[Log] How's the Spine?
Who: I'daur, Leova, Niena, N'thei, Persie, Satiet
When: Day 1, Month 6, Turn 16
Where: Lakeshore, High Reaches Weyr
What: I'daur and Leova discuss Thread, then and now. Afterward, they go to dinner and run into N'thei and Persie, while Niena and an injured Satiet arrive shortly thereafter.
Notes: Game went boom in the middle of it. Either the game could not sustain this group of people in one room, or it just couldn't handle Satiet being nice.
Lake Shore, High Reaches Weyr
This shoreline marks the edge of the freshwater lake that fills the southeastern portion of the bowl. The gritty dirt of the bowl gives way to smooth sand. Dragons adore diving from high above into the lake's deep center, often imploring to their lifemates to bathe them with sweetsand. Humans and firelizards alike frequently fish from these clear waters, which are abundantly stocked.
Across the lake, the bowl wall rises high into the sky, its face dotted with weyr entrances. A few dragonlengths above the water, glimpses of a level cliff can be seen amidst boulders lining the edge. Just south of here, a smaller pond of water is divided from the main lake by a natural bridge of land. A path leads across the bridge and up to the diving cliffs, winding through a dotting of small boulders on its way.
The afternoon is clear and the sun shines brightly. There is a strong breeze that creates ripples upon the lake.
Contents:
Leova
Obvious exits:
Lake Pond Diving Cliff Bowl
The first day of summer is much like the last few of spring, almost as warm as the Reaches ever gets. As such, a number of people are out enjoying the lake, swimming or bathing their dragons; I'daur and Zunaeth are just one pair. They've still managed to stake out a relatively solitary portion of the water, while the weyrlingmaster goes about washing his bronze.
Over by the pond, a few people are even trying to catch fish, or at least are putting up the pretense while nodding off in the sunshine. Up on the diving cliff, there are the usual picnickers and a few people trying to jump and not run smack into a dragon, firelizard, or whoever else might be flying around on the way down. Over by the waterfall it's noisy, bumptious even, and it's from there that Vrianth shoots across the water with one big push, fast and slick as a spat-out melon seed. Look who's here! Zunaeth! The smaller figure of her rider's harder to pick out: drenched, shirt and shorts, picking her way barefoot along the rocky edge with eyes narrowed against the water-mirrored sun.
The green heading his way makes Zunaeth swing his head around, looking to Vrianth to watch as she shoots out his way. He rumbles once, in fact, and I'daur looks around at that noise, pausing his scrubbing to watch the green fly over. Then he glances around, looking to see if her rider is anywhere around before he turns back to cleaning, letting them make their way over on their own time.
There's the splash as Vrianth directs that speedy glide downward, but it's not as though she'd tried to surprise them this time, and it's not as though she's aiming to drench the whole Bowl anyway. Or even their part of it. This time. Instead she relaxes into a partial float, one wing forward and the other back so she can look sideways at the pair, impish as a weyrling but now full-grown. Floating. That's what she's doing. Floating. That's all. And Leova's catching up, eventually, with pauses to greet others she's passing. "How much of the mountain you got scrubbed so far?" more to the man than his dragon.
"That side," says I'daur, nodding sideways at Zunaeth to indicate the opposite one, while the bronze flicks his tail, snorting as Vrianth splashes down into the lake. And floats. "You turn up to help me? Don't need it," he tells her, with a snort of his own that echoes his dragon's.
Because Vrianth's so helpful! She snorts too. And her rider says dryly, or as dryly as she can considering the dousing, "Right, that's why we've been playing the last don't-know-how-long. Waiting for you to get halfway done." So she perches on a nearby rock where she can drip on it instead of the water and adds, "Figure I'll just watch. You know. Make sure you do it right," one corner of her mouth turning up.
"Figures," says I'daur, glancing sideways at Leova on the shore as she takes up her post watching. He scrub scrubs away. "Be just like you contrary kids. Think you know better." But he's smirking still as he works along the bronze's remaining side. "How you doing?"
Speaking of contrary, Vrianth winds her head around on that long neck of hers from Zunaeth's other side. Betcha can't scrub her nose! Betcha! Leova ignores her. "Turnabout, don't you know." Or, mostly ignores her. "All right. I guess. Sweeping. And drilling. And running errands. And more errands. Nothing, you know. Important."
Zunaeth tries to ignore her, too. He deliberately turns his head away, watching while I'daur washes away. "Turnabout," he repeats. And then, "Nothing important. Not now, I don't guess." He frowns at that, noting, "Ain't done nothing important since last clutch."
Tick tick tock tick. Vrianth mulling something over, sinking deeper into the water. Earning what would have been a look from Leova if the greenrider could see through things. Through men and dragons, for starters. "Persie's been saying she wants a new clutch. Real soon now. T'keep busy."
"Yeah?" says I'daur, pausing mid-scrub to glance around over his shoulder at Leova. He tilts his face down to brush it against his shoulder, wiping it off before he continues again. "Could stand one myself, s'pose. Something to fill up some hours, better'n just sitting out somewhere. Persie--" He shrugs.
She has a noncommittal look to her, though she keeps watching even when he turns away, not focused enough to quite count as staring. "Better'n picking up after people." Leova leans forward some, elbows on her knees, but that doesn't seem to fit quite right, so she shifts back. "Figure she could do a lot more. If she wanted."
Dragon> Zunaeth senses that Vrianth asks, finally, not quite floating with one paw on the lake bottom for balance, << Why, Zunaeth? >> Why look away from her. From her. Why so somber, or whatever it is she can't tell. Aside from the small movements required to keep her where she is, and to keep the sun on her backslanted wings, she's quiet.
Dragon> But Zunaeth's voice is only amused, rumbling with the usual warmth when she calls him out on that. << Show-off, >> he accuses mildly. And since she's sinking down into the water, he adds, just a touch suspiciously, << What're you planning now? >> (Zunaeth to Vrianth)
"True for most people, yeah?" says I'daur, giving Zunaeth's flank a particularly rough scrub over to get off something he's rubbed up against. "Could do more. If you wanted. Nobody wants to."
Leova engages in a quiet stream of particularly blue profanity ending with, "Would if there were any left to flame." And a few more descriptive phrases to go with it.
So I'daur pauses then, rinsing Zunaeth and then bending down to rinse off his own hands again. Leova might curse but he's stoic while she does, and finally just notes, "Lucky there was anything to flame in the first place."
Dragon> Zunaeth senses that Vrianth's head pops back up, and she stares at him in outrage. Not unamused outrage, but still! << That is not fair, >> she accuses back at him. << You made me wonder. >> Maybe even worry. A little. Although the thought of /plans/ is consoling.
Zunaeth> Vrianth senses that Zunaeth, impervious to that outrage, only leaks more dry bemusement at that. << Always do anyway, >> he points out of her wondering.
"Don't know about that." Leova kicks bare toes at the water, her voice rough. "You trained us, trained us to do something /good/ with it, and Snowstrike kept us out of it like we were weyrlings."
Dragon> Zunaeth senses that Vrianth sighs a huge sigh. << Not like that, >> she says, and moves to bump up against him body and mind if she can. Still, and that much warmer for his point, << We have been thinking, Zunaeth. There must be some of /It/. Still. Somewhere. >>
"Did he." I'daur straightens up with a grimace, stretching his back from the half-hunched posture of bathing Zunaeth. He fixes a look on Leova then. "Take it up with B'yan?" he wonders.
"Of course." It's flat. "Said he didn't want to lose anyone else." Leova kicks at the water again. "Not like I can't see where he's coming from. But it's not like he /would/. Us."
I'daur considers that, then drawls, "B'yan's an idiot." And that settles the issue for him, because he turns back to Zunaeth to finish up the bronze's bath. Over his shoulder, "Not much point givin' him weyrlings, ain't going to use them. S'all any of us are, anyway--fodder."
"S'my idiot," and Leova can be possessive about it even while she complains. A sidelong look around, to see who might be in earshot, does get her sliding off the rock and wading closer to Zunaeth again. More mildly, "You know, Persie helped me oil you-know-who the other night. Not because she thought I needed help. Just to keep her hands busy and, you know. Feels good." And then, "You ever going to tell me what happened?"
