[Log] Not Exactly a Drunken Brawl, Pt. 1

[brazenbronzer]

Who: Anvori, Drehfti (NPC), Edeline, Fayre, L'vae, Nederan (NPC), Niena, Nolee, N'thei, Oysric, Satiet, Sunniva, Tiriana, T'rev, Virgil, Ysave (NPC)
When: Day 28, Month 9, Turn 17
Where: Tillek Hold
What: Tillek's Brewfest ends poorly, at least for Lord Drehfti.

Tillek Hold
     Scrubbed and polished, Tillek Hold turns out at its finest for the Brewfest. The autumnal air may be a little on the chilly side, but the festive aura pervades from the bright blue-and-white flags and banners that fly from the windows to the colorful tents sprouting in the courtyard. The big iron doors leading into and out of the main hall, polished to a deep blue shine, are left open throughout the festival to allow people to mill indoors; long tables are lined up in the main hall where people can rest, get a second (or third) wind, or even sleep-it-off at the end of the day if necessary. Most of the activity is in the courtyard and the paved road sloping from the courtyard to the docks.
     Wine boots, ale booths, beer booths, spirits booths-- booths booths booths. The Winecraft and Tillek's own local breweries have turned out in force. Signs like "Better than Benden!" and "Tillek's Finest Pale Ale" festoon the booths, and people line up to buy sample sizes or full-blown glasses and mugs. Interspersed, less prominent by sight but unmistakable by smell, are booths selling roast wherry legs, meatrolls, bubbly pies: the usual festival foods, tremendously bad for people but ever popular. Tables scattered throughout the courtyard and lining the road allow places to stop, eat, drink, rest, play cards, pass time. The road slopes down to the docks, where the party continues.

Obvious exits:
Winery Docks Road

Niena stays close to Masoth for now, her hand on one of his haunches as she watches the goings-on. She doesn't yet have a deer-in-headlights look, though.

Some of the fuss of Edeline moves through the crowd, her being familiar enough to the Tillekians that they react happily to her presence, and reaches the Weyr's booth where N'thei's just getting a mug filled for himself. A drink, still a mite early to be getting too far into his cups, and he tracks her movement over the rim of his mug. Then-- "Edeline!" To catch her attention, a hand extended and fingers waved in a beckoning gesture. As if it were his place to command her attention at her own Hold. At least he has the courtesy to leave the back-of-the-booth and step around to intercept her.

Oysric gets mugs as ordered, the stablehand quickly moving into action as he moves to find the mugs on the table, necessary to drink the keg's red ale. Oys holds both his own and one for N'thei, looking to the Weyrleader's strain at the keg-tapping. For the moment, the keg seems to encompass his whole attention. Well, that and N'thei tapping it. His brows arch upward at the Weyrleader's reaction to Tillek's eldest, curious before finally grabbing his own mug-full of the red ale.

Eila, like Niena, lingers behind the budding jostle and shuffling, her hands clasped in front of her as she claims a spot relatively quiet, a bit wide-eyed at the whole thing.

Edeline turns, of course; few people are addressing her by name alone, so it easily gets her attention. That beckoning gesture elicits a brief lifting of eyebrows; such presumption. "Weyrleader, Tillek's duties, " she greets affably, if formally, as he leaves the booth to intercept her. "You've brought a brew with you." It's half-statement, half-question. Already?

"A few." N'thei glances back over his shoulder at the line of kegs, all stamped differently, catches a look on Oysric's mug just long enough to ensure that the young man knows that he knows: One for free. "None of the ale's ours. Yet." With undue familiarity, he offers Edeline from what must be his own mug, newly filled, red-aled, brows raised questioningly in a silent want-some? "Hopefully that's to change soon?" Pointedly, smile brightened with expectation.

"One, just one," Oys mutters as he spots N'thei's look to him. At N'thei's switch in personality, complete with the brightened smile and expectant look, Oysric can only take one long swallow of the red ale, now tapped from the keg. He emits a kind of sound one might make after a sip of very good ale. Indeed, for the time being, the stablehand seems to be really enjoying himself. Even if it's just one ale. One for free.

Choices, choices. Like much of the crowd, Tiriana mills around the brewfest, stopping to look in all the booths but not sampling anything from them yet; on the look for something specifici, or perhaps just too indecisive to choose. At any rate, soon she finds herself meandering down rows and rows of kegs, a path that carries her near a couple of familiar faces--though she sighs with resignation when she sees N'thei and Oysric both.

Niena ducks over to the nearest booth and buys herself the smallest mug of apple cider. Rather than approaching N'thei or those near him she sidles back to Masoth and nurses her drink, people-watching.

"Ah." Of course, that's as was expected, says Edeline's single syllable. Dark eyes flick to the offered mug, then up to its owner's, smile polite. "It's not unrealistic to think so, " she says at last, but gives her head the tiniest shake for the drink. Thanks, but no thanks. "I'll be sampling a few later when my father makes his obligatory rounds, " she adds by way of explanation. She's not just being impolite.

"I'm not nothing," Oysric begins by telling Tiriana when the stablehand sees the junior weyrwoman from High Reaches. "But would you care for some red ale, Tiriana?" he soon asks the woman. "I can guarantee it's likely the best ale you've tasted." Edeline and N'thei are given another look of curiousity before he returns his attention to Tiriana, pouring the red ale from the keg into a mug, handing it to her. "Drink. Be merry."

