The Tillekian Brewfest. Tragedy strikes! --Part 2.

[blueaid]

Part 1.

They've gone inside. They've left Nederan with the clerkly types, standing at the base of the steps to the hall with a deepening frown. One of them offers a consoling pat for the man's shoulder. "I'm sure it'll be all right, sir. He'll sober up and see reason in the morning, don't worry." But, miffed, Nederan pulls his arm away and marches in with new initiative to find his mother and stepfather.

Oblivious tends to be Sunni's way, but not today. Her brows lift subtly the more she studies D'kai, the line of her mouth rendered into something unreadable. It finally twitches into a smile, one meant to reassure without knowing why. "Ah, I did not expect to see you here," she remarks, fingers lacing before her in a typically demure gesture. A glance about is given before sage-hued eyes settle on the Fortian bronzer. One brow lifts slightly more than the other as she wonders, "Are you enjoying yourself?"

Fayre sighs and shifts her weight to her right side when N'thei abruptly interrupts and abandons her. To Tiriana, she halfheartedly explains, "He started it. Honestly, he did. He's been real rude to X'lar. An' me. An' Nolee. It ain't right." She flicks a piece of dust off of her bright sarong and takes a large sip of her wine. "I shouldn't have said that jealous comment, though. I'm just gettin' so fed up with all the insults an' rudeness."

Anvori has no intentions of stopping his tickling efforts, leaving Satiet squirming and helpless, and not entirely pleased at the spectacle they're making. That is, he has no intentions of stopping until T'rev appears and interrupts their bonding moment. Flustered about her high cheeks and turning a narrowed look of supreme sisterly hate up at her brother, Satiet attempts decorum and composure by smoothing down her dress. Anvori, on the other hand, is the picture of manners as he reaches out a hand towards the interloper; "Anvori, pleasure to meet you and Tillek's duties to Fort. I'll offer her duties as well. It'll take her a while to," a beat, then both his hands fall in front of him slowly, mocking, "Become herself again."

As the ship's prow of this little venture, L'vae cuts his way carefully into the milling crowd. His step gets a little slow and his gaze goes distracted as the holder's murmurs about their Lord and Lady reach his ears. "Hm?" It takes a moment for Eila's words to register, but when they do he turns a smile to her. "Yes. It should be one of the milder drinks, here. I feel, anyway. Ah, there," his chin lifts to gesture towards a green-bannered booth. Right there - on the other side of a pathetic trod-upon pile of spilled fruit. Moving over to get in line, he turns a look to Niena. "I didn't see a klah banner, did you?"

Glass arrested just inches from her mouth, Berit has to blink away her surprise as the Reacian bears down on her and starts grumbling about goldriders. "I apologize, should I go back to Fort? Will that make you feel better?" She stares at him for two beats, and shifts the glass into her left hand, sticking out her now-free hand in an official-formal greeting; handshake. "N'thei, Reaches's Weyrleader, I presume," and is that a twitch of something at the corner of her mouth? "Besides Tillek being overrun with goldriders, I do hope you are having a nice time." Formalities, trivialities and all that.

There's an attempt at reorganizing his features into one more pleasant for Sunniva, but for the most part it fails. D'kai lifts his hat from his head, runs a hand through his hair, and finally just shakes his head, replaced that brimmed atrocity on his head and pressing his hand firmly atop it. "No. I'm not." Something, perhaps, that might be remedied by all that fine flowing ale, his expression says, and thought turns to action as he applies that near-empty mug back to his mouth. "How are you."

Niena shakes her head, and finishes her half-gone cider in a gulp. "I'm not going to lose hope yet, though."

T'rev politely shifts his attention away from Satiet, giving the Weyrwoman a moment and nods to unknown Anvori. There's a sheepish grin on the bronzerider's face for the double mugs in hands. "If I pass you this one, sir, be happy t'shake hands," T'rev says with a laugh. "Holdin' onto this for one of my wingriders who's comin' this way too." Brown eyes slip back towards Satiet a smile curling up both corners of his mouth now. "You look lovely today, Weyrwoman," he compliments with a little bow of his head, counter to Anvori's claims of lack-of-selfness.

Unsympathetic, Tiriana wraps both hands tightly around her mug to keep them occupied even after she finishes off the last sip. "At this point, your clutchmate--" she makes that title as snotty as she can "--should count himself lucky he's allowed in the Weyr at all, considering he outlived whatever usefulness he might have had the morning after the flight." Her chin lifts as if daring Fayre to contradict that statement.

Eila too steps lightly over that fruit, pulling a little face at the pathetic sight, but by the time she's looking back up at L'vae to nod she's again smiling, pleasantly, lifting her head as though to sniff out all that yummy lambic. "I'm putting my trust in you." Her voice is grave in jest, though she does appear a little uncertain. "And if I take to stumbling around I'm going to rely on you on finding me a ride home." Okay? Okay.

"Depends. If I say yes, it would make me feel better, are you actually going to leave?" Because N'thei doubts it, judging the lifted eyebrows and turned-down frown. The handshake is altogether distracted, his shoulders squared in such a way that it's clear he'd rather be following after the Tillekians-- and there goes that last one, jogging inside, leaving him with a darkened expression, a pensive scraping of teeth-over-lip. Nice time? "Was. Not really now. Are you drunk yet." On second thought, more importantly, "Have you seen Edeline?"

Not-so-fashionable in her lateness, Virgil doesn't so much arrive as she does appear, there, at T'rev's side. She must have snuck up from behind him. "Jeepers, took /forever/ getting away. Hey, T'rev." And, upon realizing who it is her wingleader's speaking with, she puts on a bright smile and waves her gloved hand, naked fingers wriggling. "Hiya."

With high color against pale cheeks, Satiet's chin lifts to finally drop her chin in acknowledgement of T'rev, though the regality and grace behind it lacks something now. But curious eyes return after a moment's cast away to T'rev, eyes narrowing faintly onto his knot. "Fort, did you say? Funny," her smile is thin, "I seem to recall a different color arrangement the last time we met." In the mean time, Anvori's quick to oblige by rescuing one of the mugs from T'rev's hand and offering his other for a shake. "Haven't you ever heard, man? Never compliment a bird who already knows she's pretty. I doubt even Teonath could carry her home now."

