoman returns more formally than when addressing Milani. A likewise smirk, light and mocking, reflects the bronzerider's on Satiet's delicate features, turning pale eyes brilliant and heightening the bubbly-flushed hue of her cheeks. "There have been better days." Pause. "Better turns," she reassesses, but a shrug lapses any further ventures into what could be better as Milani compliments Satiet's white dress and then turns her charms onto B'yan. Self-consciously, a hand drops to smooth out the overlapping layers of the white fabric, the wooden jewelry clinking lightly against each other. Louder, humor filling her cool alto, she comments to both B'yan and Milani, "I'd ask what sorts of favors a wingleader owes an assistant headwoman, but perhaps it's better I don't know."
Melata meanders into the cavern from the lower caverns.
Melata has arrived.
Viviana eyes N'thei with growing suspcion but as his attention is on Niena for the moment, she takes the opportunity to snag a spicy meatroll from a tray, dipping it in even spicier sauce. "Your eggs look nice. I mean, your lifemate's eggs, sir." Nice and polite, that's her. Looking Niena's way, she appears to be awaiting the girls' response with bated breath. When the girl's answer is brief she shoots the nanny a /look/. "Oh, nothing as important as a wonderful clutch, I'm sure." A little evil glitter grows in her eyes as she suddenly raises her glass in toast, raising her voice just loud enough that a couple of Lord Holders nearby can hear clearly. "To the clutch on the sands and to the Dam and the Sire!"
Finding the Weyrwoman well-accompanied, B'yan turns the smirk to something more mischievious onto Milani and shortly lifts his glass to her. To Satiet, lips twitching once, "I'll take the better turns one," he drawls dryly on that, his head inclined. "I couldn't agree with you more," and yet, he's smiling. He sweeps a briefly glance from from to the other as he adds, "And the both of you look lovely, no surprise," in a brisk manner common with him. "I trust the assistant headwoman hasn't been boring you with the sort of favor-" and he stresses the singular word, hazel eyes lighting on Milani, "-that a poor wingleader would owe her. Some things are better not known."
Melata finally makes an appearance, stiffling a yawn as she edges her way into the living cavern. She pauses for a moment to get her bearing within the overly full cavern full of people moving here and here before making her way towards Satiet to offer congratulations upon the clutch. "Fine looking eggs, Satiet...wish there were more, as always, but what there are look good."
"Making lace. Very good. Marketable skill." N'thei empties his glass well before there's a toast, left to swallow the gulp while Viviana raises her glass and makes her proclamation. He holds a hateful smile on the girl until the ripple of hear-heres dies down and people resume their interrupted conversations "I'll just leave you ladies to your talk of tatting and redfruit juice. Enjoy the party."
"The Weyrwoman was suggesting a dance as a possible favor," Milani says gaily, eyes dancing as she looks between the white-clad Weyrwoman and the wingleader. "But nope, I know better than to try to bore anyone with too many details." An outright exaggeration given how much verbal patter she's usually prone to but -- "And thank you, my mother's handiwork and I think it came out really nicely. You don't look half bad yourself, a lot less /rugged/ than usual," the assistant headwoman teases B'yan a little.
Still there, still watching the various little knots of people engrossed in chatter, Shan is suddenly left out in the open when the pair of wingriders simultaneously move off with nothing than a smirk for her. Game turned around as she's left muttering, "Just typical," calling after them, "Extra drills bright early S'lish." Not likely, but worth a try at any rate, fingers pulling at the shawl she finally gives in and approaches a rather gaudily dressed pair exchanging one glass for another on the way, "Seen the eggs yet?" bright, overly so.
Niena holds up her mug at Vivy's toast, as usual oblivious to any ulterior motives. She does breathe a sigh of relief when the attention turns away from her and moves closer to where spice cake slices have been left out. Picking one decorated with a carrot, she returns to her spot, finding a seat.
The continued talk of favors passing between mini-headwoman and new-wingleader shift Satiet's eyes back and forth, perhaps this distraction making her more susceptible to being recognized from afar. Before she's able to respond to either Milani or B'yan, the raven-haired woman's shoulders stiffen at the voice behind her. Caught! "I uh- I...," turning finds Melata there and not any hive-minded well-wishers from out of the Weyr and almost instantly, the slender woman relaxes, her composure returning though not quickly enough. "It's a larger clutch than most Interval-minded clutches are. I don't think we can expect much better of late. But," the weyrwoman's lips twitch and a glance casts about the crowds, searching, "Please, if you see the Weyrleader, mention just how poor the clutch numbers look and how sires these days aren't like the sires of your days for me, will you please, wingleader?"