One brow twitches; "Not unrealistic." N'thei repeats the phrase with bland humor at its vagueness, with the long draw of a breath to search around for his thin-stretched patience. Likely to be found at the bottom of his mug. "Not where I hoped to stand today. By the time your father makes his 'obligatory rounds,' I'd rather be hearing pretty-f'ing-likely, neh?" And his smile, a moment ago full of promise, twists irritably before it tracks the familiar faces among the crowd, Niena, Tiriana, whomever else. "Good luck," he concludes abruptly to detach himself from Edeline, to cut back toward the booth. To Oysric but really meant for Tiriana's ears-- "She has to pay for it. Of course."

"He'll buy it," Tiriana's answer is to both N'thei and Oysric at once, as she glances from Weyrleader to stablehand expectantly as Oysric passes over a mug. She's so certain of this, in fact, that she takes a drink at once, and then glances away from her supposed buyer to N'thei's present company, shooting a glance over Edeline as N'thei detaches himself from her. "Charming as ever, I take it."

"Not at all unrealistic, " Edeline qualifies, polite expression maintained. Maybe she's just being choosy in her language for both propriety and gossip's sake. There's a faint tilt to her smile as he detaches himself to ensure that his junior pays for her ale, head dipping to briefly acknowledge Tiriana before she continues past the High Reaches booth, disappearing without quite falling from the public eye as she trails onward down the row of booths, straight-backed.

"Note she didn't pay," Oysric tells the person in charge of the marks. "I'd say she owes you something for that first mug." He smirks back at Tiriana, telling her: "I don't normally pay drinks for people who are more arrogant than me, Tiriana." He glances toward N'thei, nodding once to him as he detaches from Edeline. He takes another long drink from his mug, his /free/ ale, as opposed to apparently the one Tiriana still has to pay for now.

An aside, and a warning one; "Watch it, kid. Remember what I told you about that one." That-one with a tip of N'thei's forehead to indicate Tiriana; he makes no effort to hide his words, and the dullness behind his eyes don't make it likely that the reference was any too charitable about the goldrider. His smile resurfaces, easy, cocky, unfettered. "Confident I'll get what I want from her, charming or not. Damnedest thing, but women are always doing what I tell them to. As you can attest." So saying, he reaches without warning toward Tiriana's unbought mug, all intent to simply relieve her of her ill-gotten ale.

"Funny, every other time I've seen you you've been begging to buy me a drink," Tiriana points out in idle fashion; she remains more interested in trying out this new not-free drink of hers. Right up until N'thei is talking about her. In confusion, she blinks between him and Oysric, brows furrowing up. "What about me? Why are you talking about me?" she demands at once, making a disbelieving noise at N'thei's latter words--and a startled exclamation when he swipes her mug away. "Hey! That's mine."

"That was before you told me, a resident of /your/ Weyr, I was nothing," Oys intones dryly back to Tiriana. At N'thei's taking of the mug, the stablehand can only laugh, albeit lowly. "I thought you said you preferred it when you were the centre of attention, Tiriana?" Oys asks her. He takes another long drink of his free ale once more, almost in face of the goldrider. Almost, but not entirely. At N'thei's look, Oys can only nod once and lean nearby, sobering some, ignoring the goldrider for the moment.

N'thei, with two mugs! "No, it's mine. Pay for it, and then it's yours. See how this works?" Something between Oysric and Tiriana dims his smile, has him frowning at the goldrider over the top of his two mugs. "She told you that you were nothing?" Not amused.

"I believe the words she said were 'I'm /still/ nothing'." Oysric tells N'thei. He glances back from Tiriana to N'thei again. "Going to spank her?" comes stablehand's the dry question. "I'd pay to see that," Oys replies. "Bet a lot of people would." The stablehand drains his mug finally. "Now, if you'll excuse me," Oys intones. "I'm going to help clean the empties with the rest of the working crew."

Tiriana shakes her head. "Well, yeah. But not when I don't know what people are saying about me," Tiriana protests, shaking her head. And she shoots frequent sulking looks at both men. There is no mention or attempt at paying for the drink, as she, quite happy to spite her face, notes, "Wasn't that good anyway. Although he still shouldn't just shove drinks in my hand without asking and /then/ expect me to pay." Beat. A shifty look darts between N'thei and Oysric then, and like a little kid tattling, she informs N'thei, "He started it. He was a jerk to me, I /told/ you."

Only partially under his breath, still audible, N'thei answers Oysric's going-to-spank-her with a mumbled, "Would pay to do it." So no. He's not going to. Sadly. "And? It's your place to tell a /contributing member of the Weyr/ that they're nothing?" He's over by the Weyr's booth, chastising Tiriana from the lofty position of a man with a mug in either hand; bit early in the day for double-fisting it.

Oysric snickers at N'thei's low remark and takes his mug with him and goes toward the spot where the mugs are being cleaned by others. The stablehand murmurs something to the cleaning crew which elicits a loud guffaw from the others. For now, he's just part of the background, happy with his lot in life. Or perhaps that's just happy Tiriana's getting verbally spanked.

Though if anybody could drive a guy to it this early, it's probably Tiriana. She's looking increasingly sullen, arms crossing over her chest as she glowers at the passing crowds rather than actually look at N'thei. "I don't know what it matters to you," she insists, which is probably not the right answer at all. "Unless you're suddenly best friends or something, since /he/ apparently gets free drinks."

Niena is off away from the fray, as usual, leaning against Masoth and nursing a mug of some drink or other.