Fayre halts midsip to raise her eyebrows disbelieving at Tiriana. "What? Y'serious? X'lar is crazy helpful. And even if he was the biggest fool on the face of Pern, that doesn't change the fact that you should be treating the sire of your Weyr's latest clutch with respect." Her fingers that are gripping the stem of her glass twitch some. "It's your duty, y'know?"

"Mm." The thoughtful noise is paired with a slight nod from Sunniva, who steps a little closer to D'kai under the pretense of ease of conversation. The hand that's extended to touch his arm has no explanation. "I am well enough," she deigns to answer, head canted away to peruse this stall or that from a distance. "Might I ask why? Why you are not enjoying yourself, that is?" One corner of her mouth pulls subtly, "Or shall I just leave you to your drinking in hopes you might find some enjoyment out of this?"

Fingertips are tapped against her mouth as she subdues a smile, considering his words with the utmost thought and slowness. "I will be leaving in a few hours, how is that?" Not exactly what he probably had in mind, but he never specified a time. She wraps both hands around the glass, bringing it up to her lips. Those Tillekians have long since been forgotten by Berit, who regards his darkened expression with growing indifference. "No. I just bought this glass and I have barely had three sips." Her expression changes again, a slightly unevenness to the tilt of her brows as she asks, "Edeline, Tillek's daughter?" What would he know of her. "No."

"Hardly," sniffs Tiriana, shaking her head. "He hasn't done anything that any other bronze, or for that matter brown, on Pern couldn't have in his place. Especially considering we don't even /have/ eggs at this point." She eyes her emptied mug and then the booths surrounding them rather longingly. Distractedly, to Fayre, "Besides, for all we know we might be lucky to get three eggs out of /him/."

"Hope and trust, is it?" L'vae notes lightly to his two companions. He stops as they come up against the back of the line, and he arches a look towards the counter around the customers in front of them. "I can't promise I won't be rather stumbling-about myself," he notes to Eila with a grin and a nudge through their linked arms. "But... but Bremuth and I, we'll be happy to give you a ride. He won't forget."

"No." That word's repeated, and more forceful this time, as D'kai's free hand drops to his side to drift and twist fruitlessly, other lowering from his mouth, carrying that ale to his side, swirling the last dregs in the cup. "Wait. Yes. You might ask why. No, don't leave me." But as though waiting for her to ask - and not offering any sort of clarification except, "your sister," - he falls silent, pursing his lips, before finally he notes that distant scrunity of Sunniva's and offers, after a moment of silence, "Can I buy you - a drink? Anything?"

Niena grins. "At least for the next few days, he won't." She also avoided the fruit, and is looking around for... something.

"Actually, you won't get /any/ eggs outta him. They'll be comin' outta Rielsath. Duh." Fayre corrects smugly, turning her nose upwards. "But you guys are going to get yourself a fine clutch thanks to Malsaeth. Not that you deserve it, from what I can tell." Her eyes roll unhappily and she takes a comforting sip of wine. "An' he /did/ do somethin' that no other bronzze or brown could. He didn't race against /no one/ in that flight, you know."

N'thei's utterance for having not seen Edeline is best left censored, and he gives one last pained look to the inner hold before really turns any actual attention on Berit. "No, Edeline the watchwher. What sort of question is that." Threadbare patience earns the Fortian a bland frown before the sudden extension of an elbow toward her. "I left Tiriana and Fayre back there somewhere. If I keep at it, I should be able to get a nice little collection of goldriders together before the night's through. Have you met them?"

Eila responds with a bright little laugh and a responding nudge. "Okay. Well - as long as I get home safe, I'm happy." Then, after a thoughtful moment, the nanny tilts her head, "Wait, /he'll/ remember?" Little once-trader, she knows nothing about dragons, poor girl, and she pokes her head about L'vae to peer over at Niena's agreement. "Isn't that backwards?"

"Aren't you smart." Tiriana's smile is patronizing. "And if he hadn't been there, someone else would have caught her. He's not indispensible." Beat. "I need more liquor." That serves as her goodbye, apparently, as without further words, she turns to stalk off toward the nearest booth. Not picky now, is she.

"Well, he was there. Deal with it, missy, and start treatin' him with some respect." Fayre takes that as her cue to stomp off too, perhaps to refill her now empty wine glass. She sure needs it, now.

"Fort indeed, Weyrwoman," T'rev replies as he shakes Anvori's hand firmly. "Transferred in, middle o' the sixth month," his gaze slips back to Anvori and he grins at the quip. "Nope, ain't heard that one, but I always speak th'truth as I see it," the bronzerider goes on. Virgil's pop-up arrival swings his head around and he grins at the bluerider. "And here's that wingrider I was waitin' on if you don't mind passin' that mug on, sir." He realizes then that some names are lacking and performs introductions. "T'rev, bronze Mecaith's, Flint Wingleader, Virgil, blue Siraqueth's."

It's not so many minutes later when Nederan, looking very pale and shaken, comes rushing back out of the hall to collect the clerk-- who dutifully waited in exactly the same spot the whole time, chewing on his frown. Whatever he says, words very low, meets with a sudden gasp and a hand clamped over his mouth before they scurry back inside. A murmur begins.

Slim fingers ghost down D'kai's arm and finally claim the hand that's adrift. "I see," is flatly intoned on the topic of her sister, her tone deliberately neutral on that topic. Sunniva's narrow shoulders rise and fall before she gives a tug to that claimed hand of Deke's. Amusement emerges in a brief flash of a smile, tinted with a wicked deviousness that might well be a trick of the light. Teasing, if mildly so. "Well, if you have marks, you /can/ ... and you may, if you would like. What would you suggest?"

L'vae nods to Niena's words, but then looks up as another of the booth's windows opens and the line starts moving when people hop over. "He'll remember for long enough to matter," the brownrider explains to Eila with a grin. "It seems Bremuth is not particularly forgetful, as dragons go. He can hold a thought longer than a few hours." This is asserted with a little wink as he begins rummaging in a pocket for marks. "Are you sure you don't want to try one?" The question is for the bluerider, even though the wingleader's eyes peer out at the murmur rolling through the crowd.

Satiet's pale gaze turns briefly glassy and her fingers reach for and tighten about Anvori's elbow, despite his mocking of her. "I'm aware of when the Telgari transfers occurred. A happy coincidence that things such as that and-," a pause that leaves a few choice words and memories unsaid, "Other things happen to fall on my turnday. I'm beginning to think the sixteenth of the sixth is an unfortunate day for many. Are you enjoying Fort?" Anvori is happy to relinquish the brew to Virgil, holding it out to the bluerider with a charming smile that belies his sudden tenseness. A cultured hand returns to rest about Satiet's shoulder, drawing her in. "Anvori," he repeats for the bluerider's ears, all smiles on his face.

There. That's better. D'kai's finger curl about Sunniva's, and he breathes out a long sigh before giving himself one good shake and thunking his mostly-empty mug down on a nearby countertop. He tugs right back, a smile ghosting at his mouth for a moment before he contemplates her question and stating firmly: "I can, and I will." Marks willing, of course, and a still-jingling pocket is proof of at least a few of /those/ left. "Suggest. Hmm." Tap, tap, his finger drums against his wide belt, and D'kai suddenly brightens. "Let's see if we can find a really good wine, yeah? Unless you want to try an ale -" Though naturally she wouldn't want one of /those/?

"No need to get so grumpy, N'thei," supplied calmly, as Berit slips her arm through his, the extended elbow. "I hope you do not intend leave me there with those uninteresting girls as well." Her voice is bland, her next sip from her glass liberal, and when she resurfaces from the drink she heaves a loud sigh. "I know Tiriana from when I stood at Telgar and I have not met Fayre, no." The murmur does not go without notice, her eyes following the surge of heads bent together and whispering voices, with the barest furrow in her dark brow.

Dragon> From the fireheights, from blue Gremuth on watch duty over the Hold, comes the strangest image to his fellow dragons of the Reaches. Lord Drehfti on his up a flight of stairs to the heights, Lady Ysave a step ahead of him, the concept of a quarrel painted from the blue's mind-- a gasp-- a scuffle-- confusion-- people rushing hurriedly up and down the steps all at once. << The holders don't want us to know, but K'stav saw Lord Tillek fall down the steps? Get pushed down the steps? They're saying he's broke his neck. >> A puzzling thought to the blue, hence the open broadcast to all the dragons he recognizes. << Strange, isn't it? >> But he's cut off abruptly after that, withdrawn from the conversation, implacably unreachable, as though someone (K'stav? A queen?) put the kibosh on his storytelling. No more info from Gremuth!

'Waitin' on.' Virgil gives T'rev a mild look but says nothing. Instead, she turns that smile back on Satiet and Anvori and tilts her head respectfully. "Weyrwoman. And--" Ah. "Anvori? Oh, thanks." She'll take the drink in both hands, careful not to spill, and give the both of them a lingering glance that suggests she might have questions about that very tension. Her thanks is murmured for the bronzerider alone then she, as if oblivious, chirps, "Really great, uh, fest."

Niena suddenly starts up, her expression a mixture of shock and horror. Turning to L'vae, she says "Did Bremuth just hear what Masoth says he did?"

Dragon> Swirls of desert round in Gremuth's chatty wake; the kibosh? Likely Teonath. But putting a halt to gossip doesn't mean she's not driven to action, and her, << Inform your riders. Discretion. Please. >> It's a request rather than command, and an odd one at that, that blankets across dragon and riders, but carries resignation that /that/ might not happen so well. Dragons easy to kibosh. Humans? Not so much. (Teonath to all High Reaches dragons)

All that low muttering has Eila (not entirely oblivious) chewing on her lower lip, and like other she's twisting about to perhaps catch a telling word or two. But she nods attentively to L'vae's words, with a rounding of her eyes, though all she says is a soft, "oh," - quickly turned to a curious, if not prying, "oh?" at Niena's sudden dismay.

"How about this?" Sunni turns her head, glancing up at D'kai with a lingering and genuine smile. "Surprise me with whatever you would like. Ale, wine, liquor-" she gestures vaguely, in a sense of giving him free rein to do as he will "-and I shall trust your judgment implicitly. Is that acceptable?" All of the whisperings and other goings on might be peripherally noted but, more likely, she is just oblivious to it all -- as usual.

N'thei's response cuts short-- "That was my intent, yes. I thought maybe you three could braid each others'..." From elbow-to-elbow with Berit, he stops instead to curl fingers around her upper arm and check her steps, ending their progress toward where he left Tiriana and Fayre rather abruptly. "You're fine here, yes?" Here as in right-here, as in his plans to abandon her to Tiriana's tender mercies have been suddenly and inexplicably rain-checked.

The murmurs, Tiriana can ignore. Free of Fayre, she's busy sliding into line at a drink stand and getting another mug of... something, even she doesn't know what, but she takes a big sip anyway. And look, she bought this one all herself, too. So while whispers start to circulate, she's ignorant, drinking, as she meanders through the crowd--until something more dire, if unheard, makes her pull up short, head swinging around to stare at the main hold. Quickly, she starts cutting that way herself, drink still in hand but forgotten for the moment. Must really be Berit's lucky day.

Discretion is not in Satiet's vocabulary as in a moment after introductions and pleasantries with T'rev and Virgil, flustered cheeks pale suddenly and with sharp eyes that turn to Anvori, conveys her intention to depart. With only a fleeting nod for the new-made Fortians, and low, harsh-whispered words of which 'Tillek' 'broken' and 'fuck' can be heard, she turns in a whirl of blue and white towards the hold leaving Anvori to look apologetically at the pair. "Uh, she can be like that."

L'vae freezes in place, a hard line setting on his jaw as his brow pulls down. Niena's question has his gaze flicking over to his clutchmate, a curt nod dipping his chin as he flows into motion once more. His arms shift, the one pulling free from Eila taking the girls hand so he can press a quarter mark piece into her palm. "Please forgive me," he says to the girl, earnest despite his distraction. "Niena," a long glance for the bluerider. "I need to find my mum." And with that, he snakes away towards the space between the booths, breaking into a jog as he passes the poles.

"Oh - um." D'kai's tentative at best at the sudden responsibility - what if she didn't like it? horrors! - and all that excited whispering provides a distraction, though he does begin to tug her towards one colourfully-decorated tent; a decision likely made more on appeal than stock, and as he draws Sunniva towards the counter his head twists this way and that. "What - what's going on?" As though she should have any better idea than he.

Niena goes blank for a second, then regains her composure. "Holder matters." is all she gives by way of explanation.

Dragon> To hell with requests. << Tell 'em to keep their damned mouths shut. Don't need it coming from our riders that Lord Tillek's bit the dust. >> (Wyaeth to all High Reaches dragons)

Preoccupied by the commotion in the crowd and closer to the main hall, Berit has to drag her eyes away from the source of her distraction and up to N'thei. "Yes, I am," as her arm slips out from his, her glass hugged against her shoulder, fingers curling around it protectively.

Dragon> To all High Reaches dragons, Teonath is at her driest when she imparts to Wyaeth, << Good luck with that. >>

"Forgiv-...?" The half-word barely escapes Eila's lips before L'vae disappears amidst the crowds, and the nanny closes her fingers about that mark with a little frown. "Holder matters." It's repeated guardedly, almost suspiciously, though Eila obligingly shuffles forward in the line so as not to put that mark to waste.

N'thei stops only long enough to impart around a rough laugh, "If I were you, love, I'd start drinking quicker." And it's a brief tightening of his fingers around her arms before he jogs up the steps into the hall, closed in by the sudden collection of a crowd of people from whom rumor spreads like wildfire. Whatever's happened inside the hold is /not good/, but no one seems to have an answer beyond a speculative, "Drehfti's fallen down."

Dragon> To Bremuth, Wyaeth, arid, << Fireheights, now. Send K'stav back to the Reaches, not a word from him or that damn blue. Put your Wing on the road out. Gonna be a lot of people trying to get out in a rush once they hear on this. >> There's a short pause, a gust of dry humor, << Good chance for weyrfolk to do somethin' helpful for the holders, ain't it. >>

N'thei's met at the steps by a fast-moving Satiet, who along the way has shed her shoes and is clutching her skirt's hem up, her cold eyes seeking and finding the Weyrleader. "Edeline?" is her one-worded inquiry.

"I do not know," is the plainest answer Sunniva can offer to her companion, though her eyes fix keenly on a few individuals as if merely looking might yield some answers. An owlish blink later washes away that keen interest and she's looking up at D'kai, "Ought we find out?" Concern is clearly written on her face, her grip tightening on his hand. "It does not sound-" 'good' goes unspoken. Drinks are forogtten in the wake of this newest turn of events.

Dragon> To Wyaeth, Bremuth answers with a decisive flash of silver. Calm, sure compliance. The humorous gust casts the barest of ripples across the brown's mindscape.

"I heard he had too much to drink," whispers one woman to another, her cherubic face red from her own alcohol intake. Her friend clucks her tongue drunkenly, and downs the rest of her ale, "Should get more 'fore they run out or shut it down. Y'know... do they do that cause the Lord's fallen?"

T'rev has a polite reply for Anvori's introduction, then a blink or two as he catches that cuss word on the Weyrwoman's lips, he stands aside as she moves off rapidly, chin lifting a little to see what all the hubbub is about. "You gettin' anything from Siraqueth?" he murmurs lowly to Virgil with a slight frown, gaze a bit unfocused.

Stopping only long enough to chew the inside her mouth and stare after the Reachian Weyrleader, Berit rolls her glass from her shoulder to the middle of her chest, and then lifts it up to take a short sip. She takes the opposite route of the crowd, moving away from the main hall and towards another pair. "Sunniva," as she stops beside her sister, not even acknowledging D'kai's presence, "I do not think all is well." Maybe she says it this way because of her sister's more delicate conscience, maybe just as idle speculation, but her green eyes are intent. "We might.. we should.." finally looking at D'kai, "go home."

Even Anvori, the consummate host, looks a little lost as the whirl of gossip takes over the crowd and a look darts to the passing woman and their drive for the ale kegs. "It just sounds like an accident. Nothing the healer's can't fix, eh?" His smile is a little out of sorts but a hand lifts to rake through his hair. "Virgil, was it? Did I mention I'm Anvori and it's a pleasure to meet you."

N'thei shakes his head at that one-word query, parts the pea-soup crowd with the simple fact that they are who they are as much as he's shouldering his way through them. "F'rint will find her. Avalanche is on the road, crowd control, sent K'stav home, he's in hysterics. Bad timing." But not much of a moment for remorse just now, as he pushes through to see with his own-two-eyes as much as to locate Ysave and Nederan amid the chaos.

T'rien approaches from the docks, a bubbly pie in one hand and a mug of something in the other. His pace is leisurely and steady, indicating that he hasn't had much more to drink than what's in his hand currently. The stir of activity and the whisper of rumor he seems to have walked into elicits a raised eyebrow and a curious glance, though he doesn't seem quite concerned. Spying a few familiar faces, he offers a smile and a nod to those he knows.

Everyone's leaving. Or, rather, they're doing the opposite of leaving in that they're fighting to get /inside/ the Hold. Virgil stands there, still as a very still thing, holding her mug without so much as a longing glance for it. "Nothing but confusion, I think he's picking up on that from everyone else." Calm grey eyes narrow and she's about to say something more before Anvori speaks first. Her focus is drawn to him then, a vague smile formed. "You didn't. I, ah." Distracted, she watches that crowd and tilts her chin up so she can tell T'rev, "I don't like this."

Even the prettiest waving banner can't keep D'kai distracted that long, and he's slowed to a stop beside Sunniva, twisting to follow all those snatches of conversation, all thoughts of ale or wine washed from his mind. Even as Berit nears, his eyes suddenly blur - but not even Mikhuth has an answer for the lad, who shakes his head and runs his hand across his jaw, his eyes landing on the goldrider; no acquiescence, yet, as he demands first, "What's happening?"

From the beach, a pale brown rises smoothly into the air. He turns out over the ocean as he climbs steeply, only sweeping over the gathering below once he's high above the line of the tents. While grey-dappled wings carry the rangy dragon to a perch on the Hold's fireheights, more dragons are springing quietly into motion. The watchrider blue lifts into the air upon being replaced, disappearing between. A handful of dragons appear in his place, joining their compatriots who have left their lounging. All assemble, guarding the road from Tillek.

Rumor mill: apparently originated from a guard on the fireheights who has since disappeared into the press of people, knots form in the crowd and people start talking, speculating, deciding. "She pushed him!" "She wouldn't!" "It was just a little spat, not murderous." "He's not even dead!" "Oh yes he is, I saw his corpse myself." A few delicate ladies faint, or pretend to faint, and-- as happens in big crowds-- people start rushing around uselessly and creating a great big commotion. More than booth starts packing up in a rush, drinks spill, people get jostled; understandable chaos.

"He better," says Reaches' Weyrwoman forebodingly of the Weyrleader's erstwhile second. As she finds her stride, quicker and more lickety-split next to N'thei's longer legs, her skirt lowers to a more decorous and less alarming length and in this, she finds a moment's thought to quip, "Never knew you were one for exaggerations, sir. The harper-," she suddenly thinks of, voice lowering, "The drums." No need to seek herself, it's impossible for her to find anyone in this milling crowd; she'll just follow for now.

"Yes. Yes, perhaps that might be the most prudent," is answered absently to Berit's suggestion, Sunniva's attention being a bit more fixated now on the rush of activity. People wanting to get in, people wanting to leave; pure chaos, as far as she's concerned. When D'kai speaks, it snaps her out of her observational daze and she finally drags her gaze away and fixes it on Berit. "Oh. Oh, yes, what is going on, sister? Do you know? This all seems- it seems positively terrible, whatever it is." Dead? Surely she must not be hearing things properly. A look is shot to Berit, then to D'kai, questioning and hoping.

T'rev's frown deepens and he looks over at Anvori, merry mood washed away by concern. "An accident? Sure hope so," about the healers and then he's craning his neck again over a good portion of the crowd. "Probably should kinda stand outta the way," he finally determines, tips his head towards a stall to the side a little. "Yeah I'm not likin' this much either," the bronzerider answers as the rumors intensify and chaos starts to break out all around them.

"Free booze!" yelps a teenage boy who skitters out as a booth attempts to close and leaves behind an opened keg.

Dragon> To Zibeth, Wyaeth's used to giving commands by now, even to a queen that's not even his own. << Tell your watchdragons. We wanna know what the Harper Hall drums report. >>

Anvori fails miserably at the art of distraction, for he's also more interested in the gossip that's milling than doing any expletive-enforced directive of his little sister. "Could use a drink about now," he notes, mournful as the stall he follows T'rev towards also looks ready to pack up. After a moment, sizing up T'rev and Virgil, "Maybe we should try and calm the masses. Somehow." Lame.

Her hand is occupied, yes, her hand is occupied. Easiest way to get rid of that problem is to drop the glass, right there on the ground, regardless of where it rolls or shatters. "I am not sure, but I heard someone say Lord Tillek fell," Berit murmurs, green eyes darting from face to face, and one hand reaching out to grasp Sunniva's shoulder comfortingly. "I think we should leave." She takes a deep breath, eyes locked on the hall, the push and tug of the crowd; one should worry about getting crushed in that.

Dragon> To Wyaeth and Iovniath, Teonath speaks to Iovniath but a deft turn of wind-blown sands includes Wyaeth, << Keep tabs on Avalanche. /Control/ your rider. >> preemptively ordered. << Try-, >> abruptly halting and suddenly humored. This is Tiriana after all. << Try to see if she might reassure the crowds. Make something up. >>

Dragon> To Wyaeth, Zibeth is not, however, used to being ordered around by pompous bronze dragons. << Why? >> always a question, but her tone does not imply that she will not pass along the message and she even glosses over that one possible misunderstanding posthaste. << I'll tell them. >>

That look of Sunniva's - D'kai has one in return, a helpless shrug, a little lifting of his eyebrows. And he grunts as behind him, someone shoves right into his shoulder in their excitement to rush to that free booze, or escape, or run to someone's aid, and the bronzerider steadies himself with a stumbling movement. "Fell?" Incredulous, drawn out. "He /fell/?" Better be off a cliff, for all the shouting and general agitation going on. "Well - okay - go?" Lead on, weyrwoman.

Niena glances over at Eila and asks in a low voice "Would you like to go home now?"

Dragon> << Try. >> The thought earns a brief wry echo of Teonath's earlier resignation, the younger gold's own humor strained in the moment. But a brush of cool air heralds her quick agreement, the attention focused on her Weyrleaders shifting toward the other wing as asked. (Iovniath to Wyaeth and Teonath)

N'thei and Satiet-- Ysave and Nederan-- a steward, a harper, a healer, a very dry-eyed audience considering the implications. To her credit, Tillek's Lady-- former Lady? widowed Lady?-- maintains her composure enough to turn from the scene of this catastrophe. Moving as a unit, the whole corps clusters back to the open doorway from the hall to the courtyard. And that's when the burgeoning chaos stills a moment, when people actually turn to await some kind of explanation from the front-lines.

Satiet senses "N'thei, to the rest of the world, just looks like he's being protective and keeping a hand against the small of Satiet's back. But cold fingers and the occasional bite of fingernails during the short-lived discussion of "should we make an announcement now?" betray anger and apprehension even more than his near-silent words to the goldrider. "The fucking bitch pushed him down the stairs before he could name Edeline his heir." But stoicism, he just waits there for Ysave to tell the holders their Lord is dead. Fun~!"

Standing out of the way now, T'rev passes Anvori the mug he was sipping from. "Here, promise I ain't sick," he tells the holder and eyes the crowd milling in front of them. "Can't do but try, eh?" he says with a sheepish grin. "Ain't got th'faintest idea of what's really goin' on but panickin' ain't goin' to help no one." T'rev takes a deep breath, sets fingers to lips apparently about to whistle for attention, when stillness seems to follow up nearer the hold and it spreads on down the line, through the aisles of booths.

"I - I think I would," Eila murmurs in reply - drinks, marks, it's all forgotten for that crush of people, and here's Niena with a handy dragon that might just lift them all out of there. "Holder matters," she repeats again, softly, as she moves nearer to Niena - though before she can make any further movement, there's N'thei and Satiet and the rest, and Eila tips her head upward, waiting. "Maybe they'll tell us...?"

Dragon> To Zibeth, Wyaeth, questioned? Are you /kidding/? << Don't matter why! Do it. >> Ah, improving foreign relations, rider and dragon alike.

Calm the masses? Virgil gives Anvori a most dubious eyeshift. Really? "Take more'n us to calm this down." Maybe without really noticing, she hands her mug off to T'rev if he likes, just when the bronzerider's rid himself of his own. And that's when the quiet spreads, and she isn't immune to following suit.

Tiriana is not a very good liar, especially when as distracted as she is. Her attempts to cut through the crowd--first toward the main hold, but abruptly veering off in the direction of the road and the wing guarding it--keep getting interrupted even as most of the crowd stills to listen for announcements. To the few who continue questioning her, as a representative of High Reaches, she makes up something, lines about skinned knees, ruined pants, wimpy holders worrying over nothing; she doesn't really pay attention to the words, just pastes on a plainly false smile and tries to keep moving.

"Oh, oh, wait." Sunniva stretches on tiptoes when things seem to go quiet, shading her eyes with her free hand for a moment before dropping down and reaching to take the hand of Berit's that was at her shoulder. "Perhaps," she wets her lips warily, "it is not so serious? It seems as if someone might have some answers now." She doesn't sound so sure, but ... surely it can't be serious? Can it? "D'kai," is an aside, "would you and Mikhuth be willing to take me back to the Weyr? My ride seems to have vanished."

Niena nods, not rushing to get onto Masoth just yet.

Dragon> Seems that Wyaeth won this time, as Zibeth recedes with the smell of smoke and her anger pent up in the roiling ocean. /Fine/. (Zibeth to Wyaeth)

N'thei opts for discreet anger; Satiet's shrewdly narrowed eyes stay on Ysave; commoner with luck at the hatching gamble to blooded Tillekian by marriage. "They can't. He's not even Blood. Or adopted. Or-." But the train of thought she takes instills a cold fury in the slight woman and her own hand lifts to press whitened knuckles into her Weyrleader's upper arm. "We should find get to that harper and his drum." Her, "And preempt their announcement. Tillek would never stand by him," pins blue eyes to N'thei, daring him to disagree; she speaks for all of Tillek, of course.

The advent of lady and son, plus entourage calms some people in ways Tiriana's lies and other gossip doesn't seem able to. Watching this in wonderment behind T'rev's mug to his lips, Anvori also trains his eyes up to the steps and the main hall. Oh blessed ale. He steps up just behind the Fortians, a reflexively protective arm falling across Virgil's shoulder.

Poised to grab hands and go, Berit looks just a little worried when the group appears from the hall, her breath caught in her throat. Time basically stills, until her hand is taken by Sunniva, and some color returns to her face as she presents a smile for that one's benefit. "We can hope, Sunni." But her apprehensive gaze flicks to D'kai, brow puckering, and transmits that *no*, all is not well. "I think you should ride back with Zibeth and I. I think.. I am not feeling well and I could use the company." Her other hand joins the one grasped in her sister's, and both squeeze. "If you would."

Quiet but no less grim, N'thei answers around ground teeth, "Lord Tillek hasn't named an heir. We're in no position." Hard pair of words. "To risk pissing off someone the Conclave may yet confirm. Those drums sound when they tell them to, not us." When /N'thei/ is the model of political propriety, there must be more going on that meets the eye. He closes a hand over Satiet's on his arm, ostensibly because it looks nice and supportive; really it's because it means he can break her fingers if he needs to.

With her son standing sentinel over her shoulder, Ysave finds a very clear voice. Whoever can't hear her directly will no doubt get it repeated more than once. "My husband has fallen to his death." To the point. "It was his intent to name his heir tomorrow, and we will honor those wishes in the morning. The hold will remain open for those who have no means to return home tonight, but I feel it's inappropriate for this festival to continue in the wake of this tragedy. I thank you all for a quiet, orderly departure. My family and I will retire to grieve for my husband, for the father of my children." Her oldest at her side, Drehfti's /step/-son, twitches his jaw at that, an arm around his mother to begin steering her through the inner hold as if she needs the moral support.

Niena turns to Eila and says quietly "That sounds like our signal to leave. I'll have Masoth tell Bremuth not to worry -- L'vae had relatives here."

Fingers about to be crushed or no; "/Fuck/ no position," hisses back Satiet, her brilliant eyes flying from N'thei's scarred face to Ysave's back and unable to vent her frustrations in light of such logic properly, stomps an ineffectual little bare foot. But Ysave's speech and the poise with which the lady comports herself causes the weyrwoman to put herself back together; anger and all. By the time Ysave is done and is passing by, Satiet manages a thin-lipped press of her lips, a nod, and low words, at least typically cold, express her regrets. A suitable fruit basket will likely be following. Sure. Then they're gone. "Has he found her yet?"

T'rev looks down at Gil's mug thrust into his hands and he holds onto it, then trains his attention forward to where announcements are being made. His brow is still dented by a frown and he looks between Gil and Anvori a little smirk pulling at his lips that fades rapidly as the news spreads through the crowd like wildfire. "Faranth," he mutters under his breath and lifts Gil's drink, downs a goodly quantity of it. "Might need t'be helpin' people home," he notes as his mouth is cleared.

There's a jerky little nod for Niena's words, and Eila falls in step behind the bluerider. "Thank you," she manages, slipping through the crowds towards Masoth.

Dragon> To all High Reaches dragons, Teonath projects, << Lord Tillek has passed. >> as if the entire Weyr of dragons wasn't already aware. There's the frigid air of a cold desert night in her raspy, barely audible words. << We will respect their wishes and assist in departures, for now. Avalanche, >> is specifically noted, << Please continue with your watch of the roads. >>

Instantly, "Siraqueth can carry two besides me if we wanna be safe." There isn't a doubt or a shred of hesitation as to her duty, their duty, in such a situation, and likely the blue is rousing himself from whatever position he's taken up nearby. Her eyes seek out a few faces; it's anyone's guess whether or not she finds them. "We should go."

From Masoth's neckridges, Niena helps Eila up onto Masoth and then shows her how the straps work, before the blue launches neatly into the sky.

L'vae is there, somehow amidst the crowd close to the main hall listening to the announcement. He's off to the side with a cluster of fine-feathered women in various states of distress. The wingleader's arm shelters about the narrow shoulders a fine-boned blonde woman who sits on one of the courtyard's stone benches. One of her arms is looped about his waist, her other hand lifted with a lacy handkerchief to mask her features. The brownrider's features are no so hidden, his jaw as tight as the un-Blooded step-son who he watches disappear back into the Hold. Only after does his eyes scan to find his weyrleaders, his head tip to the side to murmur private words to the pale woman at his side.

Dead? Sunni's eyes widen and 'oh' is breathed a few times before she's able to find her voice to say, "... I. Yes. Leave. We- we must." It's too much. Far, far too much. Her hands tighten on the hands held within them, her gaze flicking to her sister with a pained look, all the colour washed out of her face. "I- yes, of course, Berit." An apologetic look is shot to D'kai, the words 'I am sorry' being mouthed to him before she looks to Berit with concern. "Is it your stomach? Mine is not terribly well." And she had nothing to drink! Figures.

Satiet senses: At the very least, N'thei's reputation means he doesn't have to say anything to the widow and her son, just watch them leave with eyes that accuse. "The Fortians are listening to the drums at Harper Hall. We'll know by morning what the rest of Pern believes." To answer her question, he shakes his head briefly and-- with the path cleared-- steers their descent from the doorway. Confident; "He will find her. Question is, what do we do with her once she's found."

That's all absorbed, silently, and D'kai presses his lips together; that one hand still clasped around Sunni's squeezing lightly before, understandingly, he allows his hand to slip to his side, into his pockets, and he lifts his head high, eyes growing indistinct for a moment and a bronze some distant away suddenly rising into the air. "It's - I understand, Sunni. S'alright." And really, his voice is understanding, sympathetic. And while Berit might still recieves a bit of a sour look, it's much overshadowed by the pull to his mouth, the thoughtful cast to his features even as he sketches out a bow to the sisters. "I'll take my leave, then, ladies."

Dragon> To Bremuth, Wyaeth projects, << Edeline. >> He tries to conjure an image of the girl, something with black-hair, with dark eyes, but his recollection is smudged and gravelly and surely she doesn't look like /that/. << You know her? >>

Dead, worse than she imagined. "Come on, Sunni," as Berit's hand slides up to her sister's wrist and starts to tug. "Yes, I think it is my stomach. I am sure you know of some remedy to fix when we get back, but we must.. we must leave. Now." Before that crowd encroaches. She shoots D'kai a considering look; will be balk? Does not seem like it, and she inclines her head gratefully. "We will see you back at Fort, and tell Mikhuth thank you for playing escort." Then she is strides as fast as her short legs will carry her, dragging Sunniva along, back towards the docks.

Well, anger-fueled thinking hadn't gotten Satiet that far and though steered, her feet stop short of that final step down, pale eyes turning upwards blank. "What do you mean what do we do with her once she's found?" Then, there's another thought, a turn of her face, a lift of a brow. Suddenly cooler words drop quietly, "The Fortians? And what do they believe happened?" There she is, standing on that bottom step looking to N'thei with one hand clutched fastidiously at his elbow.

Dragon> To Wyaeth, Bremuth accepts the image, as unclear as it is, reflecting it upon liquid silver. Grit falls, somewhere far in the deep. << We know. >> It seems to be all, until additional words coalesce. << She is of here. >>

"Do take care, D'kai," Sunniva murmurs, the newly released hand lifting to him and then dropping, helpless and lost, to her side. "Tomorrow," is added with a faint smile for his benefit and then she turns, pulled along by Berit. She lapses into silence as she follows, her gaze distant and her features pale, expression on the verge of breaking and held together only by sheer virtue of will. To the docks and to the Weyr, then, and then to get some tea.

N'thei answers that first question with a look, one that's neither heads nor tails to most people, but Satiet's had the so-called luxury of working with him long enough to recognize it for what it is: he's in no mood to suffer her questions. "Doesn't matter what the Fortians believe, does it. Matters how Harper Hall spins this though, and that's what I'll find out. --We need someone to keep an eye on Ysave's apartments, who's still here?" That she's stopped is clearly annoying him, since he intended to hurry along, and pressure at her arm would fuel her steps again.

Dragon> Oh, you poor little queen. << Stay. N'thei has a question. >> (Wyaeth to Zibeth)

Dragon> To Bremuth, Wyaeth projects, << Yeah, but someone lost her. Or she lost herself. >> He's not quite clear on the distinction, how exactly being 'lost' works where people are concerned. Dragons don't simply get lost, see. << F'rint's lookin' for her, tell your Wing to do the same. >>

Dragon> To Wyaeth, Zibeth comes back with stormy seas, angered by his continued commands. << No. We're leaving, now, without your permission. Berit and her sister are distraught. >> Then, as another thought, probably provided by her rider, << N'thei can shove it. >>

And that's that. D'kai beats his hasty retreat - threading and weaving his way back towards the lean bronze crouched some distance away, gently fanning his wings to clear a space from all those pushy, frantic people - all fesitivies discarded in favour of returning to Fort, but a moment /between/ away from all this mess.

For the sake of public appearance and the fact that there's a sharp pain along her arm, she moves again, but there's an acidity threaded in her continued words to the Weyrleader, "You do that. While I go talk to the former Masterharper." Satiet even manages a smile, a bright one that's notably frustrated about the edges. "Bremuth's. Avalanche still watches the roads and he's of Tillek. Or," under the fringe of dark lashes and the skewed slant of her bangs, she looks up, mocking, "My brother in all his fishy upbringing could lurk the Halls for you, my lord. There's the watchrider." So many options.

Dragon> To Zibeth, Wyaeth, pleasantly, << Yeah, N'thei can shove it. >> No defensive pride there, he usually feels much the same way about his rider. But-- << He can also tell everyone... >> Nope. Never mind. Chatty Kathy clips his string there.

T'rev finishes off Gil's ale then eyes the crowd. "C'mon Gil, there's some Fort badges there, we can offer assistance back to Fort," the wingleader says calmly and finds a spot to set that empty mug down. "Pleasure meetin' you sir," he tells Anvori, "in spite of the circumstances. D'you need t'get back to the Reaches?"

"Ah," the Tillekian looks briefly at a loss and then shakes his head. "I'm sure there'll be more than one rider around who can take me home." Anvori flashes a bright smile towards the Fortian bronzerider and then a more appraising one to Virgil, "Yes, despite the circumstances. Clear skies."

Dragon> A faint coil of empathizing warmth stirs for this notion of lost people. He shares the thought that goes out to Avalanche - an image of the dark haired woman, clarified from his rider's memory. << We will look. >> The breadth of the brown's thoughts condenses, focused once more upon Wyeath. << And after? >> the dispassionate question is imbued with the sense of this woman cast some yet-unknown place beyond the dispersing crowd of today - who finds her, then? (Bremuth to Wyaeth)

Dragon> Stinging steel and ever-churning waters, << Have the bastard tell then. >> She seethes, she fires. << Don't tell me what to do *again*. >> He has seem to the systematic angering of the young queen, and somewhere, wherever she sits, waiting for her rider and company, her eyes are whirling with tinges of red. (Zibeth to Wyaeth)

"Yeah," replies the bluerider, still watching the crowd in that distracted way. Something catches her eye, or someone, and her body leans in that direction like she might leave T'rev afterall, but then Anvori speaks and she's drawn around to him again. At first her face is unreadable, just a face, but then she recovers her smile and puts it on. "Maybe next time we meet they'll be different." Without so much as a thought given to doing so she reaches for T'rev's hand and pulls on him while she makes for the Fortians.