Melata holds a carefully neutral face at the unexpected request from the Weyrwoman, "As you say, oka-ay...although finding anyone in this crowd, on purpose, that is, is difficult. Well wishes, at any rate." She peers over her shoulder as she thinks she hears her name from another quarter, and is swept away by several rider whom are /already/ taking bets as to what color from what shell.
After withstanding the effusive babblings of the gaudy pair, and to her credit, smiling right the way through it all, Shanlee is finally able to escape with a congenial, "Enjoy the rest of the party, I'm afraid I need to go attend to something," gathering the narrow skirt of black lace and sisal up in one hand to aid quicker, heeled steps, the weyrsecond is off. Twisting around this knot, avoiding the hurtling form of a littlie escaping its nanny, she offers a smile Viviana and Niena's way, a longer look Satiet and her groupings way, and then she's gone.
"Was she?" B'yan quips on the talk of a dance, an amused raised brow send towards Satiet. He looks about to add more, and likely something very typical of him, when Melata arrives. Turning towards Milani, "I look better than you, anyway," he drawls on her teasing comment instead, turning up the smile enough for her. "Cuter, even. I still want that crate, by the way." Right. Teeth flash in a bright smile before he's abrutply looking away and his eyes is following the weyrsecond out the room with a bare twitch of brows.
Shanlee wanders outside to the bowl.
Shanlee has left.
"There's eggs, it's all good," is Milani's easy assessment and her head ducks a little, laughter sneaking out at B'yan's retort. "I'll grant you dashing like the Werywoman said, but I think I do /cute/ a lot better. And don't worry about your crate, it's safely set aside where no one can get to it but you." She nods once at Melata. "Good evening." Polite again. Mostly, but starting to shift from foot to foot restlessly.
Viviana smirks at N'thei's discomfort, polishing off her treat with a lick of her fingertips. "Well, once again, congratulations, sir and Niena? don't forget...try to relax and not do everything at once?" She eyes some iced fruit puree on the far table and without a farewell, makes her way to the rare treat.
Viviana strides outside to the bowl.
Viviana has left.
Niena reaches out and snags the child who nearly tripped Shanlee, handing him back to her grateful counterpart with a sympathetic smile. That accomplished, she looks around the room as if seeking familiar faces now that Vivy has left. She doesn't move yet, though.
"Wingleader," once Melata's in a whirlwind of betting theories and only after Satiet's looked about shiftily to make sure no dignitary's caught sight of her yet. Then her admonishment concludes: "Usually, when a girl asks to dance, you don't refuse. Or keep her waiting. Whatever crate that's needed or not." The last added ever so angelically in the coolest of the goldrider's wide-range of intonations.
Melata holds up her hands and shakes her head vemeliently, "No, no, no, no." This is said to the two brownriders whom are trying to get her to put down marks on the eggs. "At least let them harden...they are barely fresh from the dragon!" She finally manages to extract herself from the disappointed pair.
Chuckling, "So glad we understand each other," B'yan quips to the assistant headwoman on the account of who's prettier, than downs the rest of his drink before setting it aside. His smirk turns simpering on Satiet's words, amused. With a swagger to his step as he shifts a lifted hand towards Milani, "I'd really like to read the pack of hides you're getting these rules of etiquette from," is his quip to Satiet, chin lifting slightly. "Especially when I was taught once to always consider those you've danced with before an offer of your hand again." His hand lifts, "Call me generous, not a gentleman," he drawls to Milani - likely the best offer he's giving for a dance.
Melata turns to try to find Shanlee...she saw the Weyrsecond earlier, but has obviously missed that worthy's escape a short while ago. As she does so, the two brownriders are back, and with reinforcements. They have a new system for determining the color of dragonets, and for some reason are fixated on telling it to the Wingleader. With nary a whimper for 'help', Melata is swept into the (slightly) quieter lower cavern.