A very long drink later. Yes, she could drive a guy to it this early. N'thei finishes that fine-red-ale in one long go, empties out what should have been Tiriana's mug and hands it across to the lad to clean up and reuse. "Not your business why it matters to me, is it. It's your business that I don't like it, so don't do it again. You play nice with the weyrfolk or I will--" He nods toward Oysric, throws back to the man's suggestion. "Put you over my knee. In the middle of a crowd if I have to. Now drink this and behave yourself." And he shoves the second mug, the one that was actually his to begin with, in her direction.

Tiriana's expression is dubious, like she can't quite decide just how serious he is about that particular punishment. "I do play nice. With everybody else," she can't leave well enough alone, though as she finds his mug shoved her way, she takes it and gives it the same unhappy look, lip curling up as she eyes the remainder of it. "You switched them," she complains, as though he weren't aware of this.

"Oh, complain about it, love. You have no idea how happy it would make me to take it from you a second time because you can't appreciate an act of charity." N'thei's slow to loose his fingers from the mug, slower still to essay that challenge. "Look pretty and walk with me." With the sudden offer of a gentlemanly elbow to the goldrider, except that his offer to Tiriana is really more like an order.

"I was just saying," although that's a lie. But Tiriana does take one look at that offered elbow and quickly finish off the ale; not quite the one long gulp N'thei makes of hers, but quickly all the same before she hands off the mug herself. Then, with noticeable steeling, she reaches out to take his arm and fall in step.

It's after a long time of watching, and waiting, and watching, with seemingly little purpose to her drifting gaze that Eila finally pushes herself from her corner of choice. There's a moment of thought before she ducks past a drifting group of raucous blond lads, apparently considering the early hour to be just a /marvellous/ time to drink. Watch yourself, boys! The young nanny weaves her way through the thin crowds, before pulling a face and slipping back off to the (quieter) sidelines, conveniently nearby Niena and Masoth. "Hi," is whispered, a bit breathlessly.

Niena smiles at the nanny. "Hello. Free from the children for today, or just taking a break?"

"For today," Eila licks at her lips and peers out at all those people, just a little anxiously, "But it's /busy/." As though she's never been to a Gather! She twitches at her fancier-than-usual dress, and wrinkles her nose, craning her neck to peer up at Masoth, then over to Niena. "Um. Are you just... hanging out?"

Bland; "Just saying." N'thei doesn't even pretend to believe that. "There's a place just down the row from us, makes a fine lager." And that's where he's dragging the steeled Tiriana, blatantly parading around pretty-young-goldrider for no practical reason whatsoever. Just gives the holders something to talk about in between drinks. "But then you can't really hold your liquor, can you. Forgot about that."

Up the road from Tillek's docks come a small knot of sailors joined by one well-dressed wingleader. They've all got the ruddy glow of ale about them, and wooden steins hang from most hands or belts. The group falls apart as they wash up against the lines of booths, scattering in different directions after a spate of hand shakes and shoulder slaps. L'vae ends up crossing a broad stretch of open space as he heads diagonally towards the booths lining the road. His artfully carved and etched-metal capped stein hangs buttoned in its belt holder, bouncing a little against his leg with every stride. It's the blue that catches his eye. "Morning, Masoth," he turns a smile up towards the familiar dragon as his path diverts to round about in search of: "Niena!" totally interrupting in full cheer, he lifts a wave to the blue's rider, only belatedly realizing she has company. "Ah, hello," the brownrider's grin turns to include Eila.

Masoth warbles happily and Niena smiles warmly to her clutchmate. She even speaks, calling out "Hello!"

More outraged by that accusation than the orders and the chewing out, Tiriana shoots a glare up at N'thei, even as he hauls her along with him. "I can, too," declares the girl, scowling--not quite so pretty then. Still, "I hold it just fine, I don't know what you're talking about. Do I have to pay for this one too now or is it another charity case?"

But yes, even goldriders paired with Weyrleaders have to wait in line at the really popular booths, fall in at the back to wait out the thickening crowd trying out this particular brew. "Don't know what I'm talking about? The fact that you were all but blubbering after what? A couple of shots?" A half-dozen shots? Then a sudden smile, a too-eager brightness. "Do you want me to buy you a drink." How happy it would make N'thei!

Eila blinks at that loud cheer, but offers a little smile up to L'vae regardless, eyes flicking briefly over knot before the nanny bobs her head, "'Lo, sir." From there, that gaze travels over Niena, then, with curiosity, out over the /rest/, everyone else shuffling to and fro and leaning on counters and ordering drinks and such, and the girl has a little don't-mind-me shrug for the two.

Some booths are less popular at this festive occasion, those serving ordinary meal-fare - not the popular oil-coated and fried goodness, not the sugar-and-spice toasted doughs, but the stall serving fruit and nuts - and it is here that Nolee waits, a scowl and a glare for the drunken masses. At her side, an assistant steward, delightedly giving lackeys instructions for which lines to join and how much to haggle before making purchases for Ista's stores.

"Enjoying yourselves?" L'vae asks the ladies, a hand coming up to prop knuckles on a hip. Eila gets a long look, her gather-scanning noted, before his smile comes back to Niena. "You look like you have something there," his other hand gestures curiously towards his clutchmate's mug. "Just your usual klah? Or," his brows lift, grin deepening as voice tips towards cajoling. "Are you trying the festival's wares already?"