"Do that. Tell him I said hello." N'thei evidently intends to deposit Satiet with Tiriana; able to do what his Weyrwoman cannot, that's who he's pushing through the rapidly thinning crowd to locate. "Your brother hasn't got a dragon, so what good does that do us. And I told you sent K'stav home so--" A brief, hateful look from him to Satiet; maybe there'll be /two/ murders at Tillek tonight! Head swimming, he takes a necessary breath and relents with a slowly worded, "Just find someone. Please. I don't care who."

T'rev inclines his head politely to Anvori. "Clear skies, home, sir. And my regards to th'Weyrwoman ... when it's appropriate," he adds with a wry movement of his mouth and is duly tugged off into the crowd to collect Fortians in need.

Dragon> To Bremuth, Wyaeth projects, << Then. Then... >> Stumped. He hadn't got that far. N'thei hadn't got that far. All he knows is; << She's important. Just find her. >>

L'vae has yet to move from his post by his mother, though his attention is now upon the most animated of the elder women clustered about him. Natvana has the look of a busy-body, a hand propped solidly on her hip while the other gestures as she speaks to her companions. Ellsri has unwound her arm from her son's waist and now holds an unsteady hand out to the other woman, her expression now calmly controlled. A long breath visibly lifts the brownrider's chest, and his head shakes as he looks away. Towards the leaving weyrleaders. Looking back to his mother, he squeezes his arm tight about her shoulders before stepping away. His strides lengthen when he extricates himself from the group, holding just short of a jog as he tries to catch up with N'thei and Satiet.

Dragon> A soft ripple marks the brown's agreement as he slips away to focus on the efforts of his wingmates. (Bremuth to Wyaeth)

Tiriana's not too hard to find, not with the crowd clearing out as quickly as it is. She's loitering around at the edge of the booths, watching the leaving guests and the booth-runners that are packing their wares, too, but when she gets a glance of her Weyrleaders--or, well, N'thei's head over the crowd--she's quick to straighten and head that way to meet them on the way over. Though apparently unaware of the scene ongoing between them, she opens her mouth to say something and shuts it again right quickly as she seems to think better; she settles for glancing expectantly from one to the other.

Dragon> To Zibeth, Wyaeth, the dust shaken off, company manners, gun-metal polish to the bow-and-retreat quality of his tone. << Won't happen again, sugar. >> And he's swept into his own world of dragons that do as they're told. Without question. He's much happier in that world.

A brief moment wavers those pale eyes; at his words, at his tone, at the eyes that bore down on her hatefully. In that moment, she hesitates, before her teeth bear down on her lower lip and that proud little chin lifts just a fraction higher to expose her neckline. "Whatever." Anger is no longer directed at just Tillek and with an arm toss, Satiet pushes away from N'thei just as L'vae approaches. "There's your rider. You figure it out, smartass." While she ignores Tiriana initially, brushing past the other goldrider, then thinks better of it. "Tiriana." It's a cold expectant command.

"Satiet." But it's not the time nor the place for N'thei to deal with the Weyrwoman, certainly not in the way that cold-hard-utterance of her name would imply that he'd like to. But she's collected Tiriana, and it's enough for him to watch the pair of goldriders for a moment before he half-turns to L'vae, expression worked itself back to blankness. "I don't know what to do when we find her, it's enough to know where she is. Are you staying here tonight? I need someone to watch Ysave's rooms."

T'rev is lost in the crowd for some time, emerging a little later helping a group to carry things out to waiting dragons as the Fortians clear out. There's a backward look though from the bronzerider towards where the Reachians still cluster and there's still that thoughtful frown on his face as he moves away.

L'vae's step slow, the Weyrwoman's ire almost visibly crashing into him as he draws near. It's enough to melt his expression of resolve into one of uncertainty. Hazel eyes shift between the three as he closes his final steps. "Pard" the brownrider starts before he blinkingly finds himself addressed by N'thei. The answering nod starts out slow before dropping in sure affirmation. "I thought I might." Unsure curiosity tightens about his eyes. "Why? What do you... is Edeline in danger?" Worry lifts the line of his brow a fraction.

Tiriana, her brows furrowing, plays catch-up in trying to figure out just what's going on; this time, her curious glance flicks to L'vae, too, including him in the rounds. As Satiet brushes past her, the younger woman's attention focuses on her most of all, however, and the sound of her name has Tiriana turning about to look at Satiet with unusual attentiveness. "Yes?"

"Follow me," is the completion of that command, Satiet's intonation making no room for argument. Then, the short strides continue, the filmy white and blue skirts a billow about her legs as she walks towards the meadows where Teonath waits. L'vae? Ignored. Livid? Yes.

Even L'vae has questions. N'thei stops mid-step, all ready to go off through the ghost of the festivities on whatever errand he has in mind next, and gives the brownrider a brief, disbelieving look. "Does it matter? She's missing, I want her found. And I want someone on Ysave's door. Know you have family--" He casts a look toward where L'vae left his women-folk. "But I want to know what kind of traffic leaves those rooms tonight." Behind him now, Satiet's lividity will be a problem for tomorrow.

At the command, Tiriana shoots one last look over her shoulder at N'thei and L'vae--what did you /do/? But she doesn't say as much, instead quickly turning back to catch up to Satiet in a couple of strides, then fall into step just behind her as they take their own leave.

L'vae stiffens, his gaze caught upwards in the weyrleader's look. He doesn't follow the other man's gaze back to his mum and her friends, eyes instead remaining upon that scarred face. "Yes, sir," he answers with dutiful, even ready, compliance. "I'll keep watch." A pause, as a final thought percolates. "I'll let you know immediately if anything seems wildly out of place, and otherwise report in tomorrow. Will that suit?"

"Yes." And an uncommon, "Thank you." N'thei casts around for a time, runs the flat of his palm across what little there is of his hair, silently sorts through the thousand things that have come up in the last half-hour. Ultimately, "Tell your Wing I'll leave a keg for them at the Snowasis once the road's clear, and--" That's all. Whatever's left is outside the scope of what's expected of L'vae, lucky guy.