Caravans and Acrobats, Pt. II
Who: Sinopa, Ceriyne, Ch'dais, Jerion, Diya, B'ren
Date: It is 22:50 on day 20, month 9, turn 200 of the 6th Interval (present day)
Where: Southern bowl - High Reaches Weyr
What: Traders arrive to share wares and news.
Ceriyne doesn't miss the inflection within Ch'dais' tone. She purses her lips in brief thought, gaze settled away from him to avoid him realizing such, "He believes those he teaches within his craft ought to see him as an instructor and not an equal. His... taking me on... well, it ensures I'll never don the knot of a Healer." Her retort ends with a look over her shoulder back toward him, quietly skeptical, "Of all the riders I've spoken too, I think you've given the most bland story of Impressing." A delicate pause draws forth, "A disappointment, too...especially for a bronzerider." His query about her willingness (or lack of) to drink gains a simple smile, and little else.
The evening is growing dark, and chill, but someone has built a bonfire in the bowl and there's a semi-circle of merchant wagons arranged near the exit tunnel. Many of the Weyr's residents have come out to enjoy the festival air, late as it is in the season. Acrobats have just finished tumbling around the fire, turning themselves into human building blocks, and children from the train have haded out the last of small samples of Tillek wine. One of the wagons has also been opened to reveal useless pretties and luxury goods.
It's all about cultivating admiration, rather than seeking a bedfellow or another male accessory to supplement the one that snuck away out of boredom. "Why thank you, so much," she says, keeping up the charade. "Your acrobatics are quite amusing to watch, and I've much enjoyed perusing the wares that your fellow traders have brought along." Casting the cuff another glance, a hand drops to one of her scarves and she rubs the soft fabric between her fingers. "Festivals are a lovely change of pace from the typical weyr life."
Ch'dais meets Ceriyne's dubious glance with an indulgent little grin, tucked up within the red-brown stubble of his beard. "Well. I hate to disappoint; let me try again." He watches her for a moment-- his look level, joyless despite his expression-- before lowering his head for a long, thoughtful sip of wine. Then, with a note of high drama, "The sky was clear blue, cloudless, but as I stood on the deck of my father's three-master I could feel that the day was rich with promise. It was almost as if the search dragons were already there in spirit, blowing wind into our sails with their great pinions..." The man trails off, then fixes Ceriyne with a curious look. "Something more like that, you mean?"
Theren may play the jovