Sandbar reopening. --Part 1.
RL Date: 9/7/08
IC Date: 9/7/17 --Going to try to tag everyone. Heh.
Though she hasn't been a bartender for a number of Turns now, Fayre is still involved in all the busywork of getting setup. A proud smile lights up her face and every so often she glances eagerly towards the drinks and food being laid out, though she doesn't delve into either yet. Instead, she tries to make herself useful by helping to put out the name submission jars beside the various colourful drinks.
The proud bartenders are hustling and bustling about, making the final preparations for the grand opening. There's last minute sweeping, straightening of dishes and glasses, and pulling off the sheets from the newly redone black tables and chairs. A buffet showing off the Sandbar's new menu-mostly greasy, yet tasty, food-is almost set up and the new drinks are being laid out on a series of pushed together tables. Next to the drinks ready to be taste-tested are opaque jars and pieces of paper for people to suggest names.
The Reaches come bearing gifts. Specifically, N'thei and a balding older gent, F'rint, are seen first down on the beach where Wyaeth and Oranyuth have landed, arguing over the best way to unlash a big keg without doing damage to keg or contents. Things like "it's f-ing sand, brother, it's not going to break open" and "you can't just roll it along all that beach" go back and forth before finally, effort concerted, they heave it between the two of them and manage to get it up the beach and along the ramp and through the door. There, pushed to one side, upended, it provides a place for N'thei to lean and rest and catch his breath and mop sweat from his forehead-- Ista, hot-- while getting the lay of the land. "Swanky," he remarks to his counterpart.
X'lar walks amongst the groups of people, talking quietly to them before moving forward to the bar where he tosses Fayre a grin. The bar and the bar's new semi-kitchen behind it is also given a look. A hand skims over one table, then another. It's almost as if the teenager has some kind of investment in it. For now, he doesn't stay to talk long, but only talks long enough to make sure the patrons are having fun. As the Reachian contingent of F'rint and N'thei arrive, that smile on his face falters, but no matter, he picks up where he left off and talks to another group of people, "... /fishcakes/," he says to one auntie. "Any time. Not to mention the new drinks!" And again, he moves forward through the crowd. He's not exactly an expert at the schmoozing, but he tries. "Hope you enjoy yourself, N'thei," X'lar calls out, hearing the much taller bronzerider's one word description of the re-opened Sandbar.
Bare feet, bikini, and sand clinging up to her knees, Balinne doesn't exactly *look* like a respectable Wingleader. Or act it. She all but prances into the bar, takes a sweeping look around, and sighs. "Finally!" she declares. She tucks a lock of her hair behind an ear, and scoots out of the doorway to allow others to enter.
C'len and Nolee make the trek into the Sandbar from the beach, the former looking a little more tentative than the latter, unsurprising given the recent changes. The bronzerider still wears clothing much too heavy for the oppressive humidity of his new home weyr, but it's festive nevertheless, and somehow the pair match a little. "Ah, no time like the present, I guess?" C'len asks, mouth twitching into a faint grin as the pair move in even further, taking in the sights and smells.
Fayre's jaunty gaunt and happy expression are dashed just a bit by N'thei and F'rint's entrance, despite the gift they bring. Kip seems pleased enough by it, though, and swaggers over to inspect the large keg. "Whatcha got for us here, Reachians?" His hands run over the wood, as if he'll be able to guess by touch. Fayre also makes her way over to the two, forcing on a polite smile. "Ah. Ista's duties and thanks to ye both. An' welcome! I, er, also like to think of our new 'bar as...swanky."
Nolee's wearing the typical Istan choice of light fabrics, but this celebration hasn't warranted new garb, and that she's clad in hardly boasts fresh bright colors. She's also wearing a smile that transforms hastily into a scowl, her bovinishly large brown eyes taking in the completion of the construction with a critical eye. "Hurry with that sweeping, you," she directs, donning the blank doe-eyed hostess expression in rapid succession, even through the grunting and the choice words spoken like a mighty fine dockworker outside. "Evening," greets folks as they come up the ramp toward the bar proper, and the occasional 'duties is included, C'len tugged along with her by the elbow so he, too, can greet folks all proper-like.
It's not long after F'rint and N'thei have put together their collective brains to figure out a way to get a keg off a dragon (one wonders how they got it on the dragon in the first place), that Teonath winks in from between, spiraling to the sands with its lot of parked dragons. Timely, avoiding all the heavy labor, and one shedding the protective thickness of her riding jacket, dressed to suit the weather, Satiet's slender form makes its way across the beach towards the shade of the Sandbar. Pale eyes combine with the tippy-toes up of her feet so she can try and search the crowds for familiar faces, or perhaps just one that she fails to find.
Forgive N'thei-- and F'rint-- a second while the check out girl-in-bikini. It's almost reflexive, eyes lifted to track Balinne momentarily before the bronzerider's assailed with various and sundry greetings and comments. X'lar gets answered with a dubious lift of brows before he turns a smile-that-recognizes without friendliness toward Fayre. "Brought my own chair, miss, and Reaches duties in return," he answers for the keg, which would really be a silly response for a chair considering. His knuckles knock the solid-sounding state of the keg beneath his hips.
X'lar's bluish gray eyes look around once more, moving from one group of people to the dart board, making sure it is secured before turning around in a 180, studying the turnout thus far. Another smile, proud this time, as he looks around. C'len and Nolee are tossed a smile from his spot. But yet again, that smile falters once more as yet another Reachian is seen. But, once again, he bolsters himself and walks toward the Reachian Weyrwoman. "Ista's duties, Weyrwoman," he offers to Satiet. A beat's passing offers him a chance to note searching look of hers and so offers formally to her, "Are you looking for anyone in particular?" Not one, but both of N'thei's brows are looked upon with reserve from the Istan teen and his attention once again switches back to Satiet. Groups of people continue to mingle, enjoying the atmosphere of the re-opened dockside tavern.
A moment is taken to brush sand from her calf - it doesn't do much good, however. Balinne spends another moment wrinkling her nose at herself before ignoring it. Sand is sand. Her first order of business, however, does not seem to be finding herself a drink, but rather, a person. "Nolee!" Oh, wait, "Weyrwoman!" and then "Weyrleader." She wiggles her way through the crowd of people to get at the pair of them.
Fayre looks at N'thei, then at the keg, and then back at the Reachian Weyrleader. She pauses for a few seconds, giving him an incredulous look, before finally asking, "What...really? You brought that all the way from your freezin' cold Weyr just to sit on? I sure hope X'lar doesn't pick up on your Weyr's odd habits, now that he's clutch sire there an' all. Er, no offense meant, o' course." Kip is conveniently called away to attend to other things and thus doesn't have to worry about whether the keg really is meant to be a chair or not.
Now that the preparations for the drink event are complete, most of the bartenders are busy stocking the new obsidian shelves behind the bar. New shiny glasses of all shapes and sizes and mixing tools such as cocktail shakers and swizzle sticks are the main objects filling up the previously empty spaces. A few bartenders hang back to watch over the proceedings of the drink tasting.
Ch'val would have to be even newer to the island than he is to be unawares that there's a major going-on down on the beach. He drifts along in the wake of two younger, native wingmates toward the open-air bar, offering duties to the known and unknown from other lands and smirking salutes to their new Weyrleader. The graying man lets himself be separated by other people from his mates, permitting himself to be comfortably awkward beside C'len for a moment for the pure and unabashed purpose of sizing him up.
C'len does, indeed, manage to call out appropriate greetings to people here and there, in between looking around at the new polished bar and scoping out the game area. "Ah, it's been a while since I've been to the bar but the changes are great--" He breaks off as Balinne makes her way over, offering a grin and wave to the Wingleader, not even quirking a brow at her appearance. "Wingleader," he inclines his head toward her, then follows it with a nod to Ch'val, as well. A moment's recognition, trying to recall where he's seen the graying man before, but it's chased away by other new arrivals that must also be greeted.
By the time X'lar hails her, Satiet's found a pillar to stand by, a hand reached out to brace herself against it and when he speaks /to/ her while she seeks that familiar face, she startles, falling off her perch of toes. "Excuse me?" is spoken irritably before a turn of her face catches sight of the voice to match the face, after which a half-hearted attempt at politeness fails in her one-worded, "Oh." It's you. "I'm looking for your wey-, for someone." A half-beat later while she's looking across the crowd again, this even less fruitful as she's not standing on her tiptoes anymore, she spares a, "I suppose congratulations are in order for your bronze."
Nolee's terrible with faces, and the area's such a blur of them that soon she gives up on keeping track of who might be present. Balinne's call brings a light to her face that fades as a title's given, the woman momentarily confused and then resigned - that's her, now, alas. She dons a cheerful put-upon smile and tries to hug the bikini-girl, noting behind as she does so that several eyes still linger on the Wingleader's backside after her recent bend-over to clear sand. "Ohh, C'len, this is Zelieth's, one of Vildaeth's - oh, but you knew that. And you remember C'len? And this is - " Is as Ch'gal is noted, her head tilted. "Mmm, welcome!" she hails, vaguely. "Jays, they'll be letting us taste the new drinks tonight. I would've preferred a nice cheese tray, but no one listens to me."
"Is it *supposed* to be this hot?" One free hand fans Berit's face since the other is occupied already with a wineglass. She comes in trailing Suizen, mincing steps, wearing a pretty orange dress that does not look so out of place at Ista. Except the goldrider herself does. "It feels like Boll all over again, and I swore to myself that.." Her voice trails off as she takes in the accumulated people, the varying knots and faces, and then she releases a loud, irritated sigh.
An'dren's late, but he's better late than never -- and anyways, given the crowd already present within the Sandbar, it's not like anyone'll notice his previous absence. He's wearing the usual outfit, minus the hat, and he's all bright-eyed at the prospect of a party and of good company. There're certainly plenty of familiar faces around, but there's just one he's looking for. And when he can't find it? He cups a hand around his mouth and bellows, "XIE." And just in case that doesn't work? It's followed by an equally loud, "X'LAR," though after /that/ shout, he has the good grace to look somewhat sheepish and offer general, "Weyrwoman. Weyrleader,"s around the tavern.
First off; "Weyr's not freezing cold, except by comparison to this armp--" Something checks N'thei before that comment gets too far away from him, could be a glimpse C'len-and-Nolee, could be an elbow in the shoulder from F'rint, could be his own realization that he's surrounding on all sides by Istans. Anyway, he tries on a smile which ill-suits him, shows Fayre his teeth, and explains more to the point, "Finest Tillekian ale, miss, with my personal wishes for your bar's continued success, and congratulations on your new Weyrleader." His personal-wishes and congratulations are skin-deep at best; standing, all ready to relocate the keg, he asks/demands, "Where can we put it."
C'len gets a cheeky sort of grin, and a little shrug of Balinne's shoulders. "Weyrleader," she offers again, and she barely contains her snicker. "So. I thought I would offer you my congratulations. And to inform you that your cookies were very delicious. And apparently good luck!" That would be for his new knot, of course. "And you, Nolee-" erm. "Weyrwoman Nolee," titles are important. Pause. "Anything I can get you?"
Ch'val nods and watches C'len mesh with the crowd; suffers Nolee's inability to place his identity with a quiet, "Iath's," to help her or maybe just make the confusion worse; looks into the swarm for and fails to spot the younger wingmates with whom he arrived; and in the end settles for moving deeper into the throng with an expression bemused at best. "Beg pardon," he remarks gravely to those whose ways he inevitably finds himself in.
Suizen makes her way into the 'bar with Berit at her side, "Yup - part of the reason it's on the docks, and has no walls - lets the air in easier, though with this many folk, not sure if we'd be knowin' the difference." Not that the heat bothers the Istan Potter - after all, she has clay slicked into her hair to ...er... offer protection against the heat? Suurre. Sooz gives a glance around, then grins at Berit. "Place is lookin' good, don't you think?" The squat young woman goes tippy-toe for a moment, trying to spot some familiar faces in the crowd, before standing proper again, "Looks like there's plenty of things to drink, over at the counter, if you're wantin' to try anything else. In fact.." she gives her mug a glance, then chugs the juice down, "I think I might see if they have anything new to be drinkin'."
Fayre screws up her mouth and firmly puts both hands on her hips in response to that almost-insult. "Well that's what I /was/ comparing it to, so there." A bit childish, particularly considering that knot sitting on her shoulder. Still, she doesn't want to appear exceptionally rude, so she puts on a forced smile as well. "Oh. Thanks, then. And C'len does seem quite nice. Sorry we keep stealing your bronzeriders." Fayre flashes her own teeth now, offering the Weyrleader a slightly mocking grin. Her gaze flits around and she lazily responds, "Oh, I dunno. Behind the bar, I guess." With a sigh, the rider remembers who she's talking to. "Er, I mean, I can't let a guest do all the heavy liftin' around here! You just relax, y'hear?" She waves over two burly bartenders, whose muscles are certainly big enough to take care of the largest of kegs.
Being social comes to Virgil easily, even when surrounded by unfamiliar faces and, well, territory she's all comfortable smiles and outwardly confident. Quickly sidestepping someone on their way out, she pauses a moment to glance over the crowd before taking a deep breath and the unavoidable plunge. There are Fortians in here somewhere, and Telgar folk too, and golly, look at all those friendly (flushed) faces!
X'lar hears his name from Fayre talking to N'thei and now /his/ brows shoot up. The teen doesn't have time to be everywhere at once, so instead continues to plant himself by Satiet's side until dismissed. Uncharacteristically, the teenager seems rather quiet tonight, but pride still is evident in his appearance as he looks around once more. Ch'val's arrival receives a fleeting look of relief from the younger philanthropic bronzerider. Satiet once again receives his full attention now. "I apologize to have surprised you," Xie tells the Reachian Weyrwoman. His eyes dart to Ch'val and the younger rider takes a deep breath and tells Satiet: "My thanks for your congratulations, Weyrwoman." No matter how impolite she might be to him, X'lar still seems capable of standing on his two feet. Literally and figuratively. At An'dren's loud calling, X'lar grins despite himself and lifts a hand to wave. For once, he seems quieter than An'dren. "Can I get you something to drink, perhaps, Weyrwoman, while you are looking for your... someone?" comes the next question for the ice blue eyed Reachian woman.
Into the mix comes one Reachian brownrider, dressed in clothing that matches the warmer weather of Ista. E'dre pauses to the side of one particular knot of chatting people, giving more attention to the set of his belt and dusting off invisible particles of dust. Content with his appearance, he offers a flash of a smile to one redhead that makes eye contact with him and proceeds forward. Drinks are to be had!
An'dren grins at X'lar's wave, but two steps into the crowd makes it obvious that Xie's already occupied. And with Satiet, no less. She's not a woman he wants to risk interrupting, and so his forward motion is halted almost before it's begun, given up in favor of finding closer -- and potentially safer -- company. As close as he is to the door, it's easy to note the people still coming in, and he brightens immediately at the first familiar face he sees. "Berit?" he asks, and sort of /nudges/ his way into a free space so he can make sure he's got it right. "Hey. I mean, Ista's duties." Then Suizen by her side is noticed, and he blinks. "Er. Am I intruding? Sorry."
It is a stormy Rhianie who's been mistaken for some little serving girl, the mighty huntress -- but she's grabbing old I'jhiet a mug of ale anyways. Her eyes flash as she asks the bluerider if he'd like anything /else/, and when he replies in the negative she mutters and stumps off. Unfortunately, she's watching her feet more than the people around her, and nearly runs right into Ch'val. There's a little squeak as she ducks quickly to the side to avoid collision, blinking up at the rider. "Oh, shells." The girl winces. "I'm sorry, sir."
Suizen shakes her head at An'dren, "Of course not... in fact, if you both'll be excusin' me... I'm gonna see about that drink. Ma'am..." she adds to Berit in apology, or farewell, or somewhere in between.
/That/ evokes amusement, the Istan bronzerider finally gaining more of her attention with what he says, how he says it. Satiet again turns to look up at X'lar, a crooked curve flashed the young man. "My someone. Exactly." Lacking elaboration, it remains as 'someone' whose name or title may or may not begin with 'wey'; which narrows things considerably! "Are drinks on the house tonight, or shall we fill Ista's coffers with her ill-gained marks? Meaning," the sharp face tips towards X'lar, "Are you offering to pay this round?"
Nolee blinks at the brown-haired recent transfer, repeating softly, "Iath's," as thought it were part of the introductions to Balinne. "Me? Oh jays. I'd love some juice, but I don't know if they're serving yet. It's heaps of hot in here, with all these..." her gaze lingers over the crowd, settling lightly on the Reachian Weyrleader and his companion before glancing over toward some visiting Fortians. Her lips set, pressing together a moment before her vacant smile returns, any choice descriptors left wisely and deliberately out, "people in here. Still, it's good for business, even though the largest come from alcohol." Her frown there indicates her disdain for the drink.
Two preteen weyrfolk, no doubt related as they have the same red hair and hooked nose, are giggling to each other and pointing to drink number six. The younger one shoves his taller brother and murmurs in a taunting voice, "Come on, do it!" The bigger redhead elbows back but obeys, hastily scribbling on a piece of paper and dropping it into name suggestion jar. The two shuffle away, acting suspiciously innocent. Yup, they even begin to whistle.
The fanning stops for a few seconds as Berit automatically reaches a hand up to her hair, smoothing with careful fingers; humidity on curls is dangerous. "I think it might be nice on a breezy day or during light rain, but the air is so stifling." She takes a fortifying drink from her glass, searching faces over the rim, but her eyes come back to Suizen as the other girl excuses herself. "Mm, thank you," in parting, as she is nudged forward by some impatient weyrfolk behind her. "An'dren, nice to see you again. It has been some time." A hand is held out to him, her smile widening. "Fort's duties."
Ch'val's been doing such an adept job of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, at least so far as everyone else's efforts to get from point A to point B are concerned, that a squeak and a near-miss hardly phase him. He inclines his head apologetically to Suizen and offers her his hand, lest she be off-balance. "Sorry myself," he assures her. "Such a crowd. Going toward the bar? Pairs step on toes half as often as singles."
"E'dre." That would be N'thei, reaching one hand to try and catch the brownrider by the elbow while he's still in proximity of N'thei, F'rint, and the keg of Tillekian the two guard between them. "Give us a hand here, lad. Buy you a drink. --We've got it, miss, thank you. Behind the bar with it." That to answer Fayre and her two burly men, the Reachian gentlemen giving the Istan gentlemen a pair of back-off-boys smiles.
Finally through, or at least at a spot in the crowd she can take a breath in, Virgil leans up on the bar and orders what would presumably be a drink of some kind. During its preparation, she uses the time wisely and searches for a face she's only seen maybe once or twice before. Finding it, she hopes, and reaching back for the glass offered to her, she pushes off for her new destination. Reaching Fayre's side, finally, she sticks her hand out and tries to make herself heard over the noise. Hopefully the weyrwoman won't mind. "Fort's duties, this place looks great." Beam.
That reaching hand meets with E'dre's elbow and pauses his steps. He looks momentarily irritated by the action, until he registers /who/ it is seeking his help. "Sure, no problem. Drinks a good enough deal." He checks to make sure his shirt is not likely to get smudged by anything and then bends to the task at hand. "Maybe I can work one more outta the deal, huh?" Grin. "That'd keep my marks saved for a good round of poker."
"Juice?" says Balinne, once more bent to attempt ridding herself of the sand. But alas, still no use. So she stops her bare feet against the ground in a moment of desperation, and gives up for good. A glance around at Nolee's words has her mind on a very different track. "I'm beginning to feel... under-dressed." But not concerned. "Right. I'll be back." And she slides herself back into the crowd, vanishing among heads and shoulders much taller than she is.
Stomps.
Fardles, it sure's /hot/ here! And no matter how Jendel had prepared for it, there's no way the Fortian brownrider could've expected to stay cool in /this/ environment! As she enters the Sandbar, she damn near slams the door open and shut in a rather undignified manner - as if rushing in to find some sort of relief from the sweltering heat. Shard it, well this isn't going well - was it really /her/ brilliant idea to come here in the first place? Jendel heftily swaggers towards closer to the bar, trying to nudge her way through the collected crowd of people - 's'that Berit? - before /finally/ finding a seat for herself. And sure enough, she's flushed and even sweating quite a bit. Ugh.
C'len tugs momentarily at the collar of his shirt, leaning down to suggest to Nolee, "Maybe we should've asked 'Reaches to bring some ice?" Though there's plenty of space, the crowd continues to grow; the impact of the drinks later in the night will make things even more interesting. "The food looks good, though." Unsurprisingly, C'len's noticed the buffet.
X'lar cannot help but smile openly in response to Satiet's own crooked curve to her mouth. "The first round and all tasted drinks," he gestures toward the drinks in the smaller glasses on the bar. "... are on the house. Should you wish drinks afterwards, Weyrwoman, I would be more than happy to buy them for you." X'lar is implying paying for all of her drinks? "I believe your someone might be at the bar," he replies, gesturing toward the slick new obsidian bar.
Rhianie does a terribly good job looking innocent, and flashes a weary smile up at Ch'val. But at his second statement the girl grins cheekily. "Or twice as." She laughs, but nods. "Sure." It's agreeable enough; what else has she got to do? Run as far away from the crowd as possible? While it has its' charm, that running away thing...she takes a step forward with a little grin. "I'm Raliah. There sure are a lot of people here."
Andy grins, nods, and turns to Berit when Suizen takes her leave, willing enough to shake her hand. "Yeah, it has been. Went up to Fort a few times," he mentions. "Never did come across you, though. Some crowd, isn't it?" He lifts his head to survey the bar, and his expression is one almost of pride for Istan hospitality. Then the 'hospitality' part of it sinks in, and he looks down again to offer, somewhat belatedly, "Want a drink? It'll help with the heat."
The muscled bartenders look between each other and shrug before wandering off to make themselves useful elsewhere. As for Fayre, she seems a bit put off by the rejection of her help offer, but shrugs as well. "Whatever you prefer, Weyrleader." E'dre, being a stranger to the weyrwoman, gets himself a genuine smile from the goldrider. "And I'm Fayre, by the way." She cheers up even more when Virgil compliments the Sandbar's new look and she accepts the handshake without hesitation. "Why thank you! They sure have been workin' hard on it. I love the new bar and shelves the most. Very Istan. Oh, and Ista's duties to you too, o' course. I must admit, though, I've forgotten your name."
"Well met - or at least met, Raliah. Ch'val." Another grave nod and the graying rider makes the hand that had offered stability now an offer of companionship, turning it so the girl could take his arm if she liked. "With any luck the feet we put beside one another's won't be able to step on any toes," he explains, and dips his head to squint a particular look through the masses toward the tables that bear the samples that no doubt drew much of the event's crowd. "It'll be less silly if I wait to offer to buy until after the free wells run dry," notes Ch'val. "Want to try some?"
A much taller, much older red-haired, hook-nosed fellow sneaks up behind his two mischievous sons and grabs them by the scruff of their necks. "What did you two just did that's makin' ya'll giggle so much?" The smaller red heads shrug themselves free and stare at the ground, shuffling their feet. "/I/ didn't do anything, pa." The younger pipes up, earning himself a glare from his brother. 'Pa' pulls out the same piece of paper from his pocket that the two had put in for the brownish-coloured drink six. "Latrine Leftovers," the older man reads out with a gruff voice. "Well, don't you two worry. You're goin' to be seeing plenty of the latrines now." Cue groaning.
Amiably, N'thei counters to E'dre, "Think you'll get a good round of poker around here?" His chuckle just skirts the line between derisive and doubtful while he takes one side of the keg, leaves F'rint the other, and evidently expects E'dre to brace the middle and clear the crowd. "Sweating buckets here, what say we get a drink, go outside, see how many skirts you can see up if you sit on the beach and watch that ramp that leads up here." His suggestion, for all it's in the middle of a crowded room, is aimed for E'dre-and-F'rint alone, added with a pardon-me while he pushes by An'dren, Jendel, Berit, that whole cluster of young people.
The look on Virgil's face is pure, genuine /nice/. Her handshake is firm, then she's using that hand to gesture back where she just was, at the counter. "Seriously, that bar is /gorgeous/. Oh," she ducks her head, "My name's Virgil, I'm with Siraqueth. Thanks so much for doing all this." 'All this' most likely meaning the drinks and the hosting and whatnot. "This is such a big difference from last time I was here, really, great work." Her grin could probably light this place, really, if those glows and lamps and stuff don't work out.
"Very cute," announces the Reaches' goldrider, her hand reaching up to pat, but then failing to make contact with X'lar's cheek. Instead it deviates in its path to run a hand through her dark hair and then down to pick at the fabric of her dress to keep it from sticking too well, and in perspiration, to her figure. As for where her someone might be, Satiet's dark lashes narrow about her pale eyes, and her brow puckers quizzically, "Do you have any idea who I might be looking for, bronzerider? I'm actually told she won't be making it so my search, for now, is done. Carry on to the drinks."
Nolee almost laughs at Balinne's self-consciousness, shrugging as the greenrider vanishes into the crowd. Her eyes brighten as C'len leans closer, and she reaches up to brush back some errant strands of his dirty blonde hair, tidying the lanky bronzerider so he's fit for presentation, or maybe just being affectionate. "We got some ice," she whispers. "But it was for the drinks." Louder comes, "What are they serving? I'm so nervous I could hardly eat a bite if it's that oil-cooked fishmash we've been smelling all sevenday." Still taking refuge near the glows-as-torch lanterns by the open-air entrance to the bar, the woman greets a few more comers, then sighs. "Suppose we should go inside, make nice. No wonder Gree-r scowled all the time." And so saying, into the fray she goes, trusting C'len to follow or to redirect toward the buffet, as he will.
"Did you?" A frown mars her brow. "I had not seen you or heard that you had come. You should have had Riuth find us. I would have enjoyed seeing you again, as long as it is been." When was that, back when she was at weaver? She shakes her head, frown smoothed over with a beguiling smile. "How have you been? All is well?" But the look that encompasses the crowd is less than excited, a little more on the verge of perturbed by the constant noise and body heat. "It sure is.. something." Shifting her weight, she places her second hand on her wineglass, looking down into the red liquid. "I have wine." She looks back up, head tilted back. "If you know of anything that will help alleviate the heat better?" Clearly, not a connoisseur of drinks. Her mouth opens, as she starts to say more, but then the Reachian is pushing past, gaining a frown and a backwards glance that ends up settling on Jendel. "Jendel, I was not aware you were here." At Ista.
"Well, pleasure to meet you, Fayre," E'dre replies to Fayre's introduction, meeting her gaze fully and offering a fairly charming grin. "I'm E'dre, tho' I'm sure you caught my name from N'thei." His smile shifts to a more charming rendition, "Reachian duties, and all that. Tho' all of that properness gets old, fast, don't you think?" One focus on balancing that middle portion of the keg, the next going to muttered, "Excuse me, pardon me, /move/ on.." N'thei's comment hits him right as they near the cluster of 'younger people'. "Sure, lookin' up some skirts might not be a bad way to pass the time." Said a little /too/ loudly, causing him to flush as he looks and spies Berit among the group. "Er, yeah. 'scuse us guys, gotta move this stuff on."
Fayre blushes amiably and waves her right hand about, doing her best to act modest. "Oh, well. I just oversaw some of the construction and am playin' hostess tonight. Most of the thanks should go towards Kip n'his crew. It was their vision, mostly, an' the Weyrleaders plus X'lar provided most o' the funding." She still beams with pride despite her statement and looks over the bustling crowd. "Great turnout, that's fer sure." Her grin widens, either with pride or the fact that N'thei is busy elsewhere now, and with a happier mood comes more chattiness. "I used to be a bartender here, y'know." Before E'dre vanishes into the crowd with N'thei, Fayre responds, "Well, I suppose when you have a weyrwoman knot, y'always gotta bother with the proper stuff, even when y'get sick of it."
Maybe it's just N'thei's luck, but Balinne happens to be *just* close enough to catch that 'up skirt' comment. Swing, around she goes on her heel and flashes her deadliest glare up at the much taller Weyrleader. There's a moment of indecision, but Balinne decides to keep her mouth shut and just move on. Back into the crowd. A bit of shuffling later, and she's back by C'len and Nolee. "Here," and she presses a glass of chilled fruit juice into the Weyrwoman's hand. But it's a more sour look she wears. And she doesn't stay long. A rolling of her shoulders, and the redheaded Wingleader vanishes once more, this time headed for the drinks.
Rhianie giggles, nodding stoutly. "Well met, Ch'val." She agrees, lightly placing her hand on the elbow offered. She's been taught her manners! Even if she usually declines their use. The girl squints, then nods, grinning. "Ah! I see. That makes sense." She agrees. "Unless I step on yours." This gets a woeful nod, as they approach the tables. They're eyed curiously. "Uh." The girl glances around shiftily. "Ma wouldn't approve, but ma's at the hold. I've never tried any of those before." A hand is waved vaguely. "Sure."
An'dren shrugs, managing, somehow, to look apologetic even despite that near-vibrating excitement. "I didn't want to bother you," he says. "Or, well. Riuth didn't want to bother you. I figured if I could just, y'know...run into you? He wouldn't be able to stop me from staying to chat. But I can't really force him to seek out Zibeth, as much as I like to say that I'm the one in control here." He grins crookedly and spreads his hands out in a helpless sort of gesture, then adds, "Yeah. Some of those drinks up there probably have ice blended into it, and that'll help a lot more than just wine. Why don't you go stand by a window or some'in? I'll be right back." And so saying, he pushes forward into the crowd, intent on snagging a few free drinks before they're gone.
N'thei, with a puff while he manages his end of the keg; "So maintaining dignity while outside the Weyr, obviously something we need to talk to I'daur about teaching his weyrlings, neh?" A chuckled remark after E'dre's discomfort. Like it somehow makes it better, he offers to the young brownrider, "I'll introduce you on the way out. Think the little one's Fort's queenrider and-- the bikini-girl... No idea, but we ought to say hello to that one for sure." Thud when he lowers his end behind the bar, and it's F'rint who supplies, "Balinne, and she's a Wingleader, so you boys behave," before he dives off to take advantage of free drinks. Pro-tip: never tell the Reaches there's free booze.
"Surely you've had ale or wine with dinner," says Ch'val, pulling a slow stop to progress toward the drink samples so he can take a moment to turn his squint down and sidelong onto the girl at his arm. His brows lower as he considers her more carefully, and one eye twitches. "At least once or twice, unless the water here's so fine you can drink it." It evidently is not, where he's from. "Hold or not, if your ma'd be upset, you'll feel bad about it. Food instead?"
"I must have assumed incorrectly," X'lar tells Satiet of her 'someone'. A smile once again graces his lips in reaction to the goldrider from Reaches. He offers an arm to the older woman, likely acting more formal in this one hour than the rest of his days combined. "To the bar then?" he asks of her, nodding once more in the direction of the drinks as he begins walking toward them. "From what I hear," Xie explains to the Reachian Senior, "the drinks they have set aside for tasting are very good." He seems to part the crowd so that he may allow himself and Satiet to the bar.
With the bar food being produced, it doesn't take long for a few of the larger riders to dig into what looks like a yellowfin fishcake, not to mention the gigantic bowls of nuts now available. So engrossed in their food, a pair of women find themselves slightly revolted by the speed at which they eat.
Jendel is considering her choices for a drink - just about anything sounds good against a dry, hot pallete - when the Reachian rider brushes past. She grunts, and then grumbles, but says nothing more to him as he's already out of sight. However, a rather wicked-looking smirk appears on her lips as she hears Berit's remark. "So y'didn't see m'stumblin'in at all?" She teases the goldrider - her clutchmate - as she wipes some sweat off her brow. "S'good, was 'fraid I'd b'n t'clumsy comin n'ere." She drawls, chuckling a little under her breath as she gives Berit an odd look. "Aw, well."
Rhianie nods. "Oh, well, ale sometimes. Watered down, my brother said. Useless Wherry." Grumble grumble, "Tried wine once. Disgusting." She assures, with a flap of her hand. "But most of those don't look too much like them." The glasses are eyed with a mixture of curiosity and wariness. "Or smell." She leans down to sniff, wrinkling her nose and snickering. "Food? Well..." There's dissapointment there; she's an adventurous girl, and all the nice adults get to drink! "If you say so."
E'dre grunts as the weight of the keg is finally removed. He rolls a shoulder and just glances at N'thei, a lifted brow firmly in place. "I'd say I'daur did a fair enough job. Perhaps my mentor should have been better at making sure of such things wouldn't happen." Pert, but with a smirk that is made playful by the hint of laughter in his eyes. A guffaw follows at F'rint's direction. "What's position got to do with anything?" He blinks at his wording and chortles, "Nevermind." Back to N'thei and a hand is extended. "My pay? And, so you know, that's Berit - you know her name, don't you?" Not that it matters, seeing how they've shuffled a few paces away from that string of people. An'dren's retreating back gets a slight glare from the brownrider.
Then again, maybe there are more than one 'someones' Satiet's looking for and while X'lar offers his arm to her, she looks at it a moment, thoughtful and then shakes her head. "I'll find you later to take you up on buying me all my drinks tonight, but-," the raven-haired woman brushes her fingers against the Istan's arm, pressing it lightly enough to guide it away, "There's someone, I'm told, who is looking for me." Without waiting, though she attempts a kinder smile to take the sting out of her departure (it is only middlingly successful), she turns so a more genuine set to her lips slants towards a stocky, sandy-haired man. Her greeting of him is just shy of a hug, a companionable arm slung about his waist and her clear light laughter amiable.
C'len chooses the buffet over the drinks, for now: food before alcohol, all responsible-like. He catches Nolee's hand, steering her over to where they can collect plates to sample the myriad seafood, vegetable, and other dishes available. "Smells even better up close," he mutters, making his way over not to the bar, just yet, but one of the tables near it which has at least two empty seats. He even manages not to tread on any toes--so far.
Ch'val is willing to forgo being a nice adult in favor of being one not in trouble with "Raliah"'s mum, and permits the girl's disappointment to wash over him with gray indifference. "I hear wine's an acquired taste," he only offers, and while the arm beneath Rhianie's hand turns to lead her toward the food, his other unfolds so he can palm a random sample from the table before they depart its vicinity. "You'll acquire it later. If ma's still at the hold, what's got you here?"
With no small pride, N'thei answers to E'dre, "We'll credit your mentor that you turned out clever and I'daur that you turned out with bad manners. How's that." He strokes his hand across the top of the keg a last time, runs his fingers over the Tillekian stamp, and leaves it there before it really gets loverly between him and the ale. One corner of his eye twitches, no explanation, and he straightens to make his way around to the right side of the bar and claim a drink; something free. "Berit... Berit... Why do I know that name. Well, let's shake hands and get out of here. F-ing sweltering." Tugging his collar with his empty hand, he starts a meandering track toward people whose hands he ought to shake with the ultimate goal being to-get-outside.
Responsibility? Pfft. Balinne is all about the drinks at the moment, looking over each one, reading their little descriptions, filing it away for later perusal... or maybe her attention is more of the 'distracted but looking busy' kind. Eventually, though, she does reach out and pluck a drink - maybe at random - and takes an experimental sip. "Hm," she decides, giving her drink an even more suspicious look.
X'lar gives Satiet one last smile of acknowledgement before she presses her hand lightly to guide him away. "Of course, Weyrwoman," X'lar replies in a rather pleasantly surprised voice, no matter how kind, middling or not, her smile might be. He moves toward the bar, standing on his toes to murmur something to Kip before turning around to study the large turnout of the Sandbar's re-opening. N'thei's words bring an outright grin to the younger, shorter bronzerider's lips, but soon his attention returns to the tasting drinks whereupon he tries one of the more tangy drinks. He lets most conversations around him simply wash over.
Nolee makes a pouting face at C'len and tugs her hand free as they near the buffet area. "Eew. Even smells like fishcakes." Her nose wrinkles, and she gestures him to go along and to enjoy the offerings, trailing along behind him at a safe distance away from the barrage of scents. When he heads toward the table, she shakes her head. "Too nervous to eat," she repeats, raising her voice so that she might be heard this time over the din. "You have my portion," she teases, "And I'll go make nice and shake hands. Nalaieth tells me there are other weyrwomen and some of our holders here, and I should at least say good evenings."
Some of the patrons at the Sandbar are taking advantage of the new dartboard and throwing a few. Unfortunately, all of the drink tasting has made their aim more than a little tipsy and a dart goes sailing out of the bar, completing missing both the board and the hinged shutter behind it meant to catch any darts that go awry. Theres a soft splash as it lands in the shallow ocean waters just outside. A nearby bartender sighs and rolls his eyes, grumbling out "Lost one already."
"/Bartending/? I didn't, no. How was that? I've always wanted to do that, I bet you meet all sorts of people." Virgil takes this moment to take a drink from the glass in her hand -- it's very obviously something fruity, probably with very little actual alcoholic content -- and glances around just in time to see someone she recognizes float by through the crowd. She smiles brightly, waves her free hand, returns her attention to the Istan weyrwoman.
Only mild interest in taken in the banter passed between the keg-bearers, and that is given with emotionless eyes sliding between all three men. Then, she slants a look back at An'dren. Ice-blended drinks- Berit's eyes light up at the words, and she nods eagerly. "Please, if you would, An'dren." She leaves the rest of their conversation for when he returns, turning towards her fellow Fortian, fingers splaying over her wineglass. "I did not. Would help me find a window? I think I might melt in all this heat." That said, she starts walking, whether Jendel is following or not, heaving a melodramatic sigh in the process. "Why do they call this place 'beautiful' again?" Might not want to say that too loud, but she pastes on a pleasant smile as she walks, nodding her head, giving silent greeting when it is passed to her. "Where is Keseth?" Back to Jendel.
"I'd just as soon as blame my mother for my manners," E'dre quips, looking at the keg in front of him and then to N'thei with a little frown. "Here I figured I'd move this and sample some of it. Next time, I'll bail just as early as F'rint." His complaints die as his hand reaches forward and snags a drink off of a table. It's larger than some of the other samples, but he doesn't seem to notice it might not be a 'free' one as he walks along. "I gotta shake hands?" He shakes his head, sipping the concoction without much thought into its possible flavor. "I'll leave that to you. I can hop outside right now and enjoy that breeze."
"Oh, it was lovely! I didn't start 'til I was 18, though, 'cause my parents were worried about me being near drinks and drunkards all the time. But then I ended up as an assistant headwoman for the kitchens, and after that I got searched. So, haven't been involved here for some time now. Professionally, that is." It seems Fayre is willing to tell her life story at the slightest invitation. She nods eagerly, continuing, "Yeah, sure do meet lots of folks. Not all of 'em the friendly sort, unfortunately. But for the most part it's great fun. Gossip n'drinks, doesn't get much better than that." A flash of movement behind the bar catches her eye; a careless worker is brushing against the new shelves and glasses without noticing. "If you'll 'scuse me..." The weyrwoman weaves through the crowd towards the man, who is definitely in for a stern talking-to.
An'dren casts an experienced eye over the many drinks before him, and it only takes a minute or two for him to decide what's best for his purpose. He grabs something fruity and icy and, careful not to trod on anyone's toes, makes his way back to Berit. Of course, Berit's not there anymore, and he looks blankly around before catching a glimpse of her through the crowd. "Here you go," he says once he's finally caught up to her, and presses one of the cups into her hand. "Cold enough, I hope. Drink it fast, or else the ice'll melt." As for E'dre's glare? He doesn't even notice, being the rather oblivious sort that he is.
As long as Fayre is talking, Virgil's as keen on listening. She slips in a few universal conversation noises -- 'mmhm', 'oo!' and 'aah', respectively -- and waves the weyrwoman's 'scusing off, casual like, when it comes. "Go, go." Amused, especially when she sees the source of the goldrider's sudden alert, the Fortian turns in a new search. What good's being at a party if you're not mingling?
IC Date: 9/7/17 --Going to try to tag everyone. Heh.
Though she hasn't been a bartender for a number of Turns now, Fayre is still involved in all the busywork of getting setup. A proud smile lights up her face and every so often she glances eagerly towards the drinks and food being laid out, though she doesn't delve into either yet. Instead, she tries to make herself useful by helping to put out the name submission jars beside the various colourful drinks.
The proud bartenders are hustling and bustling about, making the final preparations for the grand opening. There's last minute sweeping, straightening of dishes and glasses, and pulling off the sheets from the newly redone black tables and chairs. A buffet showing off the Sandbar's new menu-mostly greasy, yet tasty, food-is almost set up and the new drinks are being laid out on a series of pushed together tables. Next to the drinks ready to be taste-tested are opaque jars and pieces of paper for people to suggest names.
The Reaches come bearing gifts. Specifically, N'thei and a balding older gent, F'rint, are seen first down on the beach where Wyaeth and Oranyuth have landed, arguing over the best way to unlash a big keg without doing damage to keg or contents. Things like "it's f-ing sand, brother, it's not going to break open" and "you can't just roll it along all that beach" go back and forth before finally, effort concerted, they heave it between the two of them and manage to get it up the beach and along the ramp and through the door. There, pushed to one side, upended, it provides a place for N'thei to lean and rest and catch his breath and mop sweat from his forehead-- Ista, hot-- while getting the lay of the land. "Swanky," he remarks to his counterpart.
X'lar walks amongst the groups of people, talking quietly to them before moving forward to the bar where he tosses Fayre a grin. The bar and the bar's new semi-kitchen behind it is also given a look. A hand skims over one table, then another. It's almost as if the teenager has some kind of investment in it. For now, he doesn't stay to talk long, but only talks long enough to make sure the patrons are having fun. As the Reachian contingent of F'rint and N'thei arrive, that smile on his face falters, but no matter, he picks up where he left off and talks to another group of people, "... /fishcakes/," he says to one auntie. "Any time. Not to mention the new drinks!" And again, he moves forward through the crowd. He's not exactly an expert at the schmoozing, but he tries. "Hope you enjoy yourself, N'thei," X'lar calls out, hearing the much taller bronzerider's one word description of the re-opened Sandbar.
Bare feet, bikini, and sand clinging up to her knees, Balinne doesn't exactly *look* like a respectable Wingleader. Or act it. She all but prances into the bar, takes a sweeping look around, and sighs. "Finally!" she declares. She tucks a lock of her hair behind an ear, and scoots out of the doorway to allow others to enter.
C'len and Nolee make the trek into the Sandbar from the beach, the former looking a little more tentative than the latter, unsurprising given the recent changes. The bronzerider still wears clothing much too heavy for the oppressive humidity of his new home weyr, but it's festive nevertheless, and somehow the pair match a little. "Ah, no time like the present, I guess?" C'len asks, mouth twitching into a faint grin as the pair move in even further, taking in the sights and smells.
Fayre's jaunty gaunt and happy expression are dashed just a bit by N'thei and F'rint's entrance, despite the gift they bring. Kip seems pleased enough by it, though, and swaggers over to inspect the large keg. "Whatcha got for us here, Reachians?" His hands run over the wood, as if he'll be able to guess by touch. Fayre also makes her way over to the two, forcing on a polite smile. "Ah. Ista's duties and thanks to ye both. An' welcome! I, er, also like to think of our new 'bar as...swanky."
Nolee's wearing the typical Istan choice of light fabrics, but this celebration hasn't warranted new garb, and that she's clad in hardly boasts fresh bright colors. She's also wearing a smile that transforms hastily into a scowl, her bovinishly large brown eyes taking in the completion of the construction with a critical eye. "Hurry with that sweeping, you," she directs, donning the blank doe-eyed hostess expression in rapid succession, even through the grunting and the choice words spoken like a mighty fine dockworker outside. "Evening," greets folks as they come up the ramp toward the bar proper, and the occasional 'duties is included, C'len tugged along with her by the elbow so he, too, can greet folks all proper-like.
It's not long after F'rint and N'thei have put together their collective brains to figure out a way to get a keg off a dragon (one wonders how they got it on the dragon in the first place), that Teonath winks in from between, spiraling to the sands with its lot of parked dragons. Timely, avoiding all the heavy labor, and one shedding the protective thickness of her riding jacket, dressed to suit the weather, Satiet's slender form makes its way across the beach towards the shade of the Sandbar. Pale eyes combine with the tippy-toes up of her feet so she can try and search the crowds for familiar faces, or perhaps just one that she fails to find.
Forgive N'thei-- and F'rint-- a second while the check out girl-in-bikini. It's almost reflexive, eyes lifted to track Balinne momentarily before the bronzerider's assailed with various and sundry greetings and comments. X'lar gets answered with a dubious lift of brows before he turns a smile-that-recognizes without friendliness toward Fayre. "Brought my own chair, miss, and Reaches duties in return," he answers for the keg, which would really be a silly response for a chair considering. His knuckles knock the solid-sounding state of the keg beneath his hips.
X'lar's bluish gray eyes look around once more, moving from one group of people to the dart board, making sure it is secured before turning around in a 180, studying the turnout thus far. Another smile, proud this time, as he looks around. C'len and Nolee are tossed a smile from his spot. But yet again, that smile falters once more as yet another Reachian is seen. But, once again, he bolsters himself and walks toward the Reachian Weyrwoman. "Ista's duties, Weyrwoman," he offers to Satiet. A beat's passing offers him a chance to note searching look of hers and so offers formally to her, "Are you looking for anyone in particular?" Not one, but both of N'thei's brows are looked upon with reserve from the Istan teen and his attention once again switches back to Satiet. Groups of people continue to mingle, enjoying the atmosphere of the re-opened dockside tavern.
A moment is taken to brush sand from her calf - it doesn't do much good, however. Balinne spends another moment wrinkling her nose at herself before ignoring it. Sand is sand. Her first order of business, however, does not seem to be finding herself a drink, but rather, a person. "Nolee!" Oh, wait, "Weyrwoman!" and then "Weyrleader." She wiggles her way through the crowd of people to get at the pair of them.
Fayre looks at N'thei, then at the keg, and then back at the Reachian Weyrleader. She pauses for a few seconds, giving him an incredulous look, before finally asking, "What...really? You brought that all the way from your freezin' cold Weyr just to sit on? I sure hope X'lar doesn't pick up on your Weyr's odd habits, now that he's clutch sire there an' all. Er, no offense meant, o' course." Kip is conveniently called away to attend to other things and thus doesn't have to worry about whether the keg really is meant to be a chair or not.
Now that the preparations for the drink event are complete, most of the bartenders are busy stocking the new obsidian shelves behind the bar. New shiny glasses of all shapes and sizes and mixing tools such as cocktail shakers and swizzle sticks are the main objects filling up the previously empty spaces. A few bartenders hang back to watch over the proceedings of the drink tasting.
Ch'val would have to be even newer to the island than he is to be unawares that there's a major going-on down on the beach. He drifts along in the wake of two younger, native wingmates toward the open-air bar, offering duties to the known and unknown from other lands and smirking salutes to their new Weyrleader. The graying man lets himself be separated by other people from his mates, permitting himself to be comfortably awkward beside C'len for a moment for the pure and unabashed purpose of sizing him up.
C'len does, indeed, manage to call out appropriate greetings to people here and there, in between looking around at the new polished bar and scoping out the game area. "Ah, it's been a while since I've been to the bar but the changes are great--" He breaks off as Balinne makes her way over, offering a grin and wave to the Wingleader, not even quirking a brow at her appearance. "Wingleader," he inclines his head toward her, then follows it with a nod to Ch'val, as well. A moment's recognition, trying to recall where he's seen the graying man before, but it's chased away by other new arrivals that must also be greeted.
By the time X'lar hails her, Satiet's found a pillar to stand by, a hand reached out to brace herself against it and when he speaks /to/ her while she seeks that familiar face, she startles, falling off her perch of toes. "Excuse me?" is spoken irritably before a turn of her face catches sight of the voice to match the face, after which a half-hearted attempt at politeness fails in her one-worded, "Oh." It's you. "I'm looking for your wey-, for someone." A half-beat later while she's looking across the crowd again, this even less fruitful as she's not standing on her tiptoes anymore, she spares a, "I suppose congratulations are in order for your bronze."
Nolee's terrible with faces, and the area's such a blur of them that soon she gives up on keeping track of who might be present. Balinne's call brings a light to her face that fades as a title's given, the woman momentarily confused and then resigned - that's her, now, alas. She dons a cheerful put-upon smile and tries to hug the bikini-girl, noting behind as she does so that several eyes still linger on the Wingleader's backside after her recent bend-over to clear sand. "Ohh, C'len, this is Zelieth's, one of Vildaeth's - oh, but you knew that. And you remember C'len? And this is - " Is as Ch'gal is noted, her head tilted. "Mmm, welcome!" she hails, vaguely. "Jays, they'll be letting us taste the new drinks tonight. I would've preferred a nice cheese tray, but no one listens to me."
"Is it *supposed* to be this hot?" One free hand fans Berit's face since the other is occupied already with a wineglass. She comes in trailing Suizen, mincing steps, wearing a pretty orange dress that does not look so out of place at Ista. Except the goldrider herself does. "It feels like Boll all over again, and I swore to myself that.." Her voice trails off as she takes in the accumulated people, the varying knots and faces, and then she releases a loud, irritated sigh.
An'dren's late, but he's better late than never -- and anyways, given the crowd already present within the Sandbar, it's not like anyone'll notice his previous absence. He's wearing the usual outfit, minus the hat, and he's all bright-eyed at the prospect of a party and of good company. There're certainly plenty of familiar faces around, but there's just one he's looking for. And when he can't find it? He cups a hand around his mouth and bellows, "XIE." And just in case that doesn't work? It's followed by an equally loud, "X'LAR," though after /that/ shout, he has the good grace to look somewhat sheepish and offer general, "Weyrwoman. Weyrleader,"s around the tavern.
First off; "Weyr's not freezing cold, except by comparison to this armp--" Something checks N'thei before that comment gets too far away from him, could be a glimpse C'len-and-Nolee, could be an elbow in the shoulder from F'rint, could be his own realization that he's surrounding on all sides by Istans. Anyway, he tries on a smile which ill-suits him, shows Fayre his teeth, and explains more to the point, "Finest Tillekian ale, miss, with my personal wishes for your bar's continued success, and congratulations on your new Weyrleader." His personal-wishes and congratulations are skin-deep at best; standing, all ready to relocate the keg, he asks/demands, "Where can we put it."
C'len gets a cheeky sort of grin, and a little shrug of Balinne's shoulders. "Weyrleader," she offers again, and she barely contains her snicker. "So. I thought I would offer you my congratulations. And to inform you that your cookies were very delicious. And apparently good luck!" That would be for his new knot, of course. "And you, Nolee-" erm. "Weyrwoman Nolee," titles are important. Pause. "Anything I can get you?"
Ch'val nods and watches C'len mesh with the crowd; suffers Nolee's inability to place his identity with a quiet, "Iath's," to help her or maybe just make the confusion worse; looks into the swarm for and fails to spot the younger wingmates with whom he arrived; and in the end settles for moving deeper into the throng with an expression bemused at best. "Beg pardon," he remarks gravely to those whose ways he inevitably finds himself in.
Suizen makes her way into the 'bar with Berit at her side, "Yup - part of the reason it's on the docks, and has no walls - lets the air in easier, though with this many folk, not sure if we'd be knowin' the difference." Not that the heat bothers the Istan Potter - after all, she has clay slicked into her hair to ...er... offer protection against the heat? Suurre. Sooz gives a glance around, then grins at Berit. "Place is lookin' good, don't you think?" The squat young woman goes tippy-toe for a moment, trying to spot some familiar faces in the crowd, before standing proper again, "Looks like there's plenty of things to drink, over at the counter, if you're wantin' to try anything else. In fact.." she gives her mug a glance, then chugs the juice down, "I think I might see if they have anything new to be drinkin'."
Fayre screws up her mouth and firmly puts both hands on her hips in response to that almost-insult. "Well that's what I /was/ comparing it to, so there." A bit childish, particularly considering that knot sitting on her shoulder. Still, she doesn't want to appear exceptionally rude, so she puts on a forced smile as well. "Oh. Thanks, then. And C'len does seem quite nice. Sorry we keep stealing your bronzeriders." Fayre flashes her own teeth now, offering the Weyrleader a slightly mocking grin. Her gaze flits around and she lazily responds, "Oh, I dunno. Behind the bar, I guess." With a sigh, the rider remembers who she's talking to. "Er, I mean, I can't let a guest do all the heavy liftin' around here! You just relax, y'hear?" She waves over two burly bartenders, whose muscles are certainly big enough to take care of the largest of kegs.
Being social comes to Virgil easily, even when surrounded by unfamiliar faces and, well, territory she's all comfortable smiles and outwardly confident. Quickly sidestepping someone on their way out, she pauses a moment to glance over the crowd before taking a deep breath and the unavoidable plunge. There are Fortians in here somewhere, and Telgar folk too, and golly, look at all those friendly (flushed) faces!
X'lar hears his name from Fayre talking to N'thei and now /his/ brows shoot up. The teen doesn't have time to be everywhere at once, so instead continues to plant himself by Satiet's side until dismissed. Uncharacteristically, the teenager seems rather quiet tonight, but pride still is evident in his appearance as he looks around once more. Ch'val's arrival receives a fleeting look of relief from the younger philanthropic bronzerider. Satiet once again receives his full attention now. "I apologize to have surprised you," Xie tells the Reachian Weyrwoman. His eyes dart to Ch'val and the younger rider takes a deep breath and tells Satiet: "My thanks for your congratulations, Weyrwoman." No matter how impolite she might be to him, X'lar still seems capable of standing on his two feet. Literally and figuratively. At An'dren's loud calling, X'lar grins despite himself and lifts a hand to wave. For once, he seems quieter than An'dren. "Can I get you something to drink, perhaps, Weyrwoman, while you are looking for your... someone?" comes the next question for the ice blue eyed Reachian woman.
Into the mix comes one Reachian brownrider, dressed in clothing that matches the warmer weather of Ista. E'dre pauses to the side of one particular knot of chatting people, giving more attention to the set of his belt and dusting off invisible particles of dust. Content with his appearance, he offers a flash of a smile to one redhead that makes eye contact with him and proceeds forward. Drinks are to be had!
An'dren grins at X'lar's wave, but two steps into the crowd makes it obvious that Xie's already occupied. And with Satiet, no less. She's not a woman he wants to risk interrupting, and so his forward motion is halted almost before it's begun, given up in favor of finding closer -- and potentially safer -- company. As close as he is to the door, it's easy to note the people still coming in, and he brightens immediately at the first familiar face he sees. "Berit?" he asks, and sort of /nudges/ his way into a free space so he can make sure he's got it right. "Hey. I mean, Ista's duties." Then Suizen by her side is noticed, and he blinks. "Er. Am I intruding? Sorry."
It is a stormy Rhianie who's been mistaken for some little serving girl, the mighty huntress -- but she's grabbing old I'jhiet a mug of ale anyways. Her eyes flash as she asks the bluerider if he'd like anything /else/, and when he replies in the negative she mutters and stumps off. Unfortunately, she's watching her feet more than the people around her, and nearly runs right into Ch'val. There's a little squeak as she ducks quickly to the side to avoid collision, blinking up at the rider. "Oh, shells." The girl winces. "I'm sorry, sir."
Suizen shakes her head at An'dren, "Of course not... in fact, if you both'll be excusin' me... I'm gonna see about that drink. Ma'am..." she adds to Berit in apology, or farewell, or somewhere in between.
/That/ evokes amusement, the Istan bronzerider finally gaining more of her attention with what he says, how he says it. Satiet again turns to look up at X'lar, a crooked curve flashed the young man. "My someone. Exactly." Lacking elaboration, it remains as 'someone' whose name or title may or may not begin with 'wey'; which narrows things considerably! "Are drinks on the house tonight, or shall we fill Ista's coffers with her ill-gained marks? Meaning," the sharp face tips towards X'lar, "Are you offering to pay this round?"
Nolee blinks at the brown-haired recent transfer, repeating softly, "Iath's," as thought it were part of the introductions to Balinne. "Me? Oh jays. I'd love some juice, but I don't know if they're serving yet. It's heaps of hot in here, with all these..." her gaze lingers over the crowd, settling lightly on the Reachian Weyrleader and his companion before glancing over toward some visiting Fortians. Her lips set, pressing together a moment before her vacant smile returns, any choice descriptors left wisely and deliberately out, "people in here. Still, it's good for business, even though the largest come from alcohol." Her frown there indicates her disdain for the drink.
Two preteen weyrfolk, no doubt related as they have the same red hair and hooked nose, are giggling to each other and pointing to drink number six. The younger one shoves his taller brother and murmurs in a taunting voice, "Come on, do it!" The bigger redhead elbows back but obeys, hastily scribbling on a piece of paper and dropping it into name suggestion jar. The two shuffle away, acting suspiciously innocent. Yup, they even begin to whistle.
The fanning stops for a few seconds as Berit automatically reaches a hand up to her hair, smoothing with careful fingers; humidity on curls is dangerous. "I think it might be nice on a breezy day or during light rain, but the air is so stifling." She takes a fortifying drink from her glass, searching faces over the rim, but her eyes come back to Suizen as the other girl excuses herself. "Mm, thank you," in parting, as she is nudged forward by some impatient weyrfolk behind her. "An'dren, nice to see you again. It has been some time." A hand is held out to him, her smile widening. "Fort's duties."
Ch'val's been doing such an adept job of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, at least so far as everyone else's efforts to get from point A to point B are concerned, that a squeak and a near-miss hardly phase him. He inclines his head apologetically to Suizen and offers her his hand, lest she be off-balance. "Sorry myself," he assures her. "Such a crowd. Going toward the bar? Pairs step on toes half as often as singles."
"E'dre." That would be N'thei, reaching one hand to try and catch the brownrider by the elbow while he's still in proximity of N'thei, F'rint, and the keg of Tillekian the two guard between them. "Give us a hand here, lad. Buy you a drink. --We've got it, miss, thank you. Behind the bar with it." That to answer Fayre and her two burly men, the Reachian gentlemen giving the Istan gentlemen a pair of back-off-boys smiles.
Finally through, or at least at a spot in the crowd she can take a breath in, Virgil leans up on the bar and orders what would presumably be a drink of some kind. During its preparation, she uses the time wisely and searches for a face she's only seen maybe once or twice before. Finding it, she hopes, and reaching back for the glass offered to her, she pushes off for her new destination. Reaching Fayre's side, finally, she sticks her hand out and tries to make herself heard over the noise. Hopefully the weyrwoman won't mind. "Fort's duties, this place looks great." Beam.
That reaching hand meets with E'dre's elbow and pauses his steps. He looks momentarily irritated by the action, until he registers /who/ it is seeking his help. "Sure, no problem. Drinks a good enough deal." He checks to make sure his shirt is not likely to get smudged by anything and then bends to the task at hand. "Maybe I can work one more outta the deal, huh?" Grin. "That'd keep my marks saved for a good round of poker."
"Juice?" says Balinne, once more bent to attempt ridding herself of the sand. But alas, still no use. So she stops her bare feet against the ground in a moment of desperation, and gives up for good. A glance around at Nolee's words has her mind on a very different track. "I'm beginning to feel... under-dressed." But not concerned. "Right. I'll be back." And she slides herself back into the crowd, vanishing among heads and shoulders much taller than she is.
Stomps.
Fardles, it sure's /hot/ here! And no matter how Jendel had prepared for it, there's no way the Fortian brownrider could've expected to stay cool in /this/ environment! As she enters the Sandbar, she damn near slams the door open and shut in a rather undignified manner - as if rushing in to find some sort of relief from the sweltering heat. Shard it, well this isn't going well - was it really /her/ brilliant idea to come here in the first place? Jendel heftily swaggers towards closer to the bar, trying to nudge her way through the collected crowd of people - 's'that Berit? - before /finally/ finding a seat for herself. And sure enough, she's flushed and even sweating quite a bit. Ugh.
C'len tugs momentarily at the collar of his shirt, leaning down to suggest to Nolee, "Maybe we should've asked 'Reaches to bring some ice?" Though there's plenty of space, the crowd continues to grow; the impact of the drinks later in the night will make things even more interesting. "The food looks good, though." Unsurprisingly, C'len's noticed the buffet.
X'lar cannot help but smile openly in response to Satiet's own crooked curve to her mouth. "The first round and all tasted drinks," he gestures toward the drinks in the smaller glasses on the bar. "... are on the house. Should you wish drinks afterwards, Weyrwoman, I would be more than happy to buy them for you." X'lar is implying paying for all of her drinks? "I believe your someone might be at the bar," he replies, gesturing toward the slick new obsidian bar.
Rhianie does a terribly good job looking innocent, and flashes a weary smile up at Ch'val. But at his second statement the girl grins cheekily. "Or twice as." She laughs, but nods. "Sure." It's agreeable enough; what else has she got to do? Run as far away from the crowd as possible? While it has its' charm, that running away thing...she takes a step forward with a little grin. "I'm Raliah. There sure are a lot of people here."
Andy grins, nods, and turns to Berit when Suizen takes her leave, willing enough to shake her hand. "Yeah, it has been. Went up to Fort a few times," he mentions. "Never did come across you, though. Some crowd, isn't it?" He lifts his head to survey the bar, and his expression is one almost of pride for Istan hospitality. Then the 'hospitality' part of it sinks in, and he looks down again to offer, somewhat belatedly, "Want a drink? It'll help with the heat."
The muscled bartenders look between each other and shrug before wandering off to make themselves useful elsewhere. As for Fayre, she seems a bit put off by the rejection of her help offer, but shrugs as well. "Whatever you prefer, Weyrleader." E'dre, being a stranger to the weyrwoman, gets himself a genuine smile from the goldrider. "And I'm Fayre, by the way." She cheers up even more when Virgil compliments the Sandbar's new look and she accepts the handshake without hesitation. "Why thank you! They sure have been workin' hard on it. I love the new bar and shelves the most. Very Istan. Oh, and Ista's duties to you too, o' course. I must admit, though, I've forgotten your name."
"Well met - or at least met, Raliah. Ch'val." Another grave nod and the graying rider makes the hand that had offered stability now an offer of companionship, turning it so the girl could take his arm if she liked. "With any luck the feet we put beside one another's won't be able to step on any toes," he explains, and dips his head to squint a particular look through the masses toward the tables that bear the samples that no doubt drew much of the event's crowd. "It'll be less silly if I wait to offer to buy until after the free wells run dry," notes Ch'val. "Want to try some?"
A much taller, much older red-haired, hook-nosed fellow sneaks up behind his two mischievous sons and grabs them by the scruff of their necks. "What did you two just did that's makin' ya'll giggle so much?" The smaller red heads shrug themselves free and stare at the ground, shuffling their feet. "/I/ didn't do anything, pa." The younger pipes up, earning himself a glare from his brother. 'Pa' pulls out the same piece of paper from his pocket that the two had put in for the brownish-coloured drink six. "Latrine Leftovers," the older man reads out with a gruff voice. "Well, don't you two worry. You're goin' to be seeing plenty of the latrines now." Cue groaning.
Amiably, N'thei counters to E'dre, "Think you'll get a good round of poker around here?" His chuckle just skirts the line between derisive and doubtful while he takes one side of the keg, leaves F'rint the other, and evidently expects E'dre to brace the middle and clear the crowd. "Sweating buckets here, what say we get a drink, go outside, see how many skirts you can see up if you sit on the beach and watch that ramp that leads up here." His suggestion, for all it's in the middle of a crowded room, is aimed for E'dre-and-F'rint alone, added with a pardon-me while he pushes by An'dren, Jendel, Berit, that whole cluster of young people.
The look on Virgil's face is pure, genuine /nice/. Her handshake is firm, then she's using that hand to gesture back where she just was, at the counter. "Seriously, that bar is /gorgeous/. Oh," she ducks her head, "My name's Virgil, I'm with Siraqueth. Thanks so much for doing all this." 'All this' most likely meaning the drinks and the hosting and whatnot. "This is such a big difference from last time I was here, really, great work." Her grin could probably light this place, really, if those glows and lamps and stuff don't work out.
"Very cute," announces the Reaches' goldrider, her hand reaching up to pat, but then failing to make contact with X'lar's cheek. Instead it deviates in its path to run a hand through her dark hair and then down to pick at the fabric of her dress to keep it from sticking too well, and in perspiration, to her figure. As for where her someone might be, Satiet's dark lashes narrow about her pale eyes, and her brow puckers quizzically, "Do you have any idea who I might be looking for, bronzerider? I'm actually told she won't be making it so my search, for now, is done. Carry on to the drinks."
Nolee almost laughs at Balinne's self-consciousness, shrugging as the greenrider vanishes into the crowd. Her eyes brighten as C'len leans closer, and she reaches up to brush back some errant strands of his dirty blonde hair, tidying the lanky bronzerider so he's fit for presentation, or maybe just being affectionate. "We got some ice," she whispers. "But it was for the drinks." Louder comes, "What are they serving? I'm so nervous I could hardly eat a bite if it's that oil-cooked fishmash we've been smelling all sevenday." Still taking refuge near the glows-as-torch lanterns by the open-air entrance to the bar, the woman greets a few more comers, then sighs. "Suppose we should go inside, make nice. No wonder Gree-r scowled all the time." And so saying, into the fray she goes, trusting C'len to follow or to redirect toward the buffet, as he will.
"Did you?" A frown mars her brow. "I had not seen you or heard that you had come. You should have had Riuth find us. I would have enjoyed seeing you again, as long as it is been." When was that, back when she was at weaver? She shakes her head, frown smoothed over with a beguiling smile. "How have you been? All is well?" But the look that encompasses the crowd is less than excited, a little more on the verge of perturbed by the constant noise and body heat. "It sure is.. something." Shifting her weight, she places her second hand on her wineglass, looking down into the red liquid. "I have wine." She looks back up, head tilted back. "If you know of anything that will help alleviate the heat better?" Clearly, not a connoisseur of drinks. Her mouth opens, as she starts to say more, but then the Reachian is pushing past, gaining a frown and a backwards glance that ends up settling on Jendel. "Jendel, I was not aware you were here." At Ista.
"Well, pleasure to meet you, Fayre," E'dre replies to Fayre's introduction, meeting her gaze fully and offering a fairly charming grin. "I'm E'dre, tho' I'm sure you caught my name from N'thei." His smile shifts to a more charming rendition, "Reachian duties, and all that. Tho' all of that properness gets old, fast, don't you think?" One focus on balancing that middle portion of the keg, the next going to muttered, "Excuse me, pardon me, /move/ on.." N'thei's comment hits him right as they near the cluster of 'younger people'. "Sure, lookin' up some skirts might not be a bad way to pass the time." Said a little /too/ loudly, causing him to flush as he looks and spies Berit among the group. "Er, yeah. 'scuse us guys, gotta move this stuff on."
Fayre blushes amiably and waves her right hand about, doing her best to act modest. "Oh, well. I just oversaw some of the construction and am playin' hostess tonight. Most of the thanks should go towards Kip n'his crew. It was their vision, mostly, an' the Weyrleaders plus X'lar provided most o' the funding." She still beams with pride despite her statement and looks over the bustling crowd. "Great turnout, that's fer sure." Her grin widens, either with pride or the fact that N'thei is busy elsewhere now, and with a happier mood comes more chattiness. "I used to be a bartender here, y'know." Before E'dre vanishes into the crowd with N'thei, Fayre responds, "Well, I suppose when you have a weyrwoman knot, y'always gotta bother with the proper stuff, even when y'get sick of it."
Maybe it's just N'thei's luck, but Balinne happens to be *just* close enough to catch that 'up skirt' comment. Swing, around she goes on her heel and flashes her deadliest glare up at the much taller Weyrleader. There's a moment of indecision, but Balinne decides to keep her mouth shut and just move on. Back into the crowd. A bit of shuffling later, and she's back by C'len and Nolee. "Here," and she presses a glass of chilled fruit juice into the Weyrwoman's hand. But it's a more sour look she wears. And she doesn't stay long. A rolling of her shoulders, and the redheaded Wingleader vanishes once more, this time headed for the drinks.
Rhianie giggles, nodding stoutly. "Well met, Ch'val." She agrees, lightly placing her hand on the elbow offered. She's been taught her manners! Even if she usually declines their use. The girl squints, then nods, grinning. "Ah! I see. That makes sense." She agrees. "Unless I step on yours." This gets a woeful nod, as they approach the tables. They're eyed curiously. "Uh." The girl glances around shiftily. "Ma wouldn't approve, but ma's at the hold. I've never tried any of those before." A hand is waved vaguely. "Sure."
An'dren shrugs, managing, somehow, to look apologetic even despite that near-vibrating excitement. "I didn't want to bother you," he says. "Or, well. Riuth didn't want to bother you. I figured if I could just, y'know...run into you? He wouldn't be able to stop me from staying to chat. But I can't really force him to seek out Zibeth, as much as I like to say that I'm the one in control here." He grins crookedly and spreads his hands out in a helpless sort of gesture, then adds, "Yeah. Some of those drinks up there probably have ice blended into it, and that'll help a lot more than just wine. Why don't you go stand by a window or some'in? I'll be right back." And so saying, he pushes forward into the crowd, intent on snagging a few free drinks before they're gone.
N'thei, with a puff while he manages his end of the keg; "So maintaining dignity while outside the Weyr, obviously something we need to talk to I'daur about teaching his weyrlings, neh?" A chuckled remark after E'dre's discomfort. Like it somehow makes it better, he offers to the young brownrider, "I'll introduce you on the way out. Think the little one's Fort's queenrider and-- the bikini-girl... No idea, but we ought to say hello to that one for sure." Thud when he lowers his end behind the bar, and it's F'rint who supplies, "Balinne, and she's a Wingleader, so you boys behave," before he dives off to take advantage of free drinks. Pro-tip: never tell the Reaches there's free booze.
"Surely you've had ale or wine with dinner," says Ch'val, pulling a slow stop to progress toward the drink samples so he can take a moment to turn his squint down and sidelong onto the girl at his arm. His brows lower as he considers her more carefully, and one eye twitches. "At least once or twice, unless the water here's so fine you can drink it." It evidently is not, where he's from. "Hold or not, if your ma'd be upset, you'll feel bad about it. Food instead?"
"I must have assumed incorrectly," X'lar tells Satiet of her 'someone'. A smile once again graces his lips in reaction to the goldrider from Reaches. He offers an arm to the older woman, likely acting more formal in this one hour than the rest of his days combined. "To the bar then?" he asks of her, nodding once more in the direction of the drinks as he begins walking toward them. "From what I hear," Xie explains to the Reachian Senior, "the drinks they have set aside for tasting are very good." He seems to part the crowd so that he may allow himself and Satiet to the bar.
With the bar food being produced, it doesn't take long for a few of the larger riders to dig into what looks like a yellowfin fishcake, not to mention the gigantic bowls of nuts now available. So engrossed in their food, a pair of women find themselves slightly revolted by the speed at which they eat.
Jendel is considering her choices for a drink - just about anything sounds good against a dry, hot pallete - when the Reachian rider brushes past. She grunts, and then grumbles, but says nothing more to him as he's already out of sight. However, a rather wicked-looking smirk appears on her lips as she hears Berit's remark. "So y'didn't see m'stumblin'in at all?" She teases the goldrider - her clutchmate - as she wipes some sweat off her brow. "S'good, was 'fraid I'd b'n t'clumsy comin n'ere." She drawls, chuckling a little under her breath as she gives Berit an odd look. "Aw, well."
Rhianie nods. "Oh, well, ale sometimes. Watered down, my brother said. Useless Wherry." Grumble grumble, "Tried wine once. Disgusting." She assures, with a flap of her hand. "But most of those don't look too much like them." The glasses are eyed with a mixture of curiosity and wariness. "Or smell." She leans down to sniff, wrinkling her nose and snickering. "Food? Well..." There's dissapointment there; she's an adventurous girl, and all the nice adults get to drink! "If you say so."
E'dre grunts as the weight of the keg is finally removed. He rolls a shoulder and just glances at N'thei, a lifted brow firmly in place. "I'd say I'daur did a fair enough job. Perhaps my mentor should have been better at making sure of such things wouldn't happen." Pert, but with a smirk that is made playful by the hint of laughter in his eyes. A guffaw follows at F'rint's direction. "What's position got to do with anything?" He blinks at his wording and chortles, "Nevermind." Back to N'thei and a hand is extended. "My pay? And, so you know, that's Berit - you know her name, don't you?" Not that it matters, seeing how they've shuffled a few paces away from that string of people. An'dren's retreating back gets a slight glare from the brownrider.
Then again, maybe there are more than one 'someones' Satiet's looking for and while X'lar offers his arm to her, she looks at it a moment, thoughtful and then shakes her head. "I'll find you later to take you up on buying me all my drinks tonight, but-," the raven-haired woman brushes her fingers against the Istan's arm, pressing it lightly enough to guide it away, "There's someone, I'm told, who is looking for me." Without waiting, though she attempts a kinder smile to take the sting out of her departure (it is only middlingly successful), she turns so a more genuine set to her lips slants towards a stocky, sandy-haired man. Her greeting of him is just shy of a hug, a companionable arm slung about his waist and her clear light laughter amiable.
C'len chooses the buffet over the drinks, for now: food before alcohol, all responsible-like. He catches Nolee's hand, steering her over to where they can collect plates to sample the myriad seafood, vegetable, and other dishes available. "Smells even better up close," he mutters, making his way over not to the bar, just yet, but one of the tables near it which has at least two empty seats. He even manages not to tread on any toes--so far.
Ch'val is willing to forgo being a nice adult in favor of being one not in trouble with "Raliah"'s mum, and permits the girl's disappointment to wash over him with gray indifference. "I hear wine's an acquired taste," he only offers, and while the arm beneath Rhianie's hand turns to lead her toward the food, his other unfolds so he can palm a random sample from the table before they depart its vicinity. "You'll acquire it later. If ma's still at the hold, what's got you here?"
With no small pride, N'thei answers to E'dre, "We'll credit your mentor that you turned out clever and I'daur that you turned out with bad manners. How's that." He strokes his hand across the top of the keg a last time, runs his fingers over the Tillekian stamp, and leaves it there before it really gets loverly between him and the ale. One corner of his eye twitches, no explanation, and he straightens to make his way around to the right side of the bar and claim a drink; something free. "Berit... Berit... Why do I know that name. Well, let's shake hands and get out of here. F-ing sweltering." Tugging his collar with his empty hand, he starts a meandering track toward people whose hands he ought to shake with the ultimate goal being to-get-outside.
Responsibility? Pfft. Balinne is all about the drinks at the moment, looking over each one, reading their little descriptions, filing it away for later perusal... or maybe her attention is more of the 'distracted but looking busy' kind. Eventually, though, she does reach out and pluck a drink - maybe at random - and takes an experimental sip. "Hm," she decides, giving her drink an even more suspicious look.
X'lar gives Satiet one last smile of acknowledgement before she presses her hand lightly to guide him away. "Of course, Weyrwoman," X'lar replies in a rather pleasantly surprised voice, no matter how kind, middling or not, her smile might be. He moves toward the bar, standing on his toes to murmur something to Kip before turning around to study the large turnout of the Sandbar's re-opening. N'thei's words bring an outright grin to the younger, shorter bronzerider's lips, but soon his attention returns to the tasting drinks whereupon he tries one of the more tangy drinks. He lets most conversations around him simply wash over.
Nolee makes a pouting face at C'len and tugs her hand free as they near the buffet area. "Eew. Even smells like fishcakes." Her nose wrinkles, and she gestures him to go along and to enjoy the offerings, trailing along behind him at a safe distance away from the barrage of scents. When he heads toward the table, she shakes her head. "Too nervous to eat," she repeats, raising her voice so that she might be heard this time over the din. "You have my portion," she teases, "And I'll go make nice and shake hands. Nalaieth tells me there are other weyrwomen and some of our holders here, and I should at least say good evenings."
Some of the patrons at the Sandbar are taking advantage of the new dartboard and throwing a few. Unfortunately, all of the drink tasting has made their aim more than a little tipsy and a dart goes sailing out of the bar, completing missing both the board and the hinged shutter behind it meant to catch any darts that go awry. Theres a soft splash as it lands in the shallow ocean waters just outside. A nearby bartender sighs and rolls his eyes, grumbling out "Lost one already."
"/Bartending/? I didn't, no. How was that? I've always wanted to do that, I bet you meet all sorts of people." Virgil takes this moment to take a drink from the glass in her hand -- it's very obviously something fruity, probably with very little actual alcoholic content -- and glances around just in time to see someone she recognizes float by through the crowd. She smiles brightly, waves her free hand, returns her attention to the Istan weyrwoman.
Only mild interest in taken in the banter passed between the keg-bearers, and that is given with emotionless eyes sliding between all three men. Then, she slants a look back at An'dren. Ice-blended drinks- Berit's eyes light up at the words, and she nods eagerly. "Please, if you would, An'dren." She leaves the rest of their conversation for when he returns, turning towards her fellow Fortian, fingers splaying over her wineglass. "I did not. Would help me find a window? I think I might melt in all this heat." That said, she starts walking, whether Jendel is following or not, heaving a melodramatic sigh in the process. "Why do they call this place 'beautiful' again?" Might not want to say that too loud, but she pastes on a pleasant smile as she walks, nodding her head, giving silent greeting when it is passed to her. "Where is Keseth?" Back to Jendel.
"I'd just as soon as blame my mother for my manners," E'dre quips, looking at the keg in front of him and then to N'thei with a little frown. "Here I figured I'd move this and sample some of it. Next time, I'll bail just as early as F'rint." His complaints die as his hand reaches forward and snags a drink off of a table. It's larger than some of the other samples, but he doesn't seem to notice it might not be a 'free' one as he walks along. "I gotta shake hands?" He shakes his head, sipping the concoction without much thought into its possible flavor. "I'll leave that to you. I can hop outside right now and enjoy that breeze."
"Oh, it was lovely! I didn't start 'til I was 18, though, 'cause my parents were worried about me being near drinks and drunkards all the time. But then I ended up as an assistant headwoman for the kitchens, and after that I got searched. So, haven't been involved here for some time now. Professionally, that is." It seems Fayre is willing to tell her life story at the slightest invitation. She nods eagerly, continuing, "Yeah, sure do meet lots of folks. Not all of 'em the friendly sort, unfortunately. But for the most part it's great fun. Gossip n'drinks, doesn't get much better than that." A flash of movement behind the bar catches her eye; a careless worker is brushing against the new shelves and glasses without noticing. "If you'll 'scuse me..." The weyrwoman weaves through the crowd towards the man, who is definitely in for a stern talking-to.
An'dren casts an experienced eye over the many drinks before him, and it only takes a minute or two for him to decide what's best for his purpose. He grabs something fruity and icy and, careful not to trod on anyone's toes, makes his way back to Berit. Of course, Berit's not there anymore, and he looks blankly around before catching a glimpse of her through the crowd. "Here you go," he says once he's finally caught up to her, and presses one of the cups into her hand. "Cold enough, I hope. Drink it fast, or else the ice'll melt." As for E'dre's glare? He doesn't even notice, being the rather oblivious sort that he is.
As long as Fayre is talking, Virgil's as keen on listening. She slips in a few universal conversation noises -- 'mmhm', 'oo!' and 'aah', respectively -- and waves the weyrwoman's 'scusing off, casual like, when it comes. "Go, go." Amused, especially when she sees the source of the goldrider's sudden alert, the Fortian turns in a new search. What good's being at a party if you're not mingling?