LOG: Who's Up For The Challenge?
Date: Day 28, Month 13, Turn 22
Location: River, Crom Hold
Synopsis: Crom's turnover skating party very nearly ends in tragedy.
River, Crom Hold
Only a short distance from the main hold, the river weaves slowly and steadily on towards the far distant ocean, with mountains rising up on one side, and more open land upon the other. Near the hold, it's relatively narrow for the most part, with a few wider expanses shaped almost like small lakes. Now, in the depths of winter, even the slowest of motion has halted, iced over to be thick enough for safe skating.
One of the wider areas has been set aside for use in today's festivities, with long benches lining the water's edge, and a few booths set up distant from the courtyard to provide warm drinks and food. Poles have been positioned to mark out race courses - some short, for sprints, and one circular, for more endurance-based events. There's plenty of room for free skating, though, too, both within this main area, and further downstream, where the river begins to narrow.
It's a relatively clear day, though quite cold and a little windy: perfect for the festivities that have been taking place. The races have been going all morning, though they've broken for lunch not so long ago. The trestle tables are nearly empty now, and there are pockets of people huddled around the bonfires dotting the area consuming what they can in relative warmth. Taikrin is not one of these; she and Szadath are sitting a bit of a ways off from the main crowd, enjoying the last few bites of a meatroll and apparently deep in discussion of strategies for the upcoming afternoon races, to judge from the constant gesturing at the race oval. "-- yeah, but I think th'ice was /rougher/ on that inside corner, y'know?"
"Distance, I think. My legs aren't as long for sprints, but I can skate /forever/." Silarra glances off towards where Liniath is lounging for a moment before she nods. "Just let me go grab my skates. It'd be good to know more about the course." Taikrin gets another quick smile before she's heading over to have a quick word with the green.
Sitting on top of one of the trestle tables, K'del and the group of Avalanche riders he's with seem to be heartily amused about something-- quite possibly one of the truly impressive spills taken by a Snowdrift rider earlier in the day: wing rivalry, at it's best. "Deserved it, swaggering like that!" is one rider's opinion, though K'del, head shaking, mouth laughing, only lifts a hand to take his leave from the group, noting-- "Time for another drink!"
Szadath is perfectly happy to flop down next to Liniath in a casual sort of way, though some of his comments may have become remarkably off-color in the last few days. Taikrin in the meantime fiddles with the edges on her skates while she waits for Silarra, frowning thoughtfully. For a moment her gaze scans the crowd, the frown deepening, but as she apparently doesn't find whatever she was looking for she turns once more to watch Silarra's progress with impatience.
Silarra leans in close to whisper to Liniath for a moment before she moves away with her skates in hand. Silarra heads back towards Taikring with a smile on her face. "Alright! Let's try this out! Warm up a bit skating."
"Epic, let's do this. Only-- maybe a drink first, yeah? Get /really/ warmed up? Can't skate on cold legs, y'know." Taikrin dons her lopsided grin again, now that the other weyrling has returned, and gestures towards the booze vendor with her free hand. She'll even start wandering that way, if Silarra seems inclined to follow. "Nothin' like skating with a drink. S'long as it's only one. 'Cause then you just get sloppy."
Though Leova's glance refocuses whenever a weyrling knot crosses her vision, it's usually briefly. Usually. There was that exception, earlier, when Br'dos forwent the mulled wine in favor of all but dangling himself under an ale keg's tap with his mouth wide open. Officially off duty, the greenrider's spent the majority of the morning hanging out with the tall rider whose gray-dappled brown keeps watch on the heights with Vrianth, cheering him on through the early heats and his win of a minor prize, though every now and again her gaze sweeps the crowd. And /not/ for a weyrling. Not that she won't track Silarra's movement from her spot on a bench near the edge of the ice, but that's briefly too.
Drinks! The drinks vendor is where K'del has ended up, now, and though there are fewer people around now, drinks are in high demand, and there's a line. He shoves gloved hands into his jacket pockets, foot tapping impatiently as the man several people ahead ums and ahs over the merits of hot spiced wine over cider, or maybe he should have something different this time?
Silarra is easy enough to lead along to the drinks. The very mention gets her to brighten up a bit more. "I wonder if they have a hot cider. There are some good alcoholic ones." Silarra tells Taikrin. K'del gets a quick nod as they end up in line behind him. "Seems like a popular choice. One drink should be a good loosening up before we skate."
"Yeah, those jerks, gettin' drinks before us an' makin' us wait. We oughta kick their asses." Taikrin is only teasing, really, though her eyes do go awfully wide once she realizes at whom Silarra is nodding. "Uhh-- with exceptions. A'course." She latches onto the greenrider's drink choice with only a little flailing and a rather lot of eagerness. "Cider! Yeah! Best thing, cold day. Gives y'plenty energy t'race an' win an'-- stuff."
A group of male weyrlings - F'reln and S'varis included - swings back towards the river with a boisterous energy; by their words, they've just returned from lunch, and are eager to return to the ice for another round. Not that they head that way immediately: instead, they settle themselves at one of the tables, taking a few moments, presumably, to digest their food.
K'del has a cheerful grin for Silarra, having presumably heard the greenrider's approach - and Taikrin's, too, though his grin is somewhat less bright as he turns his attention towards her, his eyebrows raised. "Happy turnover," is all he says, though, with a dip of the head, before he needs to shuffle forward another place: /someone/ finally made up their mind, ahead.
Sure, there's dragonriders and weyrlings and the like -- but it's from a more Crom side of things that Saliqa breaks. Leaving a group of others who have seemed to claim one of the warmer tents as their own, she bustles her way towards the food and drinks, a smile and trace of a laugh still shaping her lips from whatever her friends had been talking about. Bundled in festive reds, white laces, and heavier cream fabrics for the weather, if she's still as short as ever, she's at least a colorful sight amongst the others waiting in line. Briefly ignoring the Rule of No Cuts, she pauses near a man towards the front, touching a hand to his elbow and laughing out a few words of greeting. Maybe adding to /his/ order.
Silarra smirks over to K'del. "Don't worry. We know we'd get in far too much trouble if we kicked /your/ ass." Her tone is dryly humorous in that reassurance as she looks up to the front. Saliqa's cutting gets a grunt as she shuffles forward a place. "Cider has all that fruity energy too, right? The fruit makes it healthy."
"Uh-- happy turnover, sir!" If Taikrin's voice is a bit strident, and her subsequent laughter a shade nervous, well-- there /are/ races coming up, after all. "Sure is, uh, a long line. Ahead. Hope they're worth it." She subsides a moment, buoyed by Silarra's humor though she still shifts from foot to foot with impatient energy... which finds an outlet when she spots Saliqa. Well. The back of Saliqa's head, anyways. Saliqa's line-cutting head. "Hey-- hey! Some of us've been /waiting/ back here, y'know!"
Cheerfully, to Silarra; "/If/ you even could." K'del's smile is smug this time, though it's not a challenge. Sometimes, it's /nice/ to be king. Weyrleader. Whatever. Any further remarks are forestalled as he tilts his head around again to get a better look at this now-pointed-out line jumper. Not that he says anything: Taikrin does seem to have that covered.
Briefly! A distinction which Saliqa understood, but clearly no one else; she'll just have to generously explain. And by that, she means turn that spotted head with a jerk of her chin and a bounce of her now longer hair that's been pulled away under the lacy patterns covering said head. "/Patiently/," she retorts calmly to the shouter, clearly not seeming to actually /find/ the culprit who called her out, "For which we're all /grateful/." It isn't quite sassy; she manages to keep that under control. And the smile's still there, which she grants her friend in line before pointedly stepping away from him to find the /back/ of it.
Silarra gives K'del back a quick grin. "I may be little, but I'm tough." She jokes before looking forward at Saliqa. "But now you get to join us and practice your patience, too! Isn't it wonderful!" There's a very dryly sarcastic tone there, but the weyrling does seem to be in a very good mood today, at least for Silarra.
Leova's gotten so she's in the back of the line, too, after a spate of good-tempered arguing over whether their blanket's going to get stolen if he goes for the food and she gets the drinks. Evidently she lost, since the alleged "checkered monstrosity" that "nobody would take, ever" is sitting there on the bench without them, and so she's biding her time with an eye for the arguing up ahead. Short-lived arguing?
Taikrin's impatience slips into an out-and-out scowl, once which is not in the least mitigated by her surprise when she actually catches sight of Saliqa's face. She's quick to draw back into the line, and turn away with a quick step that makes it look as if she's attempting to partially hide behind Silarra. It's both ridiculous and ineffective, and Taikrin is all too aware of it to judge from her deepening annoyance. Finally, though, she'll turn back just enough to eye Saliqa and echo, "Wonderful, eh? Just one big happy line, us."
As things slowly gear up towards the next round of races, several groups of men prominently wearing the badges of Crom Hold begin to circulate amongst the crowd with their lockboxes and bits of paper for recording names: let the betting commence!
K'del's silence, during the, indeed, short-lived arguing, is more considering than anything, though if he comes to any conclusions, he doesn't share. Recognition of Saliqa, however, draws back a brighter smile: "Saliqa - hello!" But she's at the back of the line, and he's at least a little further up-- and getting closer still, as another person peels away with drinks, and the line progresses accordingly. "We're all on our best behaviour, right? Polite, friendly visitors to Crom." It might be aimed at the weyrlings, though he's facing the other direction. And-- "Ooh, better hurry up. Looks like they'll be starting again soon."
Scowls, sarcasm. Neither phase Saliqa for a moment when, upon reaching the right point in line, she also catches sight of familiar faces. Or, at least, one -- judging by how she pauses to stare with wide eyes at Taikrin once all that hiding nonsense is done. There's a moment. Then, grin fit to bursting, she sweeps forward as though to take anyone who doesn't get out of the way in a big hug. "It /is/ wonderful!" is the declaration, "You know, I /heard/ of the visit but-- I just didn't-- hello, Weyrleader! Taikrin--" Ohhh. Happiness hesitates when it appears Silarra's face draws a blank as to names. Awwwkward.
Silarra gives K'del a quick innocent grin. "My very, very best behavior. I promise." Whatever her best behavior actually is. Saliqa gets a look over before Silarra rolls her eyes. "Even if I am apparently invisible." She adds dryly under her breath.
Oh, now, /betting/. There aren't just locals here, and maybe this is why there's a pair of Benden brownriders strolling heedlessly past the drinks line, one of them batting at the stuffed-toy-on-a-stick that the other must have earlier bought up in the courtyard. "/Stop/ that," the older brownrider says, though she can't help but laugh through the reproof. "It has to survive at least long enough to get home, so it can be destroyed there." Undaunted, Val sets it swinging, and gets bopped over the head for her trouble, before they can settle down with the Cromese and his lockbox. Time for serious business!