I'daur snorts at Leova's possessiveness, counters with, "Mine first." Scrub-a-dub. He nods to her mention of Persie, acknowledgement of that though all he says is, "What about?" to the latter question.
"So maybe should blame you," Leova says, more happily if only for a moment. She angles a shoulder-lean into the larger dragon's side if he doesn't seem to mind, which may or may not be the right time to say, "It. The accident."
That brings Zunaeth's head around to eye Leova, either because she leans or because she asks that question, but he doesn't pull away. I'daur doesn't pause his washing, either, continuing mechnically down the bronze's body before he answers. "Got stupid. Nearly got myself killed. Not much more to it than that," he replies.
Leova gives the bronze a quizzical look, but she's not asking to laugh about it. On the other side Vrianth makes more room as counterbalance, all four paws up, letting the water drift her a little away. "So, the not much more," her rider says. "What'd you do? That was stupid."
"Got scored," which perhaps doesn't give Leova any more information than she already had. I'daur doesn't seem too inclined to volunteer a lot of answers just then. Instead, he has his own question: "What you want to know for?"
Her grunt is a fair imitation of one of his. But. Then. After a moment or two, or four, or six, "Still don't right know, not all the way," Leova admits. "Just seems like it's pretty... important."
So then I'daur seems to take pity on her curiousity, though he frowns still in the telling. "Got out of formation for a patch. Got that once. Missed the one up above it."
Leova's eyes narrow some, as though she could see that distant formation. "So it was blocking," she says. "Any particular reason to leave formation? Other than, it was there. You could get it. So why not."
I'daur drawls, "Wasn't exactly the first time." He shrugs. "Nobody else was getting it. We did." Beat. "Stopped the other patch, too, one way or another."
Leova has to smirk, slightly, at that. Until she realizes and stops, even before his addition stops her the rest of the way. She rubs her forehead. "Suppose so." Wearily, that. "How close to the end of the Pass?"
I'daur procrastinates on answering for several seconds, dashing a little more water on Zunaeth's leg before he turns about to look at Leova. "Last 'Fall," he replies then, evenly.
Leova's gaze lifts into his, and she keeps looking. There's got to be speculation there, and the small muscles around her eyes move slightly, tension and release. And then she just nods. Silent.
With that settled, I'daur nods once to Leova, then glances around again at his dragon. He rubs over one last spot when he turns back to Zunaeth, then gives the bronze's flank a slap to urge him out of the water, back onto dry land. I'daur wades after him. "Anything else?" he asks then.
To the extent Leova makes it onto dry land, it's just so she'll be out of the way, Vrianth still out there. "Yeah," she says. "What were you going to do after the Pass? Before."
It's another question that requires from I'daur a long silence while he goes about his business, grabbing up the towel he's left on shore to sweep haphazardly over his legs. "Faranth only knows," he finally admits. "I didn't."
She acknowledges it with a nod, a just-standing-there nod. Until she glances to where pockets might be, checking for the outline of the familiar flask, and then afterward makes it onto shore. Just shaking her legs, one at a time, seems to do it for her. Vrianth shakes out her own wings, but it's at even more of a distance, and being Vrianth, she promptly wets them over again. "Guess we'll always have our dragons to wash," Leova says finally. "Nobody else can do it right, after all, hm? And in the meantime there's dinner."
"S'pose not," I'daur agrees, with a glance back at Zunaeth. His bath finished, the bronze seems content to stay where he is, soaking in the cool water while I'daur gets out. "Dinner, right. 'Nother good time-killer."
"Especially if we chew slowly," Leova says dryly. "Kill some more time with me?"
I'daur pauses at that, shoots another look back at the lounging Zunaeth before he nods. "All right," he concedes, and gestures for her to lead on toward the living cavern.
Garden Patio Ledge, High Reaches Weyr
This ledge is a good size, allowing two large dragons on it at the most, however the furniture and decorations do very little to allow dragons to land. The stone has, through time, become smooth with the sting of High Reaches' biting winter winds. Lacking are the telling talon marks of an occupant at any time within the past decade and the ledge has been weeded and cleared of greenery. Situated along the western bowl, this ledge offers a view of the lake in the distance and has a set of wide steps curving along the bowl wall to the ground.
A stone half-arc shelters half of the ledge from the extreme weathers, where a iron-wrought bench and two patio-like tables have been set up. Little niches, carved out of the stone in a rustic fashion hold glow baskets to provide light at night. The very edge has been decorated with wooden boxes of potted flowers that blossom beautifully in the spring and summer.
The evening is clear, not a cloud to be seen, giving you a perfect view of the stars. The smaller Belior is a nearly full waning gibbous while Timor shines in half moon. A light wind blows and the summer air is warm enough, with only a slight chill.
Contents:
Leova
Persie
N'thei
Obvious exits:
Snowasis Bowl
"If she'd hate it, why do it?" Persie asks, if hesitantly because as soon as the words leave her lips she can fathom a few reasons. None of which are likely to be N'thei's reason. But she's curling up with her half-finished glass of beer again, drawing the outstretched leg in and switching it for the other. "Where did you get the box, anyway?"
Evening's coming on, but it looks to be a fine one weather-wise. So N'thei and Persie are out enjoying it, chairs pulled up to one of the tables on the patio; she's got a beer, he's reclined with his hands laced behind his head, they both have at least one foot propped on the table. It's the life. --Predictably, he ignores the first question; the second makes him smirk. "Why? Thinking to ask for a duplicate key?"
"Thinking of asking for the key, yeah." But then Persie's thinking. It's a visible thing. There might even be a little smoke coming out from under that pale hair. "Duplicate?" That's what all the thinking comes up with, that and the arch of her eyebrows over surprised eyes. There's a smile tugging her lips. What are they talking about? Well it's entirely possible they're talking about that little wooden box on the table with the delicate silver lock. Possible.
At least the latest arrivals aren't dripping wet by now, no more than mildly damp here and there, though dragon-washing hasn't done Leova's hair any favors with the way it's curling on top. She's balancing a platter with bubbly pies, raided before the rest are gone, trying not to step on I'daur's heels. After all, he's got the kebabs. And the drinks, of course. And maybe even, believe it or not, a bit of salad.
Laden with food, I'daur makes a slower path than usual out onto the patio, glancing around for its tables to see their emptiness. And while he notes the spaces left over, he also notes N'thei and Persie there, and he turns to glance back at his follower, pausing so that his heels probably get clipped one more time. "Wher you want to sit?" he asks Leova.
N'thei pinches his lower lip with his thumb and finger, pulls it out a little, shakes his head while holding it like that. "Not telling." His upper lip, his upper teeth stretch into a smile that he holds till he drops his hand away, just about to speak again when out comes the food. Oh; and I'daur and Leova. "I'm not sure /picnicking/ is entirely appropriate given the current state of affairs," he begins most importantly, slides his feet back off the table to sit up straight and use his Weyrleader tone.
Between N'thei and his lip pulling, Persie's a beat behind when it comes to the arrival of more company and not to mention the food. She blinks over at Leova and I'daur, a bright smile claiming her lips. "Hi guys!" she's waving too. "Come sit with us. Or, well, come sit with us if you don't mind me picking at your food. Here, sit here." And with N'thei's feet out of the way, she brushes her hand across the table, just a little cleaning for this surprise meal arrives. They -will- be sharing, right?
Leova lurches to a halt, pies sliding into the curve of her arm, and leans up on her toes to look past him. At least until N'thei becomes entirely too audible. At which point she doesn't so much retreat as mention mildly, "Somewhere quiet." Over there. Elsewhere. Until, well, there's Persie and how can she turn down Persie? She gives the other greenrider a weak smile before adding in even more of a whisper, "Think we're caught, I'daur. After you."
And I'daur is once more stuck leading the way, this time shuffling over to Persie and N'thei's table to set down everything he's got in his hands. "Evening," he tells the pair then, as he moves to pull out a chair and settling into it. "Persie. Going to picnic with us?" Which is somehow an odd word coming out of his mouth, but!
"You're actually going to have a picnic." The /you/ in that sentence refers to I'daur, at whom N'thei stares for a spell before his brows climb and his eyes distract while a doubtful look crosses his face. "Leova. Good to see you." Perfunctory bland smile. "What's the occasion?"
Satiet wanders outside from the inner cavern.
Satiet has arrived.
Satiet
Satiet is slight and compact in build, overall figure slender and toned with muscles, especially along her arms. Her face is thin, almost sharply so, and its saving graces are the high cheekbones that taper into a gentle point at her chin. There's no doubt many might find her attractive, if only for the excess amount of confidence that exudes in the pride of her general posture and the aloof hold of her chin. She appears in her mid-twenties, and the discipline that is her life's creed can be discerned in glimpses of the ice cold depths of her blue eyes. Once shorn glossy raven waves have grown to graze her shoulders in loose, well-groomed curls.
Thin straps of a navy camisole criss-cross Satiet's back and come up over her shoulders. The fabric is of a loose cotton weave, more typically seen at Igen than at the Reaches and clings to her figure. At the waist, it's met by the tied flaps of a brightly printed sarong, the gradient of which delves into whites to the same dark blue that decorates her top. Bared arms are muscular, and accessory free, as is her neckline, though a silver strand glitters along her right ankle. In lieu of winter boots, a pair of extremely thick-soled sandals protect her feet. Tightly wound white fabric keeps the woman's right wrist immobilized and though make up tries, it fails to completely smooth out the discolored skin along her left cheek.
Persie is looking pretty surprised too, first at I'daur, for his compliance in what was surely Leova's idea, which is why that big blinking expression is then shifted to the other greenrider. And then Persie giggles a little sitting forward with her elbows on her knees. "What did you bring? Are those pies? Ooh." And it seems that the box is forgotten for now.
Leova gives a good impression of cheer as she sets down the platter of pies right where Persie can sniff them, retreating only to pull the fourth chair up next to the third, and that means she can keep tall broad-shouldered I'daur between her and N'thei, now isn't that a fine coincidence. "Dinner," she does observe to the latter, one corner of her mouth turned up. Such a surprise!
Dragon> Zunaeth senses that Vrianth thoughtfully breathes bubbles through the water. << Box. >> Not large enough to put anyone in, however. Probably.
"Apparently," says I'daur with a shrug, a glance to the two women to see what they say. For all he brought out the food, he doesn't seem in much hurry to get to eating, sliding the tray over toward Leova and Persie moreso than himself. He, after all, has a drink that he picks up instead. And while Leova calls out dinner, he points out, dryly, "Box," with a glance at the younger greenrider.
N'thei pretends by-the-way concern at I'daur; "How is your spine these days?" His frown is grave, eyes moved toward Leova with unsaid accusation. Box; glance; recline with hands clasped across his belly.
It's the weyrwoman's voice that's heard before she emerges from the Snowasis with a tall slushy drink at hand. It even has a cute umbrella perched into its lime-green snowy caps. What she's saying isn't as important as the tone with which she's saying it, intoxicated cheer, or as close to cheer as Satiet is capable of, and shortly, the flushed woman joins her already exited voice on the ledge. And looks to find a table full of odds and ends people.
Persie's slim little fingers are already making a dash for dessert, even if pie and beer doesn't really make for the best combination. But before she claims a piece for herself, N'thei's question stops her and she looks up at I'daur. "Spine?" It takes her a moment before she guesses they aren't actually talking about vertebrae, but it doesn't make her any less curious, it just makes her look back and forth between the rest of the members of impromptu dinner party. Satiet's voice, however, urges Persie to hurry up and take her pie so that she can sit back in her chair. She doesn't look, just the voice does it.
Leova slides a look up at I'daur, finds herself chuckling, and then reaches out toward the little silver-locked thing. Maybe even pick it up. "Very wild picnic," she says. "Out in the middle of nowhere. Think this would be hard on the teeth, though." Never mind spines, though she does flick a glance at Persie, smile deepening through all that laughter. "Should've brought more."
Niena strolls up a set of narrow stairs from the western bowl.
Niena has arrived.