"I don't remember that," is Tiriana's lofty reply; probably another lie or maybe just another symptom of not holding her liquor well. "But I never blubber." Firm on that, at least, she shifts her weight impatiently, eyes the crowd ahead of them in line with her nose wrinkling up. Less resigned-sounding than she intends, she shrugs and agrees, "Fine, if it means that much to you."

The dubious expression really says it all for N'thei, really sums up that he believes neither of her first assertions. He even clears his throat, makes a show of smoothing out that expression, and lets impatience get the better of him to start peering over heads and decide how many people he can cut in front of without anyone kicking up a fuss. The lackeying, Nolee's shopping excursion, catches monetary attention to have him comment, "People actually came to this to do more than drink themselves comatose?"

Niena says, "Cider. Have you met Eila yet?" In case he hasn't, she says "She's a nanny at High Reaches. Eila, this is Wingleader L'vae, Bremuth's rider."

From a purse at his side, the assistant steward metes out marks to the lackeys, who scatter with enthusiasm and join some of the longer lines, trying not to bump Reachians waiting in one in the process. Nolee frowns at the steward's flagrance with the currency, shaking her head and muttering about his intellect, then waves him off to join the crowd as well. "Doubtless they'll stagger back with their prizes," is muttered. Now left alone with her fruit dish, she picks at it dispiritedly.

The look is returned in kind: not unpleasant, merely wide-eyed and a bit curious, and Eila moves to extend her hand as introductions are made. "Sir. Might've seen me out and about, really, but I'm not usually underfoot," with a little smile, which turns towards Niena with a thankful nod.

"What, where?" Tiriana doesn't believe that any more than he believes her, and she swings her head around quickly to follow N'thei's gaze to Nolee and her assistants. Gawking ensues. "Seriously? What /are/ they doing? Istans," she dismisses them with a roll of the eyes. "They're just... weird." Ever so eloquent.

"Ah, excellent," L'vae rocks back on his heels with a nod. "I do like cider. Haven't had any yet, today, I'm afraid. Perhaps with lunch," he rambles on even as he turns a more formal bow of his head towards the young nanny. "Elia. Perhaps," he's seen her about. The brownrider reaches to take the girl's hand genteelly while his smile flashes bright. "It's a pleasure, to properly make your acquaintance." Straightening, his gaze tips curiously back to Niena. "Did you two used to work together in the nursery, then?"

Two Fortians walk the path from the docks to the courtyard, strolling along arm-in-arm without, notably, any form of drinks in their hands - newly arrived, perhaps. "I do hope," Berit says slowly, tapping a finger against D'kai's forearm, "that you are not disappointed." Her voice is dripping with unhidden sarcasm, and she has a fake smile pasted on her face as they move through the crowd.

"Harmless though." N'thei watches one of those stewards dive into the crowd, his eyebrows drawn to a furrow until the man's out of sight and he remembers exactly who he's commiserating with. "That is. Would rather deal with them than, say, the Telgari. Plus their goldriders seem to have a penchant for our lads." Never mind the Lujayn-X'lar issue to counter that statement. Front of the line, funny how that works out-- "Two."

Niena nods to L'vae and smiles at Eila. "Yes, and I see her there often when I drop in. She has a way with the older ones that I never figured out."

Now a slim pockfaced lackey finds himself behind Tiriana and N'thei, and emboldened by the marks lining his pocket, answers unbidden back, sotto voce, "Not us. -Her-. Preaches temperance and all, so we have to have some excuse to get over here." Meanwhile Nolee's bumped into by a pair of seamen who have already lost their sea legs, and her fruit dish is upended into the dirt, further improving her mood. "Oh for Faranth's--just leave it."

Frowning, Tiriana glances over the scattering Istan group one more time, then casts a look sideways at N'thei again, her mouth all pursed. "Ista's, or Telgar's?" she asks after a moment, while he orders up their drinks; but the unfortunate lackey behind them earns himself a brief once-over, too, at his low words. "Temperance." She says it like a dirty word.

Eila's got a very sudden, very surprised sort of grin for Niena's unexpected praise. "Oh, it's - it's easy." Her head ducks for a moment, but when it's lifted, she tightly squeezes at L'vae's hand before allowing it to drop back to her side and reply, "Ah. And you." Her teeth catch at her lip, and she directs her curiosity towards the bluerider: "How long did you work in the nursery for, then?"

"Disappointed?" That sarcasm has taken him by surprise, visibly, and D'kai cranes his neck about to peer down at Berit, blinking with bemusement. "What's there to be..." But the thought tails off, unspoken, as very suddenly the lad straightens, his lips pursing together into a straight line. "Indeed, weyrwoman Berit," he finishes, instead, directing their paths towards one of the stalls /not/ serving copious amounts of alcohol, and motions. "Would you care for a drink?"

N'thei really tries to puzzle this out, really; "She brought you to a brew festival, but she preaches temper..." He gives up and shoves a mug at Tiriana, just keep drinking and surely everything will undoubtedly resolve itself to crystal clarity. "Here, one more lad." And he doles out for the third mug, earning a groan from the people still behind them in line, now a mug in either hand when he nods through the crowd toward the last-had-glimpse of Nolee. "Let's go make friends."

L'vae's eyes hold with interest on his clutchmate as she answers. Mouth open in a silent 'ah', grayed hazel eyes slide back to Eila. He takes a breath as if to speak, but ends up closing in a smile. Instead, he follows the younger girl's gaze back to Niena with a curious tilt for her answer.