"Uh." Whatever greeting Taikrin might have been expecting, apparently a hug wasn't up there in the top five. "Saliqa. Hey." There's a sidelong glare at K'del's back at that reminder, but she does at least go through the effort of putting on something that might resemble a smile, and keeping her tone even. "How 'bout that, runnin' into you here. Didn't figure-- but y'look, uh--" For the briefest moment there's genuine emotion, though it's not precisely positive. "-- good. Huh, Silarra?" There might even be a pointed elbow for the greenrider and her complaints in there, somewhere.
K'del keeps his eyes on the exchange between Saliqa, Taikrin and Silarra-- at least until it's his turn to order his drink and pay for it, which rather distracts him from it until, mug in hand, he sidles off to one side to watch a group of Cromese marching down towards the river as though this skating stuff is /serious/ business.
"Bet you can't!" The stranger has been in light conversation with that other group of weyrlings for a few minutes, now, but it's this dare that's audible enough to be heard outside the group, accompanied as it is by several tall, male weyrlings rising to their feet - clearly, this means war. Or business. It can be difficult to tell. "Get all the way 'round those bends and back in under a minute? Of /couse/ I can." That's F'reln, standing in the middle of the group, letting his own voice carry. "Faster than you. Faster than anyone here, I wager."
Finally, /finally/ Taikrin is distracted by the need to order her drink, which she does with only half a mind: the vast majority of her attention is fixed on Saliqa. "Yeah, real well. Doin' wing rotations an' got our own weyrs an' everythin an'-- uh. Yeah. Real good." The hot mug is clutched in her hands as she shifts off to the side with a sidelong look for Silarra. "We was gonna do some races later, get some warmups going on... now..." She can hear F'reln, apparently, and it's enough to jerk her gaze completely over towards the pack of weyrlings and the stranger, with-- is that a hint of concern?
"Faster'n me," Leova murmurs good-humoredly enough from her spot in line, not pitched to carry, but also not entirely silent. Her neighbor, a pigeon-waisted woman with cold-reddened cheeks, mutters something about boys always having things to prove, and the greenrider shares a nod, a shake of her head that makes her momentarily twice her Turns.
Silarra moves up to place her order right after Taikrin. "Hot cider. Skating races. Liniath's dozing in the field. How could life be better?" She jokes as she passes over her payment. Saliqa gets another quick glance before she glances back to F'reln with a less than happy look. "I bet we could both take him with one broken skate blade."
Saliqa's sixth sense has her glancing over her shoulder at the very one looking for /her/, and when she turns back her smile is, somehow, miraculously even bigger. "Oh!" She says, bypassing even the answers she'd asked for, her hands fluttering excitedly in the air in front of her. "Races, /that's/ wonderful. This is--" Her gaze follows Taikrin's expectantly, but all she sees is groups of people doing ice-skating things. "Oh, is there betting over there? I have a purse..." and she glances down to fiddle near her waist for something.
F'reln shakes on the deal with the stranger, standing taller, arrogantly so. It's arguable whether he actually overhears Silarra, or if it's coincidence that has him glancing in that direction, rather at that moment. His brows raise - it's almost a challenge. "I win this, I'm the best skater here - the other races be damned. C'mon--" This is to the rest of the weyrlings in his group, and maybe, just maybe, pitched intentionally to draw in Silarra and Taikrin, "Who's up for the challenge?"
"Yeah, sure, I bet we could," Taikrin murmurs to Silarra, though it's obvious she's not really paying a lick of attention to what the greenrider had really been saying. Her gaze flicks from the group around the weyrlings to a few other places in the crowd, before settling on another man wearing a Crom badge. "Hey, I--" With a blink she's looking between the two girls, a ghost of a smile appearing once more. "Why don't y'go do that? I'll see y'on the ice in just a sec, yeah? I need t'go-- do somethin', real quick. Hold this for me?" And she'll even shove her mug at Saliqa before trotting off with some haste towards a particular bookie with only a half-hearted glare for F'reln and his challenge.
Silarra looks over towards F'reln for a moment before she straightens up to her full five foot two to look up to him. "I'm always up for a challenge if it involves wiping a smirk off your face." She informs the man before she looks over to Saliqa. "Will you hold mine as well?" Maybe that will make up for not remembering her name. "Someone needs to learn he's not always the best."
Off duty. /Off duty/. And yet, the look Leova gives F'reln isn't as benign as it used to be. But Taikrin's heading in a different direction, even if Silarra's taken him up on it, and so she stays in line after all. Even says to Saliqa, "Afternoon. Happy to see them?" And, "Recognized the hands."
F'reln points a finger at Silarra, raising his voice so he can make sure everyone can hear: "We have a taker! This girl seems to think she can beat a grown man. Heard and witnessed, yes?" There are a few smirks from some of the others in the group, but F'reln, having conquered this one, seems eager to chase down Taikrin's gaze, brows raising again. "Too chicken, convict? Thought you were /always/ eager to prove that you're better than a mere /male/." His tones are scornful. The expression, though, that meets Leova's gaze, is a jesting one - just a bit of fun, see!
Saliqa goes from no drinks to three -- she's not actually sure at /all/ where that last one came from -- but the touch of bewilderment does not dim her greeting to Leova. "Afternoon! Oh, yes, it's almost like old -- /she's gonna kick your butt, braggart!/--" Clearly the last is not to Leova, but shouted quite boisterously to the overconfident F'reln. Beaming face, cheeks red from excitement instead of embarrassment, she turns back to the female rider, "-- sorry -- old times. Sorry, I don't have any hands left-- is that what you said?"
Taikrin draws up beside the lockbox-carrying man with much bouncing of skates against her shoulder, and has taken his arm and drawn him off a bit without so much as a by-your-leave. There's a lot of frantic whispering -- mostly on the weyrling's part -- and gestures towards F'reln and the others. The ex-guard's gibe stiffens Taikrin's back, and then there's no more whispering. The man has a look of self-assurance that is in stark contrast to Taikrin's hesitancy, but with a final gesture she's off towards the group and putting on a show of bravado. "Weren't gonna bother with th'likes of you, but since y'feel like y'gotta be pickin' on little girls again, reckon maybe I oughta!"
There's some looking back and forth, but Leova's looking less convinced by F'reln's would-be joking and more watchful. Still, "Close enough," she says. "Question is, can he still get a rise out of..." He /can/. "Well." A glance finds the supposed little girl in question, and what Silarra might make of that so-called defense. "Should be a sight. Going to watch?" Only then she's up in line, and it's time to turn in her tokens, collect her wine. Makes it easy to miss something, even if she does know it.
Silarra grits her teeth as she looks up to F'reln. "I am /not/ a girl. I am a woman. And this woman is going to kick your ass out there on the ice." There's a look over to Taikrin for that as well. "And I am certainly not a /little/ girl." With that, Silarra is stalking off to the side of the course to sit and put her skates on. "Well, let's go, boy. Come meet your humiliation."
"A /woman/." It's not that F'reln turns it into a statement worth laughing over, but his tone is definitely not without disbelief and scorn. "Ah, Taikrin, I just /knew/ you'd be unable to resist. We're going four bends down and then back. You, me, the little /woman/ here, and S'varis. Winner takes all." He doesn't actually wait for a response, turning smartly on his heels as soon as he's finished speaking in order to head to one of the benches beside the water, to begin putting on his skates. "Ought to be quite a show, the lot of you following my tracks."
"Silarra, don't--" Taikrin's veneer of bravado is thin indeed, and frustration radiates from the tense lines of her body as she flops down on the shore to fasten her skates. "Can't let you have all th'fun, now, F'reln." The way she says his name implies it's some sort of curse, her expression deadly serious despite her words. "You boys should be good at chasin' an' losin' by this point." Her heart's not really in the taunt, though, and she turns to look out at the track with that deadly-serious expression.
"Oh, certainly," Saliqa answers, touting all of those mugs as best she can, her purse now tucked against the side of Taikrin's where she can't quite access it. As she's standing there, ready to march off to watch, the dark-haired, towering man from the tent approaches, having sussed her out from the crowd. Glancing over her shoulder to him, Saliqa only nods a bit, "Hello, dear. I thought that might get you out of there. I got cider..." Just... someone else's. He scowls a bit, laying a thick hand on the small girl's shoulder, instructing: "Come on back where it's warm..."
It's not an 'official' event, but the strength of F'reln's voice has certainly raised some interest, and now, a crowd has begun to form along the river's edge, stretching out towards the bend, though a copse of trees makes it difficult to get too close to the continuing 'track' for this race. Bets are flying fast, of course.
At which point Leova turns back with her pair of mugs, all set to smile briskly up at that tall man behind Saliqa. And step out of the way, given how her neighbor wants her own chance at the wine before things start up. Saliqa may be a woman grown, and barely shorter than the greenrider herself, but... "Real thoughtful of you," she tells the man. "Relation of Saliqa's, are you? Nice to have a warm spot to thaw out, a day like this."
Silarra stands on her skates moving over to the river to get on the ice. She glides on smoothly. At least this 'girl' is no stranger to skating, having grown up in the northern part of Pern. "Let's get this show on the road. Unless you're going to back down?" This is aimed at F'reln, Taikrin's advice pretty much ignored.
The man Taikrin had been speaking with so vehemently turns to head down towards that tree-lined part of the track, meeting a compatriot about half-way down. After a few moments of low, rapid-fire conversation the bookie slaps the other man on the back and they move off casually and anonymously to mingle in with the crowd.
"You're in a funky mood today," F'reln says to Taikrin, on the ice now, and skating a few lazy circles to warm himself up. "Thought you hated me. Thought you wanted to throw knives with your voice." He's not feeling it. Silarra, though… he smiles at her, a smirking, but cheerful kind of smile. "Me? Oh, hardly, dear child. I'm quite, quite ready. Shall we?" A starting line has been put in place, and he skates easily towards it, where S'varis already waits.
Taikrin is only a few seconds behind Silarra in tying her skates on and popping onto the ice, moving with a well-practiced economy of motion out to circle the greenrider. "Maybe y'should wait here for me. I can take 'em," she murmurs urgently to the shorter girl. "Never know what kind of dirty tricks this lot might try, y'know?" Her piece said, she backs off a few strokes to go through the motions of warming up on the starting line -- though with one eye on F'reln the entire time. "I wanted t'throw a knife, I would. Just don't think yer worth gettin' up the effort for. Already know I'm better'n you."
The man is in no humor to answer, but he does make an effort to shift his weight and look more pleasantly at the guest from the Weyr. Really, he just ends up looking twice as haughty. "/Actually/--" As his hand moves possessively to Saliqa's shoulder, squeezing her closer, the girl bursts into that same brilliant smile, despite all the odds of the situation. "This is Haldur," she announces cheerily, proudly, "My fiance. It sure /is/ nice to have a spot, but he's just been sitting in there all day, I thought wouldn't it be wonderful to get out and about. I just want to show him off all the time!" It's quite possible that, by this point, she's stressed the enthusiasm to the line of hinting at fake.