"Stiff," drawls I'daur in response to N'thei, flicking a look up at the Weyrleader before he takes another drink. "Happens, you get to my age." He leans back in his chair himself, letting the girls eat while he drinks, and shoots a sideways glance back at the sound of Satiet's voice behind them.
N'thei leans forward to bring himself around where he can get a glimpse of the tunnel between the bar and the patio, just a quick peek at the owner of the voice before he settles back again like it never happened. "Picnic. Join us?" He must be inviting Satiet, as she's the only one not already at the table, even makes to abandon his chair to her, so gentlemanly. To I'daur-- "Good word for it, sir."
Satiet's standing at the entrance to the Snowasis, while seated at a table, I'daur and Persie separate N'thei from Leova. Various drinks are at hand including beer, and a pie with quite a plate of kabobs rests on the table. Along with a silvery box. It's a nice summer day that's just turning into evening at High Reaches Weyr.
Satiet's fingers tighten about the glass and a quick knock back downs a quarter of the slushy drink. Liquid fortification, that leads to the cringe of brain freeze. When it passes, she strides over, looking, if not pleasant, at least not distant, but ignores N'thei's vacated seat. "Isn't a grassy knoll and chained flowers required for picnics?" Unsaid, but in the askance of pale, glassy eyes: Doesn't having furniture defeat the essence of a picnic?
Persie, well, she doesn't have any idea what N'thei and I'daur are talking about, spines and stiffness and the weyrlingmaster gets another look from her, a once over, before she lets the whole thing go. And then she'll just sit back and start picking on that pie, not just eating it, but breaking the crust off, which is probably a terrible idea. She's good at coming up with those. "I don't know where picnic came from. It's really just... dinner, isn't it?"
Forget the food: Leova's turning the box over in knowing hands, seeing if it will rattle, trying the catch. Always good to check for a catch. Just as idly, "Do you wish more people had stiff spines, sometimes? Considering." But then here comes Satiet, and her gaze lifts, pausing on the print of the woman's sarong. And then her wrist. And then she's frowning, without a quip about picnics at all. Instead, "What happened?"
"Your Weyrleader's idea," I'daur volunteers in answer to Satiet's question; he shoots a look from Satiet to N'thei and back again, lifting a brow. It raises higher as he takes a better stock of the Weyrwoman, eyeing her face and her wrist and leaving that question to Leova.
N'thei, in answer to Persie, to I'daur, "I did coin the term, yes. And thank you for pointing out the flaw in it, miss, I forgot about grassy knolls and daisy-chains." He smiles graciously at Satiet, his fingers drummed across the back of the chair that he's vacated, that he nods to in silent offering. When it's brought to light, he looks blandly at Satiet's wrist-- "Not yours. Don't break it, Leova."
Niena heads in from the Snowasis, carrying her customary mug of klah. She seems startled at the crowd gathered, and even more so at Satiet's appearance. Wordlessly she looks around, then approaches the seat N'thei vacated before she entered,finally breaking her silence to ask politely "Is this taken?"
The curiosity that gleams in Satiet's blue eyes turn from the spread on the table and the 'picnic' to Persie who answers first. "I suppose," liquor-fuels the relaxation of her shoulders and that one-shouldered shrug of dismissal. "It doesn't really matter." That pronounced for both her quibbles over whether this is a picnic or not and probably for Leova's question, she's about to sprawl herself backwards into that empty, when Niena approaches, which results in a weird sort of flail. "Drinks anyone?" Her own, very green one is lifted in a toast to absolutely nothing, and in efforts to rebalance herself to stand.
"Mmf." That's Persie's addition about the box when N'thei's comment draws her attention to Leova's hands. It would probably be better annunciated if she hadn't just shoved the whole bit of pie into her mouth to keep the filling from ending up in her lap. She rolls the mouthful to one cheek to explain, "It doesn't open," and offer her hand to take the box back. Just an offer. No really.
"Is it so fragile?" Leova asks N'thei, only she's still looking past I'daur to Satiet's wrist, and then up at her face. And when her eyes narrow, that's when she stops tipping the box from side to side. Stops listening to that paper-rustly rattle. Because: face. Makeup. Designed to cover. It's a long moment later before she nods to her wingmate, and even then the box is slack in her hands, ripe for Persie to snatch back again. So. Her tone gets very even. "Why don't you take that spot, Satiet, and Niena, draw yourself up another if you want? I'd love a drink. Drinks all around. I'daur, please," and a brief hunt finds a glass to pass him: could be used, doesn't much matter.