Niena ponders briefly. "I started helping out unofficially at twelve, so about six turns. I dealt almost exclusively with infants."

Tiriana just shrugs, shoulders lifting in confusion as she gets that mug in her hands and takes a big swig herself. Much better, enough so that she doesn't even protest when N'thei leads her off again toward parts unknown. "Us. Make friends," she says, although the skeptical words might as well be to her lager as she falls in step with the Weyrleader with another drink.

"Do not play stupid with me, D'kai," steely-voiced, without a flinch of change in her expression; this here is serious business. Berit gives him the lead, to direct them over towards the stall of his choosing. "No, but do help yourself." She says it as if he would need permission from her, but then her gaze goes skidding off into the crowd, watching a girl in a particularly enchanting mint-green dress. "I hope you do not continue to carry on with this charade, for your own sake. You know you are not good enough for her." Her impassive eyes lift to D'kai again, "Or were you under the misapprehension that you were?" However, that notion is duly squelched.

"Yeah. Understands the need for marks, but is none too fond." But then it's his turn, and the lackey steps up eagerly. Nolee has moved a few paces from her upended fruit dish, leaving it to be slipped upon and to draw vtols or other waste-seekers, and is scanning the crowd for familiar unsodden faces, or even familiar faces. "Shards. Bleeding waste of a day, these things," is snipped at a passing apprentice, who gives her a wide berth.

There's a startled laugh for that, and Eila shakes her head with a smile to take away any inferred offense at her words: "Almost still a Weyrbrat yourself!" As though she were so much older, a whole sixteen Turns. L'vae's unspoken words do not pass by unnoticed, but Eila simply curls that little smile higher and clasps her hands behind her back, propping herself against a convenient stall-wall. "Are you enjoying the festivities?" Asked politely, brightly.

"Told you." N'thei shifts a little so, rather than elbow-leading Tiriana, he puts one mug-bearing hand toward the small of her back and parades her along like she's a very pretty bauble for his one arm. "All you have to do is stand and look pretty. --Weren't planning to eat that, were you?" are his very first words to Nolee when he passes her fruit dish in the dirt there, looks down at it momentarily before offering out that secondary mug with a surprisingly winning smile. All the better since she's all sniping at harmless passers-by.

There's not a beat missed, not a slowed moment to his steps, but after Berit's words come D'kai seems to decide perhaps they /should/ be heading for those tents serving copious amounts of alcohol, and redirects appropriately. The line of one or two or three others waiting for their drinks serves plenty of opportunity for the once-fisher to consider his words, and consider them wisely, and he's silent for a time longer than should be wholly necessary before he speaks, with his lips quirking to one side of his mouth, his eyes lifted clear of that cool glint of Berit's gaze and fixed on some distant thing, "I'm not sure that's any of your business, Berit."

Masoth warbles politely to the Istan queen.

Stand there and look pretty? Tiriana scrunches her face up again, not her most attractive look, though she lets N'thei guide her along all the same. "Nice to see you value me so highly," she answers, head shaking slightly before they arrive at Nolee's side, and she's eyeing the fruit on the ground and neatly sidestepping it with a distracted, "Hi." Let N'thei be the one making nice after all.

Nolee is taken aback by the sudden appearance of the Reachians, and her scowl deepens a moment as she complains, ""Hm? Oh. Some wherry-faced - ah." A passing moment of dismay at the man's scarred visage, then almost mid-word, her expression is replaced by a deliberate trained public smile, rather vacant and her whole tone sweetens. "Well I was, but I decided sharing it with the locals was more in the spirit of things. Ista's duties," is added to both, the offered mug very conveniently overlooked. "Quite a to-do, this is, isn't it?"

Though she recently attended a drink tasting event back where she calls home, Fayre still can't resist the promise of new and exciting wines and ales to try. Besides, this time she doesn't have to pay hostess to anybody, which allows the rider more flexibility to let loose. Speaking of which, the weyrwoman finds herself standing in front of one of the many wine booths. After getting a suggestion from the grizzled man running it, the rider walks away with a glass of clear white wine, her mark pouch just the slightest bit lighter.

"Still don't know how you did it," L'vae comments with a good-natured murmur to Niena, giving a little shake of his head. Eila's comment brings a soft chuckle to his lips and he quirks a fondly teasing look to the bluerider. "And already drinking klah, I'd wager?" The young nanny's question has him shifting on his feet, nodding while he flicks a glance out towards the nearby stalls. "I am, thank you." Bringing his grin back. "I don't see you with a cup in hand, though, Eila. And," a fingernail taps at the lid of his stein. "I'm afraid mine's empty. Would you like to go get something?" The question includes Niena, too, as his loft-browed look sets on his clutchmate. "Have you almost finished your cider?"

Lord Drehfti circulates. Much like the Istan Weyrwoman, he tends to move about with an entourage. There's his wife, his stepson, one of his younger daughters, a clerkly looking person scuttling in his wake, and one or two hangers-on that are just there on the off-chance that free booze might be coming their way by proximity. Just at present, making rounds, the premier trio-- Drehfti, Ysave, and Nederan-- are engaged in an animated argument from which the words "don't trust them" and "awful lot of marks" emanate on a regular basis.

Conveniently overlooked, but still, "Have a drink on the Reaches. It's a good lager, shame to waste it." N'thei continues to hold the mug out there in Nolee's general direction, to smile that charming expression, to glance around over the words 'to-do.' "Nice way to put it, miss. Give it an hour or two and drunken-brawl should be a likelier term. Have you met Tiriana?" Whom he pushes forward with one hand after her innocuous little 'hi.'

Complaints would be fodder for gossip, and so Berit looks happy to be pulled from one booth to the other. "How is it not? She is my sister." She hugs his arm into her side, just like they are the best of friends, but her words do not transmit that warmth. "And I will not countenance the likes of you hanging onto her skirts like a weight. Pulling her down." But she does not stop there, lifting on tippy-toes to press her mouth near his ear and whisper something so no one in the vicinity can hear. When she drops back down to flat-footed, her expression is blank, her hand falling from his arm.

Brilliant conversationalist that she is, Tiriana repeats, "Hi," and looks almost as dismayed as Nolee when N'thei shoves forward a couple of steps. "Drink it already, it makes him more bearable," says the girl then, demonstrating with another glower the man's way as she gets another drink from her own. Wishingly, under her breath, "Brawl."

Fashionably late, or some such, Satiet appears on the outskirts of the cheerfully waving banners and might as very well blend in in her Tillekian color-matched attire. A quick tilt of her head and request for repetition brings her companion's lips down to her ears to re-murmur some joking remark that has her rolling her eyes but unable to keep her smile at bay. With a hand about his elbow, the raven-haired woman sidesteps a running gaggle of children before she leads the way in to the crowd in such a manner as to make it seem like he's doing the leading.

Niena says, "The walk would do me good, though my cider is still half there." Sidestepping the philosophical argument of half-empty vs half-full, she stands up straight, ready to follow L'vae and Eila. "If you notice a klah booth, please let me know."

"Me?" The single word is sort of surprised, pleased, and there's a brightening to Eila's features that hints that maybe she's never actually had someone offer to buy her a drink before? But first she glances to Niena, waiting on the bluerider's response before giving one of her own, a consciously gracious nod and then a wider grin up towards L'vae. "I - ah, yes, okay, please? And thank you?" Then, tacked on in afterthought, even as she, too, pushes herself straight, "Whatever's less likely to have to stumbling home, I suppose."

The Lord must be pleased for such a turnout. Good for the coffers." Was the complaining nearby overheard? Possibly, though Nolee gives no sign of recognition. "Is it? Then I'll have to decline, as it'd be wasted on me." She touches her forehead, adding with a curl of her lip, "I've a low tolerance for drink. And drunkards. Mmm, and a tower of tasks remaining - our day's later than it is here, and I should return before brawling begins. Though if you're planning to participate, I wish you good luck, from the Islands." A warm smile for Tiriana. "We haven't - I think? You're of 'Reaches?" Her brows rise, an unstated additional question: Is he unbearable?

A few Fortian dragonhealers finally managed to extricate themselves from the infirmary -- a leave granted rather begrudgingly by T'zhar -- and arrive in a generally well-attired and chatty cluster. One or another of them had, with some conniving, convinced Sunniva to go along and, so, the typically Weyrbound young woman finds herself just at the fringes of the festivities. They wander on and she's left behind to stretch up on tiptoes in search of a familiar face or two, dim hope limned on her features and her lower lip caught up in her teeth fretfully. "Oh, oh dear."

Fayre takes her first sip as she meanders along, delicately swirling it about in her mouth before nodding in approval and swallowing. Her second sip doesn't go so well; she splutters upon seeing N'thei, Nolee, and Tiriana conversing. Her pudgy legs pick up the pace and she moves over towards them as quick as she can go without spilling her precious wine. Her rather anticlimatic greeting is merely, "Hi."

D'kai smiles. Happily. Happy to be seen with the most gracious, lovely, generous weyrwoman Berit, happy to be her escort, happy to have her on his arm as he approaches the booth and orders some exotic ale and slides his marks across and quickly brings the mug to his lips, as though to conceal some foul twisting of his mouth. "Because," he finally says with a slow exhale, moving away from that counter to amble, slowly, amongst all those people, "She isn't your responsibility, is she? Sunniva is a big girl. She can make her own decisions." And he watches as her hand falls from his arm, and he runs his tongue across his lips, and he asks, "Why? You tell me how I'm dragging her down, Berit, would you please?" Unlike her, he's not keeping his voice low. And he smiles.

Persistence; the mug stays out there while N'thei asks, "Just so that I'm clear. You came to a brewing festival. At Tillek. With sobriety in mind." The last word is long, dubious, and uttered with a distracted head-shake. "Right. Cheers then." Under pretense of sudden necessity to empty the mug, seeing as he's got two with which to contend, he drains it straightaway with pensive eyes tracking Drehfti and his entourage through the crowd. "Did anyone see where Edeline went."

"I'll take it," Tiriana volunteers at once, when Nolee actively turns down the lager instead of just pretending she doesn't see it. In fact, she's quick to take another long drink of her own, get as much of it down as she can. Even if N'thei beats her at it again. As for being of the Reaches--"I am now," says Tiriana, words accompanied by a firm nod. "Ede--who? That one that turned up at the Weyr?" The name clicks a second later, if not that Edeline was the girl N'thei was talking to earlier.

It's Ysave who seems the snippiest among the crew, who passes by Satiet and her whispering friend, then by Berit and D'kai having an argument, and she turns to her husband with a terse commentary. "That is what I'm on about." But Drehfti looks crossly at her and turns to his clerk instead, saying, "Have the papers ready in the morning, please. Lady, we'll continue this discussion in private." A hand at her elbow, an apologetic smile to the rest of his people-cluster.