"Why, congratulations," Leova says, and gives that Haldur a visibly sweeping look, as though now she has to see him with new eyes. There isn't particular fakery about her own reply, just a certain mildness. "Looks as if there's a race going on. Will you be watching? All the best to you two for your wedding, whenever it is."
Silarra eyes Taikrin as she skates around. "I am not a little girl you need to watch out for." Silarra hisses with annoyance. "I'm also not some sheltered holdbred type. I fully expect him not to race fairly." Silarra skates off to that line stopping easily. "Alright. I'm ready."
A Cromese man, one who has been organising the races all day, draws up along the start line to consider the group of racers. "This ain't official," he tells them, firmly, "but that doesn't mean I don't expect clean. No grudges, right? Four bends and then back, best time wins. No arguments." He seeks out a glance in all four faces, then takes a half step back on his skates. "On your marks, then." Beat. "Get set." Another beat. "/Go/."
By this time, K'del has finished his drink, and found himself a place to stand alongside the river, ready to watch the skaters as they go past. He shifts his mug between one hand and the other, apparently a reflexive kind of motion, though his fingers tighten just slightly around the handle as the race begins, his head tipping to one side with a thoughtful wariness. "No," he tells an older man next to him. "No bets for me."
Taikrin looks as though she'd like to say more to Silarra, but with the approach of the starter she merely settles for grimacing and settling into line beside her on the far end. Perhaps it's her overt twitchyness that allows her to be so quick off the line, crouched down and powering forward with well-practiced strokes and attempts to get ahead of Silarra for the early advantage, if she can manage it. Somewhere further out afield, where a group of dragons are all lounging together, Szadath lets out a trumpet.
Silarra is fast off the line, but not fast enough to beat Taikrin. Instead, the younger woman falls into place just behind Taikrin, matching her speed as best Silarra can. Might as well take advantage and let Taikrin deal with any wind. Liniath sits up straighter in the group of dragons, peering over toward the race.
F'reln isn't quite as fast off the mark as Taikrin, but it's a close call: he's fast on his feet, obviously an experienced skater, with power in his stocky build. He lets out a yell of pleasure, weaving around towards the side in an attempt to get ahead of the other brownriding weyrling. S'varis falls in alongside, his slightly longer legs giving him an advantage. The first bend approaches: both match their movements to get around it safely.
Taikrin pulls out all the stops to maintain her early lead, pushing herself in a way that can't possibly be sustainable throughout the entire race. She's breathing heavily enough that there simply isn't air left with which to vocalize. Instead, she's focused on keeping an eye on the two maleriders and doing all she can to keep up with their progress while still keeping as close to in front of Silarra as she can manage.
Whatever company Saliqa and Haldur might be, by this point Leova's attention is likely drifting towards the racers hard at work. She has a sip of her own wine without really looking at it, and even drifts a step towards the ice and the friend who's owed the second mug.
Silarra is breathing heavily as well, but not yet to an extreme point. After all, she's catching Taikrin's tailwind tucked in close behind the other rider. She'll take that first corner neatly, her head whipping around to glance over to the male competition before she tucks it back in close. Still lots of race left.
"Bets, bets, still taking bets! First to wipeout, first to knock someone over-- taking bits, right here!" There are a few takers, but-- well, for the most part, people seem content to watch the race for as long as they can before the skaters are completely out of sight.
S'varis lets out a yell of satisfaction, slipping just slightly ahead of F'reln - though that seems to be a deliberate move on both their parts, allowing the former guard to assume a position not dissimilar to Silarra's, his muscles pumping. The river narrows slightly, around here, making it harder to keep in two rows like this, but with his upper body angled forward, his legs moving rapidly, /he/ clearly has no intention of getting caught behind anyone else.
A pair of those watchers continue to shoot the breeze, over by the ice now, one Bendenite still playing now and again with the toy the other had bought. "Like her legs," says one, ignoring their neighbor's peculiar glance their way. "But he /wants/ it," opines the other. "Nice changeup."
All is clear as they pass through the narrow second bend but going through the third, with less than half a length to go before they pass behind the screening trees, something in Taikrin's leg seems to give out. Her right skate goes flying out from under her and then /she's/ flying, superman-style, to sprawl out across the ice in the middle of the track with an audible crack as her jaw impacts. There, finally, is a yell just before she goes down: "OH SHI---!"
And that trumpet in the distance? Suddenly it's not so distant as Szadath rockets into the air with another burst of noise to come winging towards the track.
Silarra lets out her own slew of cuss words as she tries to dodge that. An elbow might get accidently thrown towards S'varis in the attempt, but really, she's just trying not to go straight over the sprawled brownrider. It costs Silarra some speed, but in the end she comes out of it, breathing picking up as the short woman tries to make up the lost time.
A few people mutter unhappily as they lose bets on Taikrin's spill; a few others yell out in surprise and horror. "Is she okay? Is she bleeding? Healer? Healer!"
F'reln lets out a quiet, "HAH!" as Taikrin goes down, but he's got more important things to worry about: like getting around the bend, and dodging S'varis, who doesn't go down, but /does/ lose some momentum as he recovers from Silarra's elbow. They're disappearing behind the trees, now, the race continuing into obscurity. Not that far go to go, now, before the turn back. If the ice is cleared in time.
You'd think it would be obvious enough that Teris was around considering her dragon isn't known for being particularly subtle. But she is here, keeping mostly to herself, and right now watching as the crowd attempts to figure out the state of the brownrider. She doesn't say anything and she doesn't move except to look around for a healer to present themselves.
Taikrin doesn't appear to have knocked herself between, because she's only dazed a moment before she pulls herself together and struggles back to her feet, wiping away a trickle of blood from her jaw with that same grim-faced determination. Szadath seems content to circle a good several lengths overhead, peering downwards but making no move to interfere just yet. And then she's /skating/ again, though at nothing like the previous break-neck speed, following the others behind the screening trees.
Silarra doesn't even turn back to see Taikrin continuing. She's intent on her race. Her head is down as she pushes forward across the ice with smooth strokes, disappearing behind the trees as she comes closer to that fourth bend in the road.'
Snap! POP! CRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!
With a series of ominous noises, suddenly the ice-track beneath the three remaining competitors is simply disintegrating away.
"Isn't that the..." is Leova's first warning of Kessian's approach, and she turns. Makes introductions. Half-smiles, even. Her brownriding friend's more gregarious than she, an easy conversationalist, while the greenrider's best contribution is more like, "Off duty, hm? Same here. Good luck with staying that way, think they should have a bunch of healers attending, given the... oh, /that/ didn't sound good." Her eyes narrow, as Vrianth's must from the heights, as though the woman could herself see through the trees.
F'reln's yell is definitely audible to the audience, all the way around that bend. S'varis' is probably, too. Both skaters end up thrown into the icy water, grasping desperately for purchase on the ice around them as two dragons - one brown, one bronze - go absolutely panicked in that nearby field.
Make that three panicked dragons as a green adds into the mix. Silarra tries to stop in time, but her blades etch into the ice in the process, with it dropping away, with her, into the icey water. She goes under completely before she comes up to the surface, coughing water and gasping as she tries rather badly to swim to the side.
Taikrin slides to a clumsy stop a good distance from the first of the spiderwebbing cracks, lowering herself gingerly to her knees as near as she dares and calling out, "Silarra-- SZAD! Getcher ass DOWN HERE!" The only problem with down here is, well, where? He lands just past the trees on the opposite shore from the majority of the spectators, though people scatter in all directions to avoid his bulk but still rather far to be offering much help. "Somebody-- HELP! /Silarra/!" Forget the other two. They're /expendable/.
Stirred by her panicked clutchmates, Iskiveth is getting a little agitated herself, screeching at them to calm down or else, while she resists the urge to come see what's going on herself. Likely only at Teris' behest for now. The weyrling is looking around with a little more emotion on her face than is usual for someone to, you know, go help as she starts moving through the crowd.
K'del? He breaks into a /run/ the moment there's any hint of something being up. The ice is too slippery to run on, certainly, but around the shore, through the trees, and, presumably, eventually, one can get close enough to be of use. Luckily, he's not alone in this desperate dash, and some of the skate officials take the ice-bound path down. Noting Teris, he gets out, urgently, "Teris-- get Iskiveth to keep them calm. The dragons. Got to keep them calm."
Kessian's boots shift on ice while he greets and chatters and etcetera. Swinging around to orient toward the distinctive snap of ice, the healer tenses slightly, purses his lips over one shoulder for Leova's apparently prophetic remark. "They'll need blankets. Warm tea." As if the greenrider would produce them herself. Muttered under his breath comes irritably, "What idiot checked this ice?"
"Got /one/," and that's Leova thrusting her now half-drained mug towards her friend, leaving him to come or not, and pulling up that old blanket they'd been sitting on. "Come on." And then she's reaching for Kessian's shoulder, the better to try and give him a solid tug before she makes her way through the crowd just as quickly as she can. /Vrianth's/ faster, bespeaking, instructing the weyrlings to watch, to calm their riders, to let them know that help is coming and to /hang on/.
Whatever Saliqa's been doing it took her away and rid her of her tall, looming company -- but returning to Leova's side is anything but happy as the ruckus and the dragon chaos grates on one's nervousness quite a bit! "What is it?" She asks with half parts worry and half parts trying to sound /not/ worried. Even if she weren't short, it's difficult to see anything. Not to mention the effort of keeping up with the rider's moving pace through the crowd. "What's going on? What can I do?"
"There's /no/ way the ice just-- there's /just/ no way." So claims one of the Cromese, desperately distressed as he clears the lake area, just in case. "Keep clear, let's stay off, please. I have /no/ idea. Just-- no! Blankets, ropes, can someone--" Meanwhile, the first of the rescue team arrive at the scene of the accident. The flailing weyrlings - the two male ones, at least, still having trouble getting purchase on the more solid ice around them - can't even seem to manage to yell, by now. Just flail.
"Taik!" Silarra gets that out before a coughing fit sends her under the water again. It's several very long seconds before she's able to push herself to the surface again, gasping against the cold water as she struggles just to stay above it. Liniath settles a bit, but there's some really pitiful warbling. Calm is just not completely in her vocabulary right now.
The healer was not, in fact, personally inclined to rush across thin ice to a dramatic rescue but Kessian follows in the wake of Leova's draw. He answers aside to whatever voice that is, asking to be helpful (it would be Saliqa if Kessian bothered looking): "Tea. Klah. /Hot water/. Whatever you can find. Blankets - spare jackets, if anyone can spare it." Meanwhile, Kessian's pulling off his mittens, only a step behind the greenrider.
Iskiveth settles somewhat more so between Teris and Vrianth's words and she attempts to calm the others in the way that she was taught that she could. The way that bored her to tears, if dragons could cry, not so many months ago. Teris seems torn on whether she should be going to try helping or going to make sure her lifemate doesn't forget what she's supposed to be doing.