"You got it," Milani chirps blithely in response to that quip and her head ducks a little at the remark about etiquette. "No dancing yet, so I think she's got you on both counts," she continues and after a brief moment's hesitation, settles her palm atop B'yan's. "Just don't step on my toes," she offers over to the wingleader, grinning again. "O wise and generous Wingleader. And thank you Weyrwoman, for reminding us all about our manners!" She blinks wide eyes twice, then pushes away from the table she's been standing near a little.
Melata meanders through the archway, into the lower caverns.
Melata has left.
B'yan's words evoke a smaller smile, more genuine despite its tiny size, out of Satiet and as the pair continue to chat, the weyrwoman drifts off. Espying a familiar face, her drifting carries her near Niena. "Interrupting busy people, are we?" she asks, mocking, silent steps bringing her up behind the nanny.
Niena jumps obligingly, then whirls to see Satiet. "Ummmmmmm.. Hello, Weyrwoman. Not really, just returning Jerat to Dalina. I was afraid the little guy might get outside if she couldn't get through people as easily as he did." When she's nervous, Niena's words all tumble out with no punctuation in sight. This is one of those times.
B'yan watches the Weyrwoman move off with a mirrored grin, lips parting before he turns his attention abruptly back on Milani. Leading her out on the floor, "Just for saying that, I just might step on your toes for spite," he notes to her, catching her at the small of her back. "We've already established that I hardly follow the rules, hm?" He'll likely lead her into an easily led dance, nothing too strenuous enough to break them both into a sweat.
The best of a bad situation: N'thei's had as many handshakes as he can be expected to tolerate in one night, so he's moved on to food and drink. He's found someone with whom to fall into an innocuous conversation about cheese, a bald little baker with a pronounced lisp and an adoration for all things culinary. Between the two of them, they're making a sizable dent in the spread.
If Niena's reaction satisfies whatever mean-streak lies in the weyrwoman, it's hard to tell from the brows that hitch high along her forehead. Then, "Breathe," is Satiet's advice, voice cool and deliberately commanding. "You should breathe when you speak. I don't fancy catching you if you faint and I'm not sure the men of High Reaches are quite so gentlemanly enough to catch a damsel in distress."
Niena gulps. Air, this time, not klah, and nods to Satiet. After an uncomfortable pause she says "Thank you, Weyrwoman." This time the words are measured and even.
"Good girl." Indulgent, perhaps just a smidgeon condescending, Satiet lavishes the two-worded praise onto the nanny. "Are you enjoying the break from the children? It must be hard to find adult company in such an occupation."
"Grouchy, grouchy," Milani accuses lightly. "I was only teasing. And you didn't /have/ to. Though I guess it's usually a good idea to do what Satiet suggests." And the assistant headwoman peeks over B'yan's shoulder after said Weyrwoman. She's a little energetic, not quite following the beat, though graceful enough. "And who needs rules, right?" Milie has a dimpled smile to accompany that statement. "Seriously though, I've got your crate and you can come for it later if you want it tonight."
Niena smiles, still somewhat nervously. "It is nice to be away for the evening. I don't envy the ones watching the infants tonight -- teething is still going on full force."
At that, Satiet's rosy lips thin further, the hitched brows poised in amusement over her pale eyes. "When is it not?" is her rhetorical question. "I'd enjoy adult company while you can before being beckoned back to the bowels of the nurseries. Indulge. Wine. Food. Perhaps leave the domesticated conversation aside and tell me more of yourself." Those close might actually believe she's sincere in her inquires. Might!
As if it was a calculated slip, B'yan passes a foot over Milani's as if to trip her up. It doesn't execute all the way, stopping only to tap against her boot and the wingleader passes over a smile. "And what makes you think I didn't want to dance, regardless?" he plays on his words, never giving nor taking as he swings Milani about the floor. "He follows her look over towards the Weyrwoman, and his remains neutral. Her innocent agreement gets short laughter from him and a shake of his head. "Next you'll be justifying theivery," he drawls blithely with a faceitious air. "I appreciate the crate. If not tonite, before drills tomorrow."
Niena nods obediently and gets herself a goblet of the commonly available red wine before beginning, "There isn't much, really. I was born here, and my parents are assistant cooks. I've been helping in the nurseries as long as I can remember, and I became an assistant nanny when I turned sixteen." A voice from nearby yells out "Tell her how you can't cook!", and the person who raised that voice gets a glare. "Oh, and I have a brother. Two, in fact. And neither of them can cook either, to mum and dad's chagrin."