Nolee blinks bovinishly at N'thei, the extended word processed a moment. "Sobriety means staying sober, yes? Good. That is, indeed, what I intend. Though others are free to make fools of themselves in the name of celebration, of course." The words come with a delighted smile at N'thei's demonstrative gulping, and Tiriana's offer is met with enthusiasm. "My gratitude to Reaches, for buying this young woman a drink." To Fayre, Nolee provides an extended and even -look-, one that might be related to her drink or perhaps to N'thei. "If you'll excuse me? I've a steward to find - I belive we'll be taking more of what you're drinking, good sir."

Happiness turns to anger in the blink of an eye. "I am only going to say this once, D'kai." Berit levels a finger at his chest, her little chin jutting out in obstinacy. "I am not going to let some fish-monger's son take advantage of my sister in the back of a storage room somewhere," spoken in a low voice, but heated nevertheless. Then she runs her hands down her dress, pastes on that same amiable-enough smile, and spins on her heel, walking away from the bronzerider without a trace of a stalk. Off to the booths, probably.

A nod for Eila. Yes, you. And then: "Klah," L'vae says a little weakly, bemusement lining his features. He sighs, just holding an elbow out towards Niena. "Sure," agreed with a little wink. Luckily, he happens to have the same number of arms as there are girls. Thus, there's an elbow for the nanny as well. "You're welcome." He returns her grin. "And you /could/ stick to klah and cider like Niena." The brownrider feigns a sorrowful look for that idea. "But, I think," his gaze squints, taking in the girl as his feet start moving towards the stall lines. "Perhaps a white lambic? I think I know of a booth... Niena, you sure you won't try something harder than klah?"

Anvori's head lifts briefly as Ysave passes, recognition quick to his hazel eyes for the Blooded pair and the hanger-on-of-a-son with their entourage. Again, his head drops to murmur something into Satiet's ear, and instead of smiles or laughter, what he says causes the slight woman's pale eyes to turn and lift to track after them, Ysave in particular. No comments, no words; nothing is returned to her brother except the slightest tightening, visible in the whites of her knuckles, about his elbow as they continue further into the crowds, drifting in a seemingly aimless pattern that allows Anvori's taller figure, at least, to keep idle tabs on the Lord and Lady.

Fayre shoots an unhappy look towards N'thei. "Y'don't have to come to a drinking festival with drinking in mind, y'know. I think it's nice that we're makin' an appearance. Good relations and all that." Of course, she herself is indeed holding a glass of white wine. The rider grimaces sympathetically towards her fellow weyrwoman and bobs her head. "See ya around, Nolee." Back she goes to glowering towards the Reachian Weyrleader. "Shouldn't you act nicer?" Her gaze flickers over to Tiriana as if to say 'that goes for you, too'.

That anger meets a bland blue-eyed stare, though if one looked just close enough, perhaps they'd see the stiffness to D'kai's shoulders, the tightness to his jaw. "Sure, weyrwoman. Whatever you say, weyrwoman." And he's /this/ close to batting away that accusatory finger, but instead his lifted hand turns into a little wave, a little smile as Berit moves off, his eyes fixed on her back. And when he turns the other way, a definite stalk to /his/ movement, he spits out that one word between his teeth: "Fish-monger."

Oh, so torn. N'thei clearly wants to trot on after the Tillekians, so ready to cut off after them that he actually misses the window of opportunity to bid Nolee a farewell, but his first step in Drehfti's wake arrests suddenly when he's left blinking at Fayre. "Shouldn't you watch who you're trying to chastise." He gives Tiriana this look after that, this sort of 'is this really happening?' expression like he needs someone to be a witness to Fayre's implications. Really? Someone just tried to put him in his place? Seriously?

"Told you they were a bunch of freaks, those Istans," Tiriana asides to N'thei, not very subtly at all; she leans over toward N'thei, but barely lowers her voice, and her eyes are following Nolee as the islander takes her leave. After a moment, she glances down at her drink's dregs, gives the glass a swirl as she starts to lift it up to her mouth again. Then stops abruptly, blankly staring at Fayre as the other Istan goldrider joins them, and then she's glancing sideways at N'thei, too, shoulders lifting just as incredulously. "This is nice."

While her sister is easy enough to miss, D'kai decidedly isn't; relief is exhaled in a sigh and Sunni threads her way through the gathering of people toward him with ladylike haste. A few other familiar faces -- passingly familiar though they may be -- are briefly glimpsed and she inclines her head toward them or else spares a quick, polite wave. But nothing seems to directly deter her from her path, even if that path is destined to intersect with a stalking bronzerider. "D'kai?"

As Drehfti's path took that group past the arguing Berit and D'kai, it's only likely that the not-quite following after pair of Satiet and Anvori pass within the vicinity, with close enough proximity to overhear a few choice words including that of a derogatory fish-monger and the repetition thereafter by the Fortian bronzerider. Anvori, ever the one to meddle where his nose might not be so welcome, pulls his 'date' along for the ride as he leans in towards D'kai. Assumptions galore rest in his wry tenor; "Some of us fish-mongers don't turn out so badly," but then he's being pulled back with an arced brow of askance by Satiet, who spares the mildest, and thus more dangerous, "I thought you wanted to try some of the ale before they ran out."

The holders take ample notice of the brewing argument between Lord and Lady. Brows raise, people make a display of looking-the-other-way while the pair pass them hurriedly. Nederan starts to protest, something about having a stake in this too, but Drehfti and Ysave cut a quick path through the crowd toward the main hall. She's still insistent about whatever they're discussing and he-- a little drunk by the ruddy face and uneven gait-- looks mad that she's still fussing at him in public.

Nolee grimaces a moment for Fayre's lack of tact, but she's taking the departure opportunity regardless of the mess it might make. "Lieryth's is a little overzealous when it comes to encouraging kindness. Perhaps she's overheard that her clutchmate, the sire for Rielsath's eggs, is not allowed to sup from the herds at Reaches, and it's made her want to encourage kindness in all she meets." A sad expression, made in that well-meaning way that indicates she may, really, not know who to whom she is speaking - or not. Her leave then is hasty, the little pile of discarded fruit eyed with displeasure, and she nearly trips over a tent support on her way, but eventually she's free of the crowds and able to escape.

Fayre firmly crosses her arms across her chest and her chestnut eyes only narrow further as her unhappiness deepens. "I am watching who I chastise, an' it's you." She sighs and her arms drop down. "Look, us Weyrs? We still gotta be all united, even without Thread, an' I don't appreciate you disrespectin' my Weyrwoman and my good pal X'lar." That all sounds reasonable enough, but Tiriana's clear dislike inspires Fayre to go on. "I don't know if you're jealous that Malsaeth caught Rielsath or what, but y'got cut it out. Weyr mixin' is a /good/ thing." Those sips of her white wine sure have taken hold of Fayre's mind and mouth fast. She coughs, slightly ashamed, when Nolee phrases her complaints in a much more eloquent and polite manner.

Who cares what those Istans and Reachians are squabbling about - it is all about the fussing Lady and her Lord, as Berit leads back against the side of a booth, nursing some unknown dark brew in a glass that was handed to her after she slapped down an uncertain amount of marks. Her green eyes follow their passage, dark brows elevating slightly, and a knowing smile curving her mouth. Ah, the ways of Holders, ever-entertaining.

D'kai's feet aren't carrying him anywhere in specific - just /away/ from Berit - and /towards/ Drehfti, whose unsolicited comment earns a wordless, bit-back snarl... and then a somewhat amended with a jerky nod and a close-mouthed grunt. That mug in his hand? Long-forgotten until now, and the bronzerider seems more than pleased at the rediscovery, and he pulls a long drink from it before lifting his head suddenly - as though hearing his name. Height affords him the benefit, here, and he pivots slowly on his heel to scan all those bobbing heads before spying one more familiar than the rest - "Sunni?" The name is breathed, and though his features might be cast unhappy, the single word is not entirely displeased.

Niena allows herself to be pulled along, appearing amused at being arm-in-arm with someone.

And- they're lost, Anvori's look cast down about Satiet apologetic as Drehfti and crew escape into the main hall. Looking disgusted and tossing her head of glossy dark curls about, Reaches' slight weyrwoman makes her prior words reality by changing course towards alcohol. "Seriously, the day you stop listening in on conversations you're not supposed to be listening to and missing the whole point, will be the day between turns into a fiery pit of doom." It's her last that evokes a small smile from sober Anvori, his hand about her waist moving just enough to elicit a little shriek of tickled laughter. "Stop it. Stop. Stop. Really. Stop. Just get your booze and let's go eavesdrop on conversations that are more interesting than a lover's spat."

Ooh, an arm. Eila accepts with that grace she might muster, even leaning forward to cast Niena an absent-minded smile, around L'vae. "Lambic?" The word rolls unfamiliar off her tongue, but she shrugs, wrinkling her nose up to the man and chuckling very softly. "I'll - I'll try it, I suppose? I can have klah or cider any day."

Somewhere in the middle of Fayre's comment about Malsaeth and Rielsath, N'thei cuts in with a blunt, "You need to shut up now." And he walks away from her just-like-that, a passing look for Tiriana only because he kind of dragged her into the fray and ought to at least acknowledge that he's now abandoning her. It's in trying to keep in earshot of Drehfti and Ysave, who would really rather that no one kept in earshot, that he catches a glimpse of someone tickling Satiet-- another moment where a did-that-really-happen look crosses his face-- and nearly walks over the top of Berit. "Is every damn goldrider on the face of Pern here or what." Testy testy.

"Jealous?" Plainly too stunned by that accusation to get anything else out, Tiriana just gawks as she glances from Fayre to N'thei and back again; she looks like she can't decide if she's supposed to laugh or hit somebody. "Excuse me?" she finally finds more of a voice. "And... condescending at us is doing your part for Weyr unity? I don't think--I don't... Hey!" N'thei's abandoning her? Tiriana glares after him, picks up her thought to Fayre only belatedly. "I don't believe we have to answer to /you/ for our decisions."

Cheery whistling sounds from down one of the aisles of booths, sometimes masked by the hubbub of the crowds navigating the brewfest. T'rev swings into vew, a mug in each hand, looking positively chipper and that tune he's whistling is of course, highly improper if you know the lyrics. A brightly colored scarf, suitably autumnal of hue in rusty reds, oranges and olive green is circled loosely around his neck, caught in the collar of his brown flying jacket. The bronzerider's steps slow a little as he almost walks into the Reaches' Weyrwoman and her brother and winds up accidentally eavesdropping himself. "Bet you can actually overhear all sorts of innerestin' things at a brewfest. Drinks. Loose tongues, y'know." Beat. "Fort's duties to the Reaches n' her queens, Weyrwoman."

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."