Szadath cranes his neck out as far as he can manage, desperate to provide some sort of help but not quite long enough. A daring paw on the ice only causes an ominous groan, and Taikrin snaps over her shoulder, "/Careful/!" Ever so carefully she scoots further out on the ice towards Silarra, flattening herself down onto her belly to allow her to slither that much further out. "Hang /on/ Silarra I'm comin', c'mon, y'gotta get closer, hold /on/!" Louder, then, "HEY! HURRY UP! WE NEED HELP!"
Help arrives: strong men, with ropes, men who've done this kind of rescue before, even. One of them reaches for Taikrin's legs, presumably intending to keep her from getting pulled into the ice herself. "Got you," he reports. "Grab for her? If you can? Rope's coming, else." The others seem inclined on doing something similar for the others, reaching out across the ice, across the water, for flailing hands.
Saliqa's mad sort of nodding action follows each thing that is listed at her and she immediately gets to it by spinning around to some gaping Cromite standing nearby and all put yanking the jacket off of him -- citing 'emergency!'. It's perfectly legitimate, and a theme for the methods by which she sets out to procure every one of the things suggested. Between her begging a blanket off a couple, she gets a few other hands in to help carry items back to Kessian: other Crom women who look less enthusiastic about being drafted.
Not even Leova rushes across thin ice, except in the metaphorical sense. "Can have my jacket... Oi! Out of the /way/!" and she body-checks the solid-looking man who insists on staying /put/ in front of them. An older-looking woman gets a scattering of apologies and from here she's mostly moving between people as best she can, clearing at least a little room for the healer behind her if others don't crowd in first. Still, there's a ways to go yet, and it's a good thing the real rescuers are there before them.
Silarra slips under the cold water again, but it's not for long before she's back up gasping. There's no more words for now from the greenrider, focusing on using all her energy to keep above the water. At least she went in right at that side. Even now, the smaller woman isn't /too/ far from it, just out of her arm reach.
Before vanishing behind that brick of a man, Kessian beckons over his shoulder to Saliqa with an encouraging nod. But it's difficult enough maneuvering through the closing crowd of rubberneckers - the healer fixes on Leova's jacket and /shoulders/ past. "Please, if you don't mind - excuse me - would you /move/!"
Those arms on her legs are apparently all the impetus Taikrin needed to push herself yet further out, flailing her arms and a goodly piece of her upper body forward and into the water to grab desperately at Silarra's arms, her head, her jacket, /anything/ that she can manage to secure. "Hold-- hold on! Grab my hand!" Szadath bellows again, flailing his tail in agitation at his helplessness, but remains crouched -- apparently Iskiveth is having /some/ sort of effect.
If it's hard to push through a crowd with both hands, it's even /harder/ when you're trying to lug a pot of hot water from all the way at the food tents. Saliqa makes valiant if somewhat fruitless efforts, throwing her shoulder into people and skittering to the side when the liquid wants to slosh away from the container. Blankets and jackets she sent ahead with the others. Maybe one has gotten through to Kessian.
K'del looks pretty helpless, once on the scene, but-- well, people /do/ seem to have things under control. Or, at least, as under control as 'three people flailing around in freezing cold water' can really be. F'reln's waving arm is grabbed by one of the men, and he's hoisted free a few moments later; it's clearly going to take more time to get S'varis, who is further out in the water, out of reach of even the longest arm. "Rope!"
Silarra reaches out, trying to catch Taikrin's hold. And while her hands don't seem to want to grasp tightly to Taikrin's, at least it put the long sleeve of her coat into place for Taikrin to grasp hold of it.
Iskiveth is craning to see if she can see anything without actually taking flight but finally she turns away and gives the other dragons her full attention. Teris just stays out of the way, trudging her way toward the field where the dragons are waiting without actually leaving the area where she can still have some idea of what's going on. Better to keep a visual on her lifemate from there.
How much further can it be? Leova spares a backwards glance for Kessian, but otherwise relies on his voice, the better to make it to shore and await the rescuers' return with her charges so as to help from there. Return. Safe and sound. Surely. Surely?
Taikrin is having no such problem maintaining her grip on Silarra's coat, and once she's wrapped both hands around the smaller girl's sleeve, she shouts, "PULL!" There's a lot of hauling on Taikrin's legs, and once Silarra's arm is out enough she'll re-shift her grip to wrap more firmly around the smaller girl's torso as they continue to pull the pair of them away from danger.
Kessian, hand outstretched as though to latch onto Leova's coat, splits from the crowd onto the shore's edge. "Here," he snaps his fingers at the two women who managed to keep pace, "and here - spread the blankets. Pile the jackets and what's left. Be ready for when they pull them out." Kessian stands on tippy-toe to scan faces for Saliqa, who is hopefully shortly behind with that hot water.
F'reln and Silarra may be safely out of the water, but S'varis continues to sink. A rope finally arrives, and is thrown at him, but the bronzerider seems too frozen and tired to be able to grab onto it. There's no time for more than the briefest of consults before one of the men grabs for the end of the rope, then dives into the water after the sinking S'varis, leaving those on the shore to marshall everyone they can into - once the weyrling has been grabbed - pulling the two fully grown men out of the water and to safety.
Silarra starts coughing again as soon as she's safely on the shore. More water comes up as she shivers. At least Silarra isn't going to be fighting whatever Kessian deems is the appropriate way to warm her up. As soon as Silarra is out of the water, Liniath settles down another notch, and the warbling stops, even if the green is still sitting up straight, on full alert.
Saliqa's /somewhere/ behind, judging by the increasingly agitated-- "Excuse me. Please, if you would-- please move-- /move/-- /get your asses out of the way this is hot/." The rescue team is supposed to be there, but the rest of the crowd hovering around is just that attracted to watching the trouble, averted now though it may somewhat be. The girl will be a bit longer, then.
With the help of the rescue team, Taikrin attemps to half-carry, half-drag Silarra over towards where Kessian seems to have prepared blankets and towels and hot water. She's not exactly a pretty picture herself, what with the blood sluggishly dripping off the cut on her chin and smeared over half her face. The only time she pauses is to take stock of the rest of the rescue effort, and she visibly sags when she spots both F'reln and S'varis out of the water and swarmed with rescuers. But it's only momentary-- she's got a job to do still. "C'mon, blankets-- Faranth she's /cold/! Silarra-- you okay? You hear me? Yer gonna be fine!"
Perhaps Taikrin will appreciate the fact that, though out of the water, S'varis seems distinctly the worse for wear: he's not moving at all, and has to be carried completely to the bank, to be covered with blankets, and to have his stomach pumped. F'reln's in better shape - able, even, to throw daggers with his eyes in Taikrin's direction, if only for a moment or two. The uncontrollable shivering? That's less fun.
Sparing a nervous sideways glance at the closest dragonet, Kessian nonetheless would brook no arguement from weyrling or dragon alike. A swathing in whatever length of warm fabric available and - shells, where's that girl? - is just what the doctor's ordered. Once Silarra and F'reln've been tended to, with a steady look at Taikrin's chin that promises later ministrations, Kessian quietly, grimly, sets upon S'varis.
"M fine." Silarra mutters to Taikrin softly once she's through coughing up water. "Woulda beat them." That's important for everyone to know, even if she is busy shivering despite being overed by warm blankets as soon as they get to the bank.
Taikrin flops to the ground beside Silarra, content to accept the blanket that's dumped around her shoulders even though she's not really very wet. "Yeah, you totally would'a had 'em," she murmurs back with a forced smile to the other girl. "Would'a put money on it." If she's being glared at, she's simply too tired to care, at this point. All she can manage is to fumble helplessly at the laces of her skates and sigh.
Dramatic rescues over, the crowd does - slowly - begin to disperse. It's /cold/ out here, after all. There's no more skating, though, and the turnover cheer is somewhat… muted.
Iskiveth is doing something half decent for once! Okay, not just once. And she's probably not all that necessary anymore. If she was at all. But she certainly hasn't made anything /worse/ and that's the important part. Teris stays where she is on the outskirts of everyone who wasn't involved in the dramatic rescue talking amongst themselves.
Liniath at least has settled back down, head resting on the ground once again. Silarra gives Taikrin a grin through chattering teeth. "Woulda won you some marks then." She mutters, tugging the blankets in close around her, not seeming to notice the crowd much.
Somewhere right before the crowd's really gone, Saliqa appeared. The hot water, the tea following close behind, is left in the hands of the capable healer and for those who need it most. The Crom girl picks her way earnestly to where Taikrin and Silarra are, both hands now cupping a mug such as the one she got left with what seems like so much earlier. "I've been holding onto this for you~" She attempts for a light-hearted greeting, dropping down onto her knees near the chattering Silarra.
"Won some... marks?" It's a testament to how slowly Taikrin's brain is running that it takes her some minutes to work out the reference, though she's quick enough to latch onto the idea once she does. "Yeah, you were supposed t'win me a /fortune/, girl! I better track down that jerk later, make sure he didn't take off with all my marks." Saliqa's appearance prompts a rather ghastly smile, especially since she seems to have brought the booze with her. "Lifesaver, you are. Warm you right up, Silarra, if y'can get it down."
Silarra reaches out for the mug with a shaking hand. "Warming up. S-sounds good. Thanks." She gives Saliqa a tight smile before Taikrin gets a look. "Better not take off with them. Your marks. Not his."
Saliqa's hand clasps over Silarra's, helping to guide her to hold the mug with all that shaking -- so that it doesn't spill. "You should probably get the, umm, the tea, too. I think." She winces, glancing for the healer, but he's busy. Her inquisitive gaze travels to the others, landing eventually on that rather obvious smear of blood on Taikrin. "Ohhh," one hand stays on the cup if Silarra needs, but the other detaches towards the former convict's chin to try and turn her face, gently. "If we have a towel..."
"Yeah, probably she should... but... uh..." Whatever it was that Taikrin was going to say is lost as Saliqa takes her chin on hand, leaving her unable to do anything but blink dumbly at the other girl. "Uhh-- s'fine, uh, don't worry-- nothin', I--" A passing healer seems to recover Taikrin's wits enough for her to sputter, "Should we take her to th'fire, get warm, yeah?" At the man's assent she struggles to her feet, bringing her blanket with her but carefully avoiding Saliqa's gaze. "Help me get her up, Saliqa? We'll get y'warm in no time. Fire an' whiskey makes everythin' better."
No one seems to be paying much mind to F'reln's insistent remarks that Taikrin was obviously involved and it's all her fault; he's bundled up and helped away, presumably indoors. S'varis is still in a much worse condition: he, too, gets taken away, though it's not on his own two feet, even in part. Somewhere, in the distance, the harpers have started playing, and there's the faint call of 'Spin the wheel, now, sir, ma'am, give it a try. Can't win unless you try. Spin the wheel, spin the wheel, wheel of prizes.'
Silarra is willing to take that support, both in holding the cup for a long drink of the warm liquid, and in standing up to move closer to the fire. That she's not trying to do everything on her own? That probably shows she's still not feeling all that well. "Warm would be good. Don't think I've ever been this cold before."
Location: River, Crom Hold
Synopsis: Crom's turnover skating party very nearly ends in tragedy.
River, Crom Hold
Only a short distance from the main hold, the river weaves slowly and steadily on towards the far distant ocean, with mountains rising up on one side, and more open land upon the other. Near the hold, it's relatively narrow for the most part, with a few wider expanses shaped almost like small lakes. Now, in the depths of winter, even the slowest of motion has halted, iced over to be thick enough for safe skating.
One of the wider areas has been set aside for use in today's festivities, with long benches lining the water's edge, and a few booths set up distant from the courtyard to provide warm drinks and food. Poles have been positioned to mark out race courses - some short, for sprints, and one circular, for more endurance-based events. There's plenty of room for free skating, though, too, both within this main area, and further downstream, where the river begins to narrow.
It's a relatively clear day, though quite cold and a little windy: perfect for the festivities that have been taking place. The races have been going all morning, though they've broken for lunch not so long ago. The trestle tables are nearly empty now, and there are pockets of people huddled around the bonfires dotting the area consuming what they can in relative warmth. Taikrin is not one of these; she and Szadath are sitting a bit of a ways off from the main crowd, enjoying the last few bites of a meatroll and apparently deep in discussion of strategies for the upcoming afternoon races, to judge from the constant gesturing at the race oval. "-- yeah, but I think th'ice was /rougher/ on that inside corner, y'know?"
"Distance, I think. My legs aren't as long for sprints, but I can skate /forever/." Silarra glances off towards where Liniath is lounging for a moment before she nods. "Just let me go grab my skates. It'd be good to know more about the course." Taikrin gets another quick smile before she's heading over to have a quick word with the green.
Sitting on top of one of the trestle tables, K'del and the group of Avalanche riders he's with seem to be heartily amused about something-- quite possibly one of the truly impressive spills taken by a Snowdrift rider earlier in the day: wing rivalry, at it's best. "Deserved it, swaggering like that!" is one rider's opinion, though K'del, head shaking, mouth laughing, only lifts a hand to take his leave from the group, noting-- "Time for another drink!"
Szadath is perfectly happy to flop down next to Liniath in a casual sort of way, though some of his comments may have become remarkably off-color in the last few days. Taikrin in the meantime fiddles with the edges on her skates while she waits for Silarra, frowning thoughtfully. For a moment her gaze scans the crowd, the frown deepening, but as she apparently doesn't find whatever she was looking for she turns once more to watch Silarra's progress with impatience.
Silarra leans in close to whisper to Liniath for a moment before she moves away with her skates in hand. Silarra heads back towards Taikring with a smile on her face. "Alright! Let's try this out! Warm up a bit skating."
"Epic, let's do this. Only-- maybe a drink first, yeah? Get /really/ warmed up? Can't skate on cold legs, y'know." Taikrin dons her lopsided grin again, now that the other weyrling has returned, and gestures towards the booze vendor with her free hand. She'll even start wandering that way, if Silarra seems inclined to follow. "Nothin' like skating with a drink. S'long as it's only one. 'Cause then you just get sloppy."
Though Leova's glance refocuses whenever a weyrling knot crosses her vision, it's usually briefly. Usually. There was that exception, earlier, when Br'dos forwent the mulled wine in favor of all but dangling himself under an ale keg's tap with his mouth wide open. Officially off duty, the greenrider's spent the majority of the morning hanging out with the tall rider whose gray-dappled brown keeps watch on the heights with Vrianth, cheering him on through the early heats and his win of a minor prize, though every now and again her gaze sweeps the crowd. And /not/ for a weyrling. Not that she won't track Silarra's movement from her spot on a bench near the edge of the ice, but that's briefly too.
Drinks! The drinks vendor is where K'del has ended up, now, and though there are fewer people around now, drinks are in high demand, and there's a line. He shoves gloved hands into his jacket pockets, foot tapping impatiently as the man several people ahead ums and ahs over the merits of hot spiced wine over cider, or maybe he should have something different this time?
Silarra is easy enough to lead along to the drinks. The very mention gets her to brighten up a bit more. "I wonder if they have a hot cider. There are some good alcoholic ones." Silarra tells Taikrin. K'del gets a quick nod as they end up in line behind him. "Seems like a popular choice. One drink should be a good loosening up before we skate."
"Yeah, those jerks, gettin' drinks before us an' makin' us wait. We oughta kick their asses." Taikrin is only teasing, really, though her eyes do go awfully wide once she realizes at whom Silarra is nodding. "Uhh-- with exceptions. A'course." She latches onto the greenrider's drink choice with only a little flailing and a rather lot of eagerness. "Cider! Yeah! Best thing, cold day. Gives y'plenty energy t'race an' win an'-- stuff."
A group of male weyrlings - F'reln and S'varis included - swings back towards the river with a boisterous energy; by their words, they've just returned from lunch, and are eager to return to the ice for another round. Not that they head that way immediately: instead, they settle themselves at one of the tables, taking a few moments, presumably, to digest their food.
K'del has a cheerful grin for Silarra, having presumably heard the greenrider's approach - and Taikrin's, too, though his grin is somewhat less bright as he turns his attention towards her, his eyebrows raised. "Happy turnover," is all he says, though, with a dip of the head, before he needs to shuffle forward another place: /someone/ finally made up their mind, ahead.
Sure, there's dragonriders and weyrlings and the like -- but it's from a more Crom side of things that Saliqa breaks. Leaving a group of others who have seemed to claim one of the warmer tents as their own, she bustles her way towards the food and drinks, a smile and trace of a laugh still shaping her lips from whatever her friends had been talking about. Bundled in festive reds, white laces, and heavier cream fabrics for the weather, if she's still as short as ever, she's at least a colorful sight amongst the others waiting in line. Briefly ignoring the Rule of No Cuts, she pauses near a man towards the front, touching a hand to his elbow and laughing out a few words of greeting. Maybe adding to /his/ order.
Silarra smirks over to K'del. "Don't worry. We know we'd get in far too much trouble if we kicked /your/ ass." Her tone is dryly humorous in that reassurance as she looks up to the front. Saliqa's cutting gets a grunt as she shuffles forward a place. "Cider has all that fruity energy too, right? The fruit makes it healthy."
"Uh-- happy turnover, sir!" If Taikrin's voice is a bit strident, and her subsequent laughter a shade nervous, well-- there /are/ races coming up, after all. "Sure is, uh, a long line. Ahead. Hope they're worth it." She subsides a moment, buoyed by Silarra's humor though she still shifts from foot to foot with impatient energy... which finds an outlet when she spots Saliqa. Well. The back of Saliqa's head, anyways. Saliqa's line-cutting head. "Hey-- hey! Some of us've been /waiting/ back here, y'know!"
Cheerfully, to Silarra; "/If/ you even could." K'del's smile is smug this time, though it's not a challenge. Sometimes, it's /nice/ to be king. Weyrleader. Whatever. Any further remarks are forestalled as he tilts his head around again to get a better look at this now-pointed-out line jumper. Not that he says anything: Taikrin does seem to have that covered.
Briefly! A distinction which Saliqa understood, but clearly no one else; she'll just have to generously explain. And by that, she means turn that spotted head with a jerk of her chin and a bounce of her now longer hair that's been pulled away under the lacy patterns covering said head. "/Patiently/," she retorts calmly to the shouter, clearly not seeming to actually /find/ the culprit who called her out, "For which we're all /grateful/." It isn't quite sassy; she manages to keep that under control. And the smile's still there, which she grants her friend in line before pointedly stepping away from him to find the /back/ of it.
Silarra gives K'del back a quick grin. "I may be little, but I'm tough." She jokes before looking forward at Saliqa. "But now you get to join us and practice your patience, too! Isn't it wonderful!" There's a very dryly sarcastic tone there, but the weyrling does seem to be in a very good mood today, at least for Silarra.
Leova's gotten so she's in the back of the line, too, after a spate of good-tempered arguing over whether their blanket's going to get stolen if he goes for the food and she gets the drinks. Evidently she lost, since the alleged "checkered monstrosity" that "nobody would take, ever" is sitting there on the bench without them, and so she's biding her time with an eye for the arguing up ahead. Short-lived arguing?
Taikrin's impatience slips into an out-and-out scowl, once which is not in the least mitigated by her surprise when she actually catches sight of Saliqa's face. She's quick to draw back into the line, and turn away with a quick step that makes it look as if she's attempting to partially hide behind Silarra. It's both ridiculous and ineffective, and Taikrin is all too aware of it to judge from her deepening annoyance. Finally, though, she'll turn back just enough to eye Saliqa and echo, "Wonderful, eh? Just one big happy line, us."
As things slowly gear up towards the next round of races, several groups of men prominently wearing the badges of Crom Hold begin to circulate amongst the crowd with their lockboxes and bits of paper for recording names: let the betting commence!
K'del's silence, during the, indeed, short-lived arguing, is more considering than anything, though if he comes to any conclusions, he doesn't share. Recognition of Saliqa, however, draws back a brighter smile: "Saliqa - hello!" But she's at the back of the line, and he's at least a little further up-- and getting closer still, as another person peels away with drinks, and the line progresses accordingly. "We're all on our best behaviour, right? Polite, friendly visitors to Crom." It might be aimed at the weyrlings, though he's facing the other direction. And-- "Ooh, better hurry up. Looks like they'll be starting again soon."
Scowls, sarcasm. Neither phase Saliqa for a moment when, upon reaching the right point in line, she also catches sight of familiar faces. Or, at least, one -- judging by how she pauses to stare with wide eyes at Taikrin once all that hiding nonsense is done. There's a moment. Then, grin fit to bursting, she sweeps forward as though to take anyone who doesn't get out of the way in a big hug. "It /is/ wonderful!" is the declaration, "You know, I /heard/ of the visit but-- I just didn't-- hello, Weyrleader! Taikrin--" Ohhh. Happiness hesitates when it appears Silarra's face draws a blank as to names. Awwwkward.
Silarra gives K'del a quick innocent grin. "My very, very best behavior. I promise." Whatever her best behavior actually is. Saliqa gets a look over before Silarra rolls her eyes. "Even if I am apparently invisible." She adds dryly under her breath.
Oh, now, /betting/. There aren't just locals here, and maybe this is why there's a pair of Benden brownriders strolling heedlessly past the drinks line, one of them batting at the stuffed-toy-on-a-stick that the other must have earlier bought up in the courtyard. "/Stop/ that," the older brownrider says, though she can't help but laugh through the reproof. "It has to survive at least long enough to get home, so it can be destroyed there." Undaunted, Val sets it swinging, and gets bopped over the head for her trouble, before they can settle down with the Cromese and his lockbox. Time for serious business!