No sooner does N'thei get the "No" out in answer to Niena than Satiet's about to sit, than he smirks briefly, quick to clear his throat after Leova goes doling out his chair where she will; "Someone take the darn chair." Just replace the darn in that sentence. "I'daur, please." Echoed while he moves from the table to drag a fifth chair in between the two greenriders.
I'daur, for his part, just watches the ongoings, particularly Satiet when she flails herself around. It makes him smirk. Leaning back in his chair, he lifts his own flask in answer to her question, though he takes the glass Leova passes him anyway. After he sets it down unused in front of him, he remarks, with another glance at flaily Weyrwoman, "You never did say. --Please?" A glance from Satiet to N'thei.
Niena nods to Leova and pulls over a chair, blushing. She keeps a death grip on her klah mug, though, and even manages not to slosh any of it on Satiet -- or anyone else at the table. NOt trusting herself to speak yet, she avails herself of the pie, taking a small slice across from where Persie abused the crust.
"Hello, Niena." To sit. To not sit? But then Leova's directing traffic and Satiet falls backwards and claims N'thei's old seat. Leova's even tone garners a head-tilted look from the goldrider, brow knit as if it should mean something, then a glance casts to the bound bandages to try to put two and two together to make four. She's half-successful. "Got drunk. Got hurt. It happens. I haven't had a vacation in years. I should get hurt more often. Drinks?" is asked again, despite the green frosty thing at hand, and a look goes to Persie's plate, "And pie. I'd love a slice of pie. How /is/ everyone tonight?"
Musical chairs, boxes, pies. What's going on here? Persie has no idea, but she tucks the little wooden box into her lap and then reaches out for a kebab, now that dessert is done. With N'thei slipping in between her and Leova, she offers him a kebab before she picks one for herself and sits back again. Well, back, but not all the way back because she's looking past him at Leova.
Leova gives N'thei an over-the-shoulder glance and scoots her chair to make room for him, so polite. And then gives him back the shoulder, turning toward Satiet again in time to hear her story, miss his expression. "Someone should open this," she says half to herself, just as the box is taken. And after a blink, "Persie?" As though it could have been another. At least it means she can skip the pie, take the glass back, go looking for something to put in it. "Could always not get hurt. Take a vacation. Who's going to tell you no, after all."
N'thei shakes his head at the food, too busy watching Niena drag yet another chair to a table built for four. Elbow room, anyone? Could be what keeps him from squeezing into the chair even though he's brought it around, rather has him leaning his hands on the chair-back so he's still part of the table without sitting at it. "Why open it? What if what's inside it isn't worth wrecking the box to get at it?"
"You got drunk," and the thought of it seems to amuse I'daur, his mouth pulling to one side in a dry smirk at her answer. And when she's still asking about drinks even now. "Anything left for the rest of us?" he drawls then. Let the others worry about the box.
Dragon> Zunaeth senses that Vrianth's abruptly roused out of a floating near-doze, a few of Secath's mental petals about her. A few moments later, sharing the wealth, << Zunaeth. >>
Niena appears to be trying to listen to every conversation at once, her eyes going from face to face as she slowly demolishes her pie and klah. She answers Satiet, "Masoth and I are well, ma'am." For once she doesn't return the question.
Satiet thinks hard -- the gears in her head working visibly in the wrinkles that line her forehead. Her finger lifts, counting silently in the air, until she decides to tell the weyrlingmaster, "He cut me off. I can't remember. But it's green at least." As if the color of her drink is more important than just how many she's had so far. Like I'daur, the box is not even on the fringes of her attention's focus, a passing glance for Leova and then N'thei shifting to Niena. "That's good. Very, very good. I think I've been better, but it's good you're well."
Well if N'thei doesn't want the food then Persie will just swing that kebab the other way, toward Satiet. "Sounds like you could use some food..." she says, though she looks a little uncertain about that, or maybe just about the Weyrwoman's new personality. Either way, she'll start nibbling on the kebab she's chosen for herself, her nearly-empty glass of beer wedged between her knees and no more comment on the box.
