[Log] And the Wine
Who: C'len, Reighley, R'hin, Satiet, Treizen (NPC), Zihsa
When: Day 26, Month 10, Turn 8
Where: Bowl, Fort Weyr
What: After the hatching, Reighley runs into one old acquaintance and a few new ones.
Fort Weyr Bowl, northeastern area
The Bowl of Fort Weyr, a large, featureless plain surrounded by steep mountain cliffs, stretches out before you. It is vaguely oval in shape, long from southwest to northeast; you're standing near the wall at its northern end.
Off to the northwest is the long path leading up to the Junior Queens' Weyrs, while steps to the north lead to the Weyrleader Complex. From here you can see in to the Hatching Grounds to the east, and the steps leading up to the gallery stands in the Grounds to the southeast. Stretching off to the southwest is the center of the bowl, where the Lower Caverns, Weyrling Barracks, lake and Feeding Grounds can be seen.
Obvious exits:
Jr. Queen Weyrs Center of the Bowl Weyrling Barracks Weyrleader Complex Gallery SAnds
By the time Zihsa and her friends have made it to the bowl, the girl seems to have found her way back into their good graces, although it sounds as though the three Telgari riders are debating the merits of returning to their home weyr without the benefit of eating someone else's food. Zih is a rather vocal dissenter in this discussion, "C'mon, not a one of you has duty until tomorrow night anyway. What'll it hurt?"
Leiventh seems to have settled himself quite comfortably in the bowl, wings tucked in, head resting comfortably. Only a slight flicker of bright eyes indicates he acknowledges the arrival of the 'Reachian contingent, R'hin's eyes drifting that way for a moment. "It would help," R'hin finally notes, "If the hosts stuck around long enough to tell us exactly where these fair grounds are meant to -be-. Ah, you--" a hand is waved vaguely in Zihsa's direction, "Do you know where the food is?"
For all the times they've complained about their Bad Cousins, as soon as Reighley and Treizen slip out of the hatching cavern those same Bad Cousins are the first to greet them, sharing hugs and commiserations along the lines of 'you wouldn't want one of /those/ dragons, anyway.' These sentiments apparently cheer the two unchosen candidates up somewhat, for both of them manage smiles for their cousins, and after several minutes of conversation, Treizen and the others head toward the hatching feast at the fairgrounds. Reighley, the youngest of the group, lingers behind, glancing back at the entrance to the sands and biting her lower lip again.
"Everyone must eat, yes," the dark-haired Reachian begins acerbically. "But after that display, I'd find it impossible to keep anything down without some wine to fortify the soul." Keeping up nicely with R'hin, Satiet spares Zihsa another glance as the bronzerider questions her. Teonath has claimed sleep as her own by Leiventh's side, curled into as small of a ball as she's capable of. "And the wine," she adds helpfully, as if the two might not be in the same place and Zihsa might know where both are.
C'len comes down the stairs from the galleries.
C'len has arrived.
Zihsa snorts at a response from one of her group, then jerks her head up as another elbows her to indicate she's being addressed. "Bwuh?" It takes a moment for her to orient on first R'hin, then Satiet. There's a blink, as though she's not quite sure /why/ they'd be asking her -- one of those 'are you daft?' looks people usually give others when asked if they work someplace they don't, just by dint of being there. "Ah, well now," she begins, reaching up to scratch behind an ear, having suddenly decided that an answer is required, "I'd say it'd be that way." She points in a random direction where there seem to be people gathering, though goodness knows if she's right. "But I may just be pulling answers out of my hiney."
"I think it'd be remiss of them if there wasn't wine," R'hin observes sidelong to Satiet. A pause, then a low, amused chuckle emanates from the bronzerider, clearly delighted by Zihsa's response. "Oh, good show," he says, "You certainly can't be Fortian, not with -that- sense of humor. R'hin, of High Reaches," he introduces himself smoothly.
Reighley's candidate robe is not quite the pristine white it once was anymore, and it's not likely to get any better as the girl seems to hardly notice the garment's unsuitability for anything but the hatching as she postpones changing in favor of catching a question from the two nearby riders. "I know where it is," she speaks up before she looks over Satiet and R'hin--the latter receives a double-take and a wary step backward, the girl nearly stumbling as she recognizes him.
It's the stumbling girl that rivets Satiet's attention rather than Zihsa's reply, though it's clear she does hear something of it as an usually bemused smile finds the crooked curve of her lips. "Do you, now?" Cool voiced, Reighley's age sized up with one very glittering blue glance that sweeps up and then down again. "Please then, show us where the wine may be." A beat. "You were on the sands, weren't you?"
C'len threads through the crowd that's still coming from the galleries, caught up in the ebb and flow of people. "Does Fort have good wine?" He asks, overhearing Satiet's request. "Or do you just need a stiff drink after--that--" he waves his hand back in the general direction of the sands, smirking slightly. There's a nod for R'hin and the others nearby, as well.
Zihsa manages to look terribly modest in the face of what she takes as a compliment. And by terribly I mean she doesn't manage it very well. "Well, one does what one can." As her companions look torn between dragging her off and debating their possible departure, she takes a step closer, nodding affably. "Zihsa. Telgar. Shamelessly hitching rides since --" She stops to look skyward, likely trying to judge the passage of time, "About two hours ago. A pleasure to meet you."