"Uh." Whatever greeting Taikrin might have been expecting, apparently a hug wasn't up there in the top five. "Saliqa. Hey." There's a sidelong glare at K'del's back at that reminder, but she does at least go through the effort of putting on something that might resemble a smile, and keeping her tone even. "How 'bout that, runnin' into you here. Didn't figure-- but y'look, uh--" For the briefest moment there's genuine emotion, though it's not precisely positive. "-- good. Huh, Silarra?" There might even be a pointed elbow for the greenrider and her complaints in there, somewhere.
K'del keeps his eyes on the exchange between Saliqa, Taikrin and Silarra-- at least until it's his turn to order his drink and pay for it, which rather distracts him from it until, mug in hand, he sidles off to one side to watch a group of Cromese marching down towards the river as though this skating stuff is /serious/ business.
"Bet you can't!" The stranger has been in light conversation with that other group of weyrlings for a few minutes, now, but it's this dare that's audible enough to be heard outside the group, accompanied as it is by several tall, male weyrlings rising to their feet - clearly, this means war. Or business. It can be difficult to tell. "Get all the way 'round those bends and back in under a minute? Of /couse/ I can." That's F'reln, standing in the middle of the group, letting his own voice carry. "Faster than you. Faster than anyone here, I wager."
Finally, /finally/ Taikrin is distracted by the need to order her drink, which she does with only half a mind: the vast majority of her attention is fixed on Saliqa. "Yeah, real well. Doin' wing rotations an' got our own weyrs an' everythin an'-- uh. Yeah. Real good." The hot mug is clutched in her hands as she shifts off to the side with a sidelong look for Silarra. "We was gonna do some races later, get some warmups going on... now..." She can hear F'reln, apparently, and it's enough to jerk her gaze completely over towards the pack of weyrlings and the stranger, with-- is that a hint of concern?
"Faster'n me," Leova murmurs good-humoredly enough from her spot in line, not pitched to carry, but also not entirely silent. Her neighbor, a pigeon-waisted woman with cold-reddened cheeks, mutters something about boys always having things to prove, and the greenrider shares a nod, a shake of her head that makes her momentarily twice her Turns.
Silarra moves up to place her order right after Taikrin. "Hot cider. Skating races. Liniath's dozing in the field. How could life be better?" She jokes as she passes over her payment. Saliqa gets another quick glance before she glances back to F'reln with a less than happy look. "I bet we could both take him with one broken skate blade."
Saliqa's sixth sense has her glancing over her shoulder at the very one looking for /her/, and when she turns back her smile is, somehow, miraculously even bigger. "Oh!" She says, bypassing even the answers she'd asked for, her hands fluttering excitedly in the air in front of her. "Races, /that's/ wonderful. This is--" Her gaze follows Taikrin's expectantly, but all she sees is groups of people doing ice-skating things. "Oh, is there betting over there? I have a purse..." and she glances down to fiddle near her waist for something.
F'reln shakes on the deal with the stranger, standing taller, arrogantly so. It's arguable whether he actually overhears Silarra, or if it's coincidence that has him glancing in that direction, rather at that moment. His brows raise - it's almost a challenge. "I win this, I'm the best skater here - the other races be damned. C'mon--" This is to the rest of the weyrlings in his group, and maybe, just maybe, pitched intentionally to draw in Silarra and Taikrin, "Who's up for the challenge?"
"Yeah, sure, I bet we could," Taikrin murmurs to Silarra, though it's obvious she's not really paying a lick of attention to what the greenrider had really been saying. Her gaze flicks from the group around the weyrlings to a few other places in the crowd, before settling on another man wearing a Crom badge. "Hey, I--" With a blink she's looking between the two girls, a ghost of a smile appearing once more. "Why don't y'go do that? I'll see y'on the ice in just a sec, yeah? I need t'go-- do somethin', real quick. Hold this for me?" And she'll even shove her mug at Saliqa before trotting off with some haste towards a particular bookie with only a half-hearted glare for F'reln and his challenge.
Silarra looks over towards F'reln for a moment before she straightens up to her full five foot two to look up to him. "I'm always up for a challenge if it involves wiping a smirk off your face." She informs the man before she looks over to Saliqa. "Will you hold mine as well?" Maybe that will make up for not remembering her name. "Someone needs to learn he's not always the best."
Off duty. /Off duty/. And yet, the look Leova gives F'reln isn't as benign as it used to be. But Taikrin's heading in a different direction, even if Silarra's taken him up on it, and so she stays in line after all. Even says to Saliqa, "Afternoon. Happy to see them?" And, "Recognized the hands."
F'reln points a finger at Silarra, raising his voice so he can make sure everyone can hear: "We have a taker! This girl seems to think she can beat a grown man. Heard and witnessed, yes?" There are a few smirks from some of the others in the group, but F'reln, having conquered this one, seems eager to chase down Taikrin's gaze, brows raising again. "Too chicken, convict? Thought you were /always/ eager to prove that you're better than a mere /male/." His tones are scornful. The expression, though, that meets Leova's gaze, is a jesting one - just a bit of fun, see!
Saliqa goes from no drinks to three -- she's not actually sure at /all/ where that last one came from -- but the touch of bewilderment does not dim her greeting to Leova. "Afternoon! Oh, yes, it's almost like old -- /she's gonna kick your butt, braggart!/--" Clearly the last is not to Leova, but shouted quite boisterously to the overconfident F'reln. Beaming face, cheeks red from excitement instead of embarrassment, she turns back to the female rider, "-- sorry -- old times. Sorry, I don't have any hands left-- is that what you said?"
Taikrin draws up beside the lockbox-carrying man with much bouncing of skates against her shoulder, and has taken his arm and drawn him off a bit without so much as a by-your-leave. There's a lot of frantic whispering -- mostly on the weyrling's part -- and gestures towards F'reln and the others. The ex-guard's gibe stiffens Taikrin's back, and then there's no more whispering. The man has a look of self-assurance that is in stark contrast to Taikrin's hesitancy, but with a final gesture she's off towards the group and putting on a show of bravado. "Weren't gonna bother with th'likes of you, but since y'feel like y'gotta be pickin' on little girls again, reckon maybe I oughta!"
There's some looking back and forth, but Leova's looking less convinced by F'reln's would-be joking and more watchful. Still, "Close enough," she says. "Question is, can he still get a rise out of..." He /can/. "Well." A glance finds the supposed little girl in question, and what Silarra might make of that so-called defense. "Should be a sight. Going to watch?" Only then she's up in line, and it's time to turn in her tokens, collect her wine. Makes it easy to miss something, even if she does know it.
Silarra grits her teeth as she looks up to F'reln. "I am /not/ a girl. I am a woman. And this woman is going to kick your ass out there on the ice." There's a look over to Taikrin for that as well. "And I am certainly not a /little/ girl." With that, Silarra is stalking off to the side of the course to sit and put her skates on. "Well, let's go, boy. Come meet your humiliation."
"A /woman/." It's not that F'reln turns it into a statement worth laughing over, but his tone is definitely not without disbelief and scorn. "Ah, Taikrin, I just /knew/ you'd be unable to resist. We're going four bends down and then back. You, me, the little /woman/ here, and S'varis. Winner takes all." He doesn't actually wait for a response, turning smartly on his heels as soon as he's finished speaking in order to head to one of the benches beside the water, to begin putting on his skates. "Ought to be quite a show, the lot of you following my tracks."
"Silarra, don't--" Taikrin's veneer of bravado is thin indeed, and frustration radiates from the tense lines of her body as she flops down on the shore to fasten her skates. "Can't let you have all th'fun, now, F'reln." The way she says his name implies it's some sort of curse, her expression deadly serious despite her words. "You boys should be good at chasin' an' losin' by this point." Her heart's not really in the taunt, though, and she turns to look out at the track with that deadly-serious expression.
"Oh, certainly," Saliqa answers, touting all of those mugs as best she can, her purse now tucked against the side of Taikrin's where she can't quite access it. As she's standing there, ready to march off to watch, the dark-haired, towering man from the tent approaches, having sussed her out from the crowd. Glancing over her shoulder to him, Saliqa only nods a bit, "Hello, dear. I thought that might get you out of there. I got cider..." Just... someone else's. He scowls a bit, laying a thick hand on the small girl's shoulder, instructing: "Come on back where it's warm..."
It's not an 'official' event, but the strength of F'reln's voice has certainly raised some interest, and now, a crowd has begun to form along the river's edge, stretching out towards the bend, though a copse of trees makes it difficult to get too close to the continuing 'track' for this race. Bets are flying fast, of course.
At which point Leova turns back with her pair of mugs, all set to smile briskly up at that tall man behind Saliqa. And step out of the way, given how her neighbor wants her own chance at the wine before things start up. Saliqa may be a woman grown, and barely shorter than the greenrider herself, but... "Real thoughtful of you," she tells the man. "Relation of Saliqa's, are you? Nice to have a warm spot to thaw out, a day like this."
Silarra stands on her skates moving over to the river to get on the ice. She glides on smoothly. At least this 'girl' is no stranger to skating, having grown up in the northern part of Pern. "Let's get this show on the road. Unless you're going to back down?" This is aimed at F'reln, Taikrin's advice pretty much ignored.
The man Taikrin had been speaking with so vehemently turns to head down towards that tree-lined part of the track, meeting a compatriot about half-way down. After a few moments of low, rapid-fire conversation the bookie slaps the other man on the back and they move off casually and anonymously to mingle in with the crowd.
"You're in a funky mood today," F'reln says to Taikrin, on the ice now, and skating a few lazy circles to warm himself up. "Thought you hated me. Thought you wanted to throw knives with your voice." He's not feeling it. Silarra, though… he smiles at her, a smirking, but cheerful kind of smile. "Me? Oh, hardly, dear child. I'm quite, quite ready. Shall we?" A starting line has been put in place, and he skates easily towards it, where S'varis already waits.
Taikrin is only a few seconds behind Silarra in tying her skates on and popping onto the ice, moving with a well-practiced economy of motion out to circle the greenrider. "Maybe y'should wait here for me. I can take 'em," she murmurs urgently to the shorter girl. "Never know what kind of dirty tricks this lot might try, y'know?" Her piece said, she backs off a few strokes to go through the motions of warming up on the starting line -- though with one eye on F'reln the entire time. "I wanted t'throw a knife, I would. Just don't think yer worth gettin' up the effort for. Already know I'm better'n you."
The man is in no humor to answer, but he does make an effort to shift his weight and look more pleasantly at the guest from the Weyr. Really, he just ends up looking twice as haughty. "/Actually/--" As his hand moves possessively to Saliqa's shoulder, squeezing her closer, the girl bursts into that same brilliant smile, despite all the odds of the situation. "This is Haldur," she announces cheerily, proudly, "My fiance. It sure /is/ nice to have a spot, but he's just been sitting in there all day, I thought wouldn't it be wonderful to get out and about. I just want to show him off all the time!" It's quite possible that, by this point, she's stressed the enthusiasm to the line of hinting at fake.