"So open it carefully. Hinges can be replaced. Worth it or not? At least you'll know." Leova twists to get a kebab for herself before they're all gone, if nothing else for the pointy stick. Downing a bite, she asides to I'daur after it, "Hope so. Otherwise we'll all be clamoring for that flask."
N'thei, mild; "Excellent point, Leova. At least you'll know. --Do you need a real drink?" His attention turns rather suddenly across at Niena, after a glance around at the number of people, the number of drinks, her conspicuous mug o' klah.
I'daur repeats, "Green," while his face contorts into looking impressed at the goldrider's expense. He just shakes his head, smirks, and returns to his own flask, with a sideways look at Leova for her words. "Don't think so," he answers, and caps the flask, puts it away very deliberately. "Unless you're going to--" He nods his head toward Satiet's bandaged wrist to indicate what Leova will have to do for his drink.
Niena finally notices the box, eyeing it curiously, but not reaching for it. She smiles uncertainly toward Satiet, then shakes her head at N'thei. "I'm on watch tonight -- I want to be sure I can stay awake."
Easily distracted from Niena to Persie, a rare seen smile brightens Satiet's face and she takes the offered kebab. In turn, she slides Secath's rider the rest of her green slushy drink. "You look like you need a drink. Persie, right?"
Hand free of the excess food, Persie's can pick up her glass from between her knees, "I've got one," she tells Satiet, giving the remaining beer a little slosh. But the green stuff is being passes anyway and propriety and curiosity prevail. "I mean... thank you." And the beer gets set down and the green thing taken up. "What... what is it?" Though her eyes do flick from the glass to the bandaged wrist.
Leova, tutored, never minds it. Though she does give I'daur's display a narrowly amused look. Followed by a repeated, just as deliberate, "Don't think so." Delicate pauses between the words. Delicate, deliberate misunderstanding, underscored by a chin-tilt Satiet's way. "Wouldn't do her out both wrists. Would be cruel, hm? Vacation or no vacation."
"Very responsible, Niena, good for you." N'thei avoids the usual derision, watches the bluerider a moment longer until said watch duty calls her from the table. Aside, in answer to Persie; "It's green, love."
"More your style," says I'daur of the green drink passed Persie's way by Satiet. He scoots his chair back from the table, though, standing on up before he answers Leova. "Might give you the flask, you did," he tells the greenrider then, with a smirk as he straightens up, stretches. And it's apparently meant to suffice as good-bye, too, as he starts to turn away, fixing to leave.
Ignorant, or just ignoring, I'daur's indication of her wrist, it becomes harder to ignore Leova, and with a look that's far too pleasant for Satiet's sharp face, the weyrwoman turns to Vrianth's rider. And then says nothing; just fixes the younger woman with a look. "I'm surprised," she notes instead, her typically cool voice mild even in this observant interjection today, "That you haven't just broken it open yet, N'thei. What, there's no key?"
It's true that if booze already suits Persie just fine, then vivid green booze has to be even more appropriate. And so without further ado, she takes a sip, the umbrella bopping her in the nose. Brows go up for the sweetness she's not quite accustomed to in her drinks, but she's smiling, so it must be good. "Frosty." But with the attention back on the box, she unintentionally shifts her legs, so that it bobbles between them in her lap. And she lifts her glass to I'daur despite his lack of farewell.
"Sorry," Leova tells I'daur with no real apology, just that remnant of amusement that turns up the corner of her mouth. She doesn't wave, just looks a moment and then turns back to the rest of the table, rubbing the crick out of her neck with one hand. Only then she's stopped by Satiet's look, and her brows go up a notch. Well?
N'thei's teeth scrape briefly across his lip in that way, thoughtful but no-good thoughts. "Hmmn?" He comes late into Satiet's remarks, the box, the key. "Not mine. Persie's. She certainly hasn't got a key for it, or I'm sure we'd all know what's in it by now." Talking about the box, looking at I'daur. Leaving him alone. With this crowd. Niiiiice.