"Maybe you did and maybe you didn't," Milani makes very obviously fake wide-eyes about that pass of the bronzerider's foot. "As for thievery, we all know what is and isn't justified around these parts, don't we?" Sweetly. Oh so sweetly. "Before drills tomorrow, that'd be some slip up if you wind up leading drunk, wouldn't it?" Blinking at B'yan innocently for that and Millie cranes her neck to see around the cavern again. "It's a good party and good seeing people having fun again." This she says with more thoughtful seriousness. "Not like last turn."
"Two brothers. My, my." The Weyrwoman's response begins with her mouth parting then shutting; then it opens again to spare: "I've five older brothers. Brothers are both comforting creatures and irritating, but a conversation for another day perhaps. Good night, Niena, I see a man in need of rescue from a growing gut." Satiet inclines her head to the nanny before making steps towards N'thei. "Sir." A delicate hand extends to the bronzerider. "If you'd escort me home?"
Niena inclines her head politely as well, then covers her surprise at being relatively unscathed by taking a few sips of her wine.
B'yan's smile nearly slips down at Milani's response on theivery oddly enough, but he recovers it nicely enough in the face of the crowd. Shrugging, "Everyone has their own opinions," is all he quips vaguely to that, then tacking on, "I'd slip up sober. Don't give me any ideas, Milani." Cuz clearly, he is surrounded by those in his wing. He passes a glance about the crowd, her comment on the previou turn drawing a pinched look from the bronzerider. "Can't exactly dance when your toes are freezing off," he jokes at the past in his way, continuing to lead her across the floor.
N'thei and his balder-rounder friend, exactly what the weyrleader will look like in twenty turns if he keeps on at this pace, had just reached the point of sampling the desserts. Some tremendously fluffy-filled pastry prevents him from immediately retrieving Satiet's hand, leaves the baker ample time to seize it and shake it with relish. "A fantastic party, Weyrwoman, a lovely clutch of eggs for it. Have you tried these fruit tarts? You really must. I made them with you in mind," the baker babbles good-naturedly. N'thei lets it go on longer than he really should under pretense of wiping his mouth, too-bright eyes turned to the goldrider.
"No? Okay." Milani shrugs a little, fingers tapping a little atop B'yan's shoulder, vaguely in time with the music though her eyes scan his face and she makes a little face at that pinched look. "No. You can't. So, it's all good now, right?" And she tries on an encouraging smile, then reaches for his hand, to duck under and force a skirt-swirling spin. "Have you actually taken a gander at the eggs?" she inquires as she pops back into place. "Or is that a case of seen them once, seen them all?"
Oily, once-pastry filled hands clasping hers twitches the weyrwoman. More like convulses, and it takes a feat of self-control for her not to wrestle her hand away long enough for her to compose herself. "I'm don't eat, I'm afraid. Haven't you heard, sir? I subsist on wine and breathing fire." In light of the bald man's age, there's a wry teasing flirtation in Satiet's intonation. "But I'll be sure to try some when the leftovers of this are laid out for hangover breakfast tomorrow morning."
He could agree with the sentiment that it's all good, but somehow B'yan's voice fails at this moment. Moving Milani in time with the music before it starts to fade, he lets her take his hand easily and answers on the clutch. "I haven't seen it yet, but I just might catch you up on the stands sometime," he drawls with non-chalance. "I usually catch a look when the stands are empty. Late at night. You?" He matches her easily step for step, and when the song is on its end he adds to it, "I have the feeling I'm not the first you've danced with, assistant headwoman," in an open tease.
With the baker too bemused by the wine-and-fire answer to say anything for a long spell, N'thei intervenes with a timely elbow offered toward the goldrider. He's had just long enough to ever-so-delicately plate one of the fruit tarts in question, to cover it with a napkin, and wait for Satiet to accept the offer of his arm and be led away. --Finally recovered, the fat man blunders his way through a reply; "Yes. No. I hadn't heard. Good night." He stuffs himself with a cream puff and calls it a night.
"Good night." Far more gracious than at her norm, Satiet bestows departures on the balding man, leaning forward to kiss a particularly shiny bald spot and then turns to accept N'thei's elbow. Mischievous? Perhaps. Determined to go home? Definitely.
Satiet strolls outside to the bowl.
Satiet has left.
You stride outside to the bowl.