"Why, congratulations," Leova says, and gives that Haldur a visibly sweeping look, as though now she has to see him with new eyes. There isn't particular fakery about her own reply, just a certain mildness. "Looks as if there's a race going on. Will you be watching? All the best to you two for your wedding, whenever it is."
Silarra eyes Taikrin as she skates around. "I am not a little girl you need to watch out for." Silarra hisses with annoyance. "I'm also not some sheltered holdbred type. I fully expect him not to race fairly." Silarra skates off to that line stopping easily. "Alright. I'm ready."
A Cromese man, one who has been organising the races all day, draws up along the start line to consider the group of racers. "This ain't official," he tells them, firmly, "but that doesn't mean I don't expect clean. No grudges, right? Four bends and then back, best time wins. No arguments." He seeks out a glance in all four faces, then takes a half step back on his skates. "On your marks, then." Beat. "Get set." Another beat. "/Go/."
By this time, K'del has finished his drink, and found himself a place to stand alongside the river, ready to watch the skaters as they go past. He shifts his mug between one hand and the other, apparently a reflexive kind of motion, though his fingers tighten just slightly around the handle as the race begins, his head tipping to one side with a thoughtful wariness. "No," he tells an older man next to him. "No bets for me."
Taikrin looks as though she'd like to say more to Silarra, but with the approach of the starter she merely settles for grimacing and settling into line beside her on the far end. Perhaps it's her overt twitchyness that allows her to be so quick off the line, crouched down and powering forward with well-practiced strokes and attempts to get ahead of Silarra for the early advantage, if she can manage it. Somewhere further out afield, where a group of dragons are all lounging together, Szadath lets out a trumpet.
Silarra is fast off the line, but not fast enough to beat Taikrin. Instead, the younger woman falls into place just behind Taikrin, matching her speed as best Silarra can. Might as well take advantage and let Taikrin deal with any wind. Liniath sits up straighter in the group of dragons, peering over toward the race.
F'reln isn't quite as fast off the mark as Taikrin, but it's a close call: he's fast on his feet, obviously an experienced skater, with power in his stocky build. He lets out a yell of pleasure, weaving around towards the side in an attempt to get ahead of the other brownriding weyrling. S'varis falls in alongside, his slightly longer legs giving him an advantage. The first bend approaches: both match their movements to get around it safely.
Taikrin pulls out all the stops to maintain her early lead, pushing herself in a way that can't possibly be sustainable throughout the entire race. She's breathing heavily enough that there simply isn't air left with which to vocalize. Instead, she's focused on keeping an eye on the two maleriders and doing all she can to keep up with their progress while still keeping as close to in front of Silarra as she can manage.
Whatever company Saliqa and Haldur might be, by this point Leova's attention is likely drifting towards the racers hard at work. She has a sip of her own wine without really looking at it, and even drifts a step towards the ice and the friend who's owed the second mug.
Silarra is breathing heavily as well, but not yet to an extreme point. After all, she's catching Taikrin's tailwind tucked in close behind the other rider. She'll take that first corner neatly, her head whipping around to glance over to the male competition before she tucks it back in close. Still lots of race left.
"Bets, bets, still taking bets! First to wipeout, first to knock someone over-- taking bits, right here!" There are a few takers, but-- well, for the most part, people seem content to watch the race for as long as they can before the skaters are completely out of sight.
S'varis lets out a yell of satisfaction, slipping just slightly ahead of F'reln - though that seems to be a deliberate move on both their parts, allowing the former guard to assume a position not dissimilar to Silarra's, his muscles pumping. The river narrows slightly, around here, making it harder to keep in two rows like this, but with his upper body angled forward, his legs moving rapidly, /he/ clearly has no intention of getting caught behind anyone else.
A pair of those watchers continue to shoot the breeze, over by the ice now, one Bendenite still playing now and again with the toy the other had bought. "Like her legs," says one, ignoring their neighbor's peculiar glance their way. "But he /wants/ it," opines the other. "Nice changeup."
All is clear as they pass through the narrow second bend but going through the third, with less than half a length to go before they pass behind the screening trees, something in Taikrin's leg seems to give out. Her right skate goes flying out from under her and then /she's/ flying, superman-style, to sprawl out across the ice in the middle of the track with an audible crack as her jaw impacts. There, finally, is a yell just before she goes down: "OH SHI---!"
And that trumpet in the distance? Suddenly it's not so distant as Szadath rockets into the air with another burst of noise to come winging towards the track.
Silarra lets out her own slew of cuss words as she tries to dodge that. An elbow might get accidently thrown towards S'varis in the attempt, but really, she's just trying not to go straight over the sprawled brownrider. It costs Silarra some speed, but in the end she comes out of it, breathing picking up as the short woman tries to make up the lost time.
A few people mutter unhappily as they lose bets on Taikrin's spill; a few others yell out in surprise and horror. "Is she okay? Is she bleeding? Healer? Healer!"
F'reln lets out a quiet, "HAH!" as Taikrin goes down, but he's got more important things to worry about: like getting around the bend, and dodging S'varis, who doesn't go down, but /does/ lose some momentum as he recovers from Silarra's elbow. They're disappearing behind the trees, now, the race continuing into obscurity. Not that far go to go, now, before the turn back. If the ice is cleared in time.
You'd think it would be obvious enough that Teris was around considering her dragon isn't known for being particularly subtle. But she is here, keeping mostly to herself, and right now watching as the crowd attempts to figure out the state of the brownrider. She doesn't say anything and she doesn't move except to look around for a healer to present themselves.
Taikrin doesn't appear to have knocked herself between, because she's only dazed a moment before she pulls herself together and struggles back to her feet, wiping away a trickle of blood from her jaw with that same grim-faced determination. Szadath seems content to circle a good several lengths overhead, peering downwards but making no move to interfere just yet. And then she's /skating/ again, though at nothing like the previous break-neck speed, following the others behind the screening trees.
Silarra doesn't even turn back to see Taikrin continuing. She's intent on her race. Her head is down as she pushes forward across the ice with smooth strokes, disappearing behind the trees as she comes closer to that fourth bend in the road.'
Snap! POP! CRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!
With a series of ominous noises, suddenly the ice-track beneath the three remaining competitors is simply disintegrating away.
"Isn't that the..." is Leova's first warning of Kessian's approach, and she turns. Makes introductions. Half-smiles, even. Her brownriding friend's more gregarious than she, an easy conversationalist, while the greenrider's best contribution is more like, "Off duty, hm? Same here. Good luck with staying that way, think they should have a bunch of healers attending, given the... oh, /that/ didn't sound good." Her eyes narrow, as Vrianth's must from the heights, as though the woman could herself see through the trees.
F'reln's yell is definitely audible to the audience, all the way around that bend. S'varis' is probably, too. Both skaters end up thrown into the icy water, grasping desperately for purchase on the ice around them as two dragons - one brown, one bronze - go absolutely panicked in that nearby field.
Make that three panicked dragons as a green adds into the mix. Silarra tries to stop in time, but her blades etch into the ice in the process, with it dropping away, with her, into the icey water. She goes under completely before she comes up to the surface, coughing water and gasping as she tries rather badly to swim to the side.
Taikrin slides to a clumsy stop a good distance from the first of the spiderwebbing cracks, lowering herself gingerly to her knees as near as she dares and calling out, "Silarra-- SZAD! Getcher ass DOWN HERE!" The only problem with down here is, well, where? He lands just past the trees on the opposite shore from the majority of the spectators, though people scatter in all directions to avoid his bulk but still rather far to be offering much help. "Somebody-- HELP! /Silarra/!" Forget the other two. They're /expendable/.
Stirred by her panicked clutchmates, Iskiveth is getting a little agitated herself, screeching at them to calm down or else, while she resists the urge to come see what's going on herself. Likely only at Teris' behest for now. The weyrling is looking around with a little more emotion on her face than is usual for someone to, you know, go help as she starts moving through the crowd.
K'del? He breaks into a /run/ the moment there's any hint of something being up. The ice is too slippery to run on, certainly, but around the shore, through the trees, and, presumably, eventually, one can get close enough to be of use. Luckily, he's not alone in this desperate dash, and some of the skate officials take the ice-bound path down. Noting Teris, he gets out, urgently, "Teris-- get Iskiveth to keep them calm. The dragons. Got to keep them calm."
Kessian's boots shift on ice while he greets and chatters and etcetera. Swinging around to orient toward the distinctive snap of ice, the healer tenses slightly, purses his lips over one shoulder for Leova's apparently prophetic remark. "They'll need blankets. Warm tea." As if the greenrider would produce them herself. Muttered under his breath comes irritably, "What idiot checked this ice?"
"Got /one/," and that's Leova thrusting her now half-drained mug towards her friend, leaving him to come or not, and pulling up that old blanket they'd been sitting on. "Come on." And then she's reaching for Kessian's shoulder, the better to try and give him a solid tug before she makes her way through the crowd just as quickly as she can. /Vrianth's/ faster, bespeaking, instructing the weyrlings to watch, to calm their riders, to let them know that help is coming and to /hang on/.
Whatever Saliqa's been doing it took her away and rid her of her tall, looming company -- but returning to Leova's side is anything but happy as the ruckus and the dragon chaos grates on one's nervousness quite a bit! "What is it?" She asks with half parts worry and half parts trying to sound /not/ worried. Even if she weren't short, it's difficult to see anything. Not to mention the effort of keeping up with the rider's moving pace through the crowd. "What's going on? What can I do?"
"There's /no/ way the ice just-- there's /just/ no way." So claims one of the Cromese, desperately distressed as he clears the lake area, just in case. "Keep clear, let's stay off, please. I have /no/ idea. Just-- no! Blankets, ropes, can someone--" Meanwhile, the first of the rescue team arrive at the scene of the accident. The flailing weyrlings - the two male ones, at least, still having trouble getting purchase on the more solid ice around them - can't even seem to manage to yell, by now. Just flail.
"Taik!" Silarra gets that out before a coughing fit sends her under the water again. It's several very long seconds before she's able to push herself to the surface again, gasping against the cold water as she struggles just to stay above it. Liniath settles a bit, but there's some really pitiful warbling. Calm is just not completely in her vocabulary right now.
The healer was not, in fact, personally inclined to rush across thin ice to a dramatic rescue but Kessian follows in the wake of Leova's draw. He answers aside to whatever voice that is, asking to be helpful (it would be Saliqa if Kessian bothered looking): "Tea. Klah. /Hot water/. Whatever you can find. Blankets - spare jackets, if anyone can spare it." Meanwhile, Kessian's pulling off his mittens, only a step behind the greenrider.
Iskiveth settles somewhat more so between Teris and Vrianth's words and she attempts to calm the others in the way that she was taught that she could. The way that bored her to tears, if dragons could cry, not so many months ago. Teris seems torn on whether she should be going to try helping or going to make sure her lifemate doesn't forget what she's supposed to be doing.