There's a faint flicker of recognition in R'hin's eyes as his attention shifts to Reighley, solidified by the girl's wariness of him. "Ah, a genuine Fortian in the flesh. How fortuitous." The dry tones, if anything, seem calculated to heighten the girl's wariness rather than ease it. R'hin easily returns C'len's nod, though the look he gives his fellow bronzerider is oddly sharp. Zihsa's words, however, soon garner his attention. "Telgar?" he echoes, "Ah, I should've guessed. Nothing to be shamed about, certainly. Though I don't imagine Telgar's hatchings have a tendency to be anywhere near as bloody as that?" A tip of head indicates the hatching grounds.
"Uh, well. I don't know about the wine, exactly," Reighley admits sheepishly, suddenly shy in the face of the goldrider and the marginally familiar bronzerider from the foreign Weyr. "But you shouldn't drink, anyway. It's not good for you. The--the food's this way, though." She gestures toward the lake then, taking a few steps that way before answering Satiet's question. "Yes, ma'am," she replies politely. "I'm Reighley." Don't look at R'hin, don't look at--she looks. And takes another rapid step backward, though this time more careful not to get her feet tangled in each other.
Recognition of voice touches Satiet's face before C'len comes into view, and with a slight turn of her diminutive shoulders, she catches sight of another of Reaches' bronzeriders. "A stiff drink-," she reflects to Vildaeth's, "Would be far more to my temperament right now than wine, but wine will do in a pinch." With the back of her hand, the young woman reflexively neatens her loose white skirt, as if differentiating the cleanliness of it to Reighley's candidate robe. The hand then is quick to reach out, stealing across to attempt to bolster the once candidate behind her back. "Careful there," she notes, in that dry way of someone far too amused at someone else's two left feet.
Giving another snort, Zihsa eyes R'hin with feigned innocence. "Of course not. Why else would we cultivate such stellar senses of humor to keep ourselves busy if we had something like that to watch all the time?" The interplay between R'hin and those close by him seems to provide further amusement for her. Clearing her throat, she leans in toward the bronzerider a bit and asks, deadpan, "So, I gather you're the scary one?" Her gaze flicks momentarily in Reighley's direction to indicate the source of her theory.
"It was less than pleasant, certainly," C'len refers to the hatching. That doesn't, of course, mean that he's not ready to join in Fort's feast. "Is the fair still here? I heard there was fun to be had by the lake. Traders visiting, perhaps." The rider pauses in his shuffle along the bowl, brows lifting momentarily, before continuing slowly in the way that Reighley indicates. Surely the candidate knows her way around the weyr.
There's a definite glint of satisfaction in R'hin's pale eyes at the Fortian's reaction, though his attention remains largely on Zihsa. "Ah, very true. And, no doubt, you would find yourself with a dearth of wine to drown your sorrows in afterwards - also a poor way to live, I think." Solicitously, he bends his head slightly towards the Telgarian to catch her words, wry, unapologetic as he responds, "Only if you've something to hide. Or you're frightened by the merest of looks."
"Thank you," Reighley tells Satiet, a touch of pink reaching her cheeks as the weyrwoman reaches toward her. "I am, really. I'm careful." She falls silen as she glances again at R'hin, then turns determinedly toward the lake. "It's this way, if you want to come," she calls back, rather than actually answer the bronzerider.
"Traders-," Satiet exhales to C'len, a hand lingering lightly around R'hin's elbow. "We'll be having traders arriving within the sevenday, I believe. The watchrider's have sighted a caravan on its approach." A careless glance slides back to Reighley, ascertaining the girl's state with a raised brow and then withdraws that bolstering hand to join the other at the bronzerider's elbow.
Zihsa slants the 'Reachian rider an appraising look as she straightens. "Truth be told, you don't look all that scary to me," she admits after a moment, her tone dubious. She continues her appraisal, a finger lifted to tap the side of her cheek in a thoughtful gesture. After a moment -- one in which she makes note of the others following the once-candidate toward the food, she declares, "Perhaps if you were taller." There's a hint of bravado in her voice, no doubt a result of not often having the opportunity to tease people well above her in rank.
"Looks can be deceiving, Zihsa of Telgar. For example, I mistook you for Fortian, for which I unreservedly apologize." R'hin's words have a hint of amusement to them, but are no less sincere for all that. "Are you going to partake of Fort's hospitality, such that it is?" he says, by way of invitation, glancing back to Satiet, lips curving as glance slants after the former candidate.
Satiet's return is affable enough for her, colder than most people however in voice, "Such that it is." Her steps are already on their way to follow Reighley.
"Apology accepted," Zihsa replies graciously, apparently well aware of the fact that she could be tendering an apology of her own. In response to R'hin's question, she turns to look at her trio of companions, who offer a variety of expressions from grimaces to bogglement to laughter. When one points toward the area in which their dragons have been lounging, she nods, then offers the bronzerider a look of mock woe. "I'd intended to, but my ride seems to be leaving." There's a pause during which she seems to consider something, then notes, "Unless of course some new friend could be plied with enough drink to convince them to do me the honor of a flight home after." Did she just flutter her lashes? Maybe so. One of her friends just doubled over laughing, so signs point to yes.