Szadath cranes his neck out as far as he can manage, desperate to provide some sort of help but not quite long enough. A daring paw on the ice only causes an ominous groan, and Taikrin snaps over her shoulder, "/Careful/!" Ever so carefully she scoots further out on the ice towards Silarra, flattening herself down onto her belly to allow her to slither that much further out. "Hang /on/ Silarra I'm comin', c'mon, y'gotta get closer, hold /on/!" Louder, then, "HEY! HURRY UP! WE NEED HELP!"
Help arrives: strong men, with ropes, men who've done this kind of rescue before, even. One of them reaches for Taikrin's legs, presumably intending to keep her from getting pulled into the ice herself. "Got you," he reports. "Grab for her? If you can? Rope's coming, else." The others seem inclined on doing something similar for the others, reaching out across the ice, across the water, for flailing hands.
Saliqa's mad sort of nodding action follows each thing that is listed at her and she immediately gets to it by spinning around to some gaping Cromite standing nearby and all put yanking the jacket off of him -- citing 'emergency!'. It's perfectly legitimate, and a theme for the methods by which she sets out to procure every one of the things suggested. Between her begging a blanket off a couple, she gets a few other hands in to help carry items back to Kessian: other Crom women who look less enthusiastic about being drafted.
Not even Leova rushes across thin ice, except in the metaphorical sense. "Can have my jacket... Oi! Out of the /way/!" and she body-checks the solid-looking man who insists on staying /put/ in front of them. An older-looking woman gets a scattering of apologies and from here she's mostly moving between people as best she can, clearing at least a little room for the healer behind her if others don't crowd in first. Still, there's a ways to go yet, and it's a good thing the real rescuers are there before them.
Silarra slips under the cold water again, but it's not for long before she's back up gasping. There's no more words for now from the greenrider, focusing on using all her energy to keep above the water. At least she went in right at that side. Even now, the smaller woman isn't /too/ far from it, just out of her arm reach.
Before vanishing behind that brick of a man, Kessian beckons over his shoulder to Saliqa with an encouraging nod. But it's difficult enough maneuvering through the closing crowd of rubberneckers - the healer fixes on Leova's jacket and /shoulders/ past. "Please, if you don't mind - excuse me - would you /move/!"
Those arms on her legs are apparently all the impetus Taikrin needed to push herself yet further out, flailing her arms and a goodly piece of her upper body forward and into the water to grab desperately at Silarra's arms, her head, her jacket, /anything/ that she can manage to secure. "Hold-- hold on! Grab my hand!" Szadath bellows again, flailing his tail in agitation at his helplessness, but remains crouched -- apparently Iskiveth is having /some/ sort of effect.
If it's hard to push through a crowd with both hands, it's even /harder/ when you're trying to lug a pot of hot water from all the way at the food tents. Saliqa makes valiant if somewhat fruitless efforts, throwing her shoulder into people and skittering to the side when the liquid wants to slosh away from the container. Blankets and jackets she sent ahead with the others. Maybe one has gotten through to Kessian.
K'del looks pretty helpless, once on the scene, but-- well, people /do/ seem to have things under control. Or, at least, as under control as 'three people flailing around in freezing cold water' can really be. F'reln's waving arm is grabbed by one of the men, and he's hoisted free a few moments later; it's clearly going to take more time to get S'varis, who is further out in the water, out of reach of even the longest arm. "Rope!"
Silarra reaches out, trying to catch Taikrin's hold. And while her hands don't seem to want to grasp tightly to Taikrin's, at least it put the long sleeve of her coat into place for Taikrin to grasp hold of it.
Iskiveth is craning to see if she can see anything without actually taking flight but finally she turns away and gives the other dragons her full attention. Teris just stays out of the way, trudging her way toward the field where the dragons are waiting without actually leaving the area where she can still have some idea of what's going on. Better to keep a visual on her lifemate from there.
How much further can it be? Leova spares a backwards glance for Kessian, but otherwise relies on his voice, the better to make it to shore and await the rescuers' return with her charges so as to help from there. Return. Safe and sound. Surely. Surely?
Taikrin is having no such problem maintaining her grip on Silarra's coat, and once she's wrapped both hands around the smaller girl's sleeve, she shouts, "PULL!" There's a lot of hauling on Taikrin's legs, and once Silarra's arm is out enough she'll re-shift her grip to wrap more firmly around the smaller girl's torso as they continue to pull the pair of them away from danger.
Kessian, hand outstretched as though to latch onto Leova's coat, splits from the crowd onto the shore's edge. "Here," he snaps his fingers at the two women who managed to keep pace, "and here - spread the blankets. Pile the jackets and what's left. Be ready for when they pull them out." Kessian stands on tippy-toe to scan faces for Saliqa, who is hopefully shortly behind with that hot water.
F'reln and Silarra may be safely out of the water, but S'varis continues to sink. A rope finally arrives, and is thrown at him, but the bronzerider seems too frozen and tired to be able to grab onto it. There's no time for more than the briefest of consults before one of the men grabs for the end of the rope, then dives into the water after the sinking S'varis, leaving those on the shore to marshall everyone they can into - once the weyrling has been grabbed - pulling the two fully grown men out of the water and to safety.
Silarra starts coughing again as soon as she's safely on the shore. More water comes up as she shivers. At least Silarra isn't going to be fighting whatever Kessian deems is the appropriate way to warm her up. As soon as Silarra is out of the water, Liniath settles down another notch, and the warbling stops, even if the green is still sitting up straight, on full alert.
Saliqa's /somewhere/ behind, judging by the increasingly agitated-- "Excuse me. Please, if you would-- please move-- /move/-- /get your asses out of the way this is hot/." The rescue team is supposed to be there, but the rest of the crowd hovering around is just that attracted to watching the trouble, averted now though it may somewhat be. The girl will be a bit longer, then.
With the help of the rescue team, Taikrin attemps to half-carry, half-drag Silarra over towards where Kessian seems to have prepared blankets and towels and hot water. She's not exactly a pretty picture herself, what with the blood sluggishly dripping off the cut on her chin and smeared over half her face. The only time she pauses is to take stock of the rest of the rescue effort, and she visibly sags when she spots both F'reln and S'varis out of the water and swarmed with rescuers. But it's only momentary-- she's got a job to do still. "C'mon, blankets-- Faranth she's /cold/! Silarra-- you okay? You hear me? Yer gonna be fine!"
Perhaps Taikrin will appreciate the fact that, though out of the water, S'varis seems distinctly the worse for wear: he's not moving at all, and has to be carried completely to the bank, to be covered with blankets, and to have his stomach pumped. F'reln's in better shape - able, even, to throw daggers with his eyes in Taikrin's direction, if only for a moment or two. The uncontrollable shivering? That's less fun.
Sparing a nervous sideways glance at the closest dragonet, Kessian nonetheless would brook no arguement from weyrling or dragon alike. A swathing in whatever length of warm fabric available and - shells, where's that girl? - is just what the doctor's ordered. Once Silarra and F'reln've been tended to, with a steady look at Taikrin's chin that promises later ministrations, Kessian quietly, grimly, sets upon S'varis.
"M fine." Silarra mutters to Taikrin softly once she's through coughing up water. "Woulda beat them." That's important for everyone to know, even if she is busy shivering despite being overed by warm blankets as soon as they get to the bank.
Taikrin flops to the ground beside Silarra, content to accept the blanket that's dumped around her shoulders even though she's not really very wet. "Yeah, you totally would'a had 'em," she murmurs back with a forced smile to the other girl. "Would'a put money on it." If she's being glared at, she's simply too tired to care, at this point. All she can manage is to fumble helplessly at the laces of her skates and sigh.
Dramatic rescues over, the crowd does - slowly - begin to disperse. It's /cold/ out here, after all. There's no more skating, though, and the turnover cheer is somewhat… muted.
Iskiveth is doing something half decent for once! Okay, not just once. And she's probably not all that necessary anymore. If she was at all. But she certainly hasn't made anything /worse/ and that's the important part. Teris stays where she is on the outskirts of everyone who wasn't involved in the dramatic rescue talking amongst themselves.
Liniath at least has settled back down, head resting on the ground once again. Silarra gives Taikrin a grin through chattering teeth. "Woulda won you some marks then." She mutters, tugging the blankets in close around her, not seeming to notice the crowd much.
Somewhere right before the crowd's really gone, Saliqa appeared. The hot water, the tea following close behind, is left in the hands of the capable healer and for those who need it most. The Crom girl picks her way earnestly to where Taikrin and Silarra are, both hands now cupping a mug such as the one she got left with what seems like so much earlier. "I've been holding onto this for you~" She attempts for a light-hearted greeting, dropping down onto her knees near the chattering Silarra.
"Won some... marks?" It's a testament to how slowly Taikrin's brain is running that it takes her some minutes to work out the reference, though she's quick enough to latch onto the idea once she does. "Yeah, you were supposed t'win me a /fortune/, girl! I better track down that jerk later, make sure he didn't take off with all my marks." Saliqa's appearance prompts a rather ghastly smile, especially since she seems to have brought the booze with her. "Lifesaver, you are. Warm you right up, Silarra, if y'can get it down."
Silarra reaches out for the mug with a shaking hand. "Warming up. S-sounds good. Thanks." She gives Saliqa a tight smile before Taikrin gets a look. "Better not take off with them. Your marks. Not his."
Saliqa's hand clasps over Silarra's, helping to guide her to hold the mug with all that shaking -- so that it doesn't spill. "You should probably get the, umm, the tea, too. I think." She winces, glancing for the healer, but he's busy. Her inquisitive gaze travels to the others, landing eventually on that rather obvious smear of blood on Taikrin. "Ohhh," one hand stays on the cup if Silarra needs, but the other detaches towards the former convict's chin to try and turn her face, gently. "If we have a towel..."
"Yeah, probably she should... but... uh..." Whatever it was that Taikrin was going to say is lost as Saliqa takes her chin on hand, leaving her unable to do anything but blink dumbly at the other girl. "Uhh-- s'fine, uh, don't worry-- nothin', I--" A passing healer seems to recover Taikrin's wits enough for her to sputter, "Should we take her to th'fire, get warm, yeah?" At the man's assent she struggles to her feet, bringing her blanket with her but carefully avoiding Saliqa's gaze. "Help me get her up, Saliqa? We'll get y'warm in no time. Fire an' whiskey makes everythin' better."
No one seems to be paying much mind to F'reln's insistent remarks that Taikrin was obviously involved and it's all her fault; he's bundled up and helped away, presumably indoors. S'varis is still in a much worse condition: he, too, gets taken away, though it's not on his own two feet, even in part. Somewhere, in the distance, the harpers have started playing, and there's the faint call of 'Spin the wheel, now, sir, ma'am, give it a try. Can't win unless you try. Spin the wheel, spin the wheel, wheel of prizes.'
Silarra is willing to take that support, both in holding the cup for a long drink of the warm liquid, and in standing up to move closer to the fire. That she's not trying to do everything on her own? That probably shows she's still not feeling all that well. "Warm would be good. Don't think I've ever been this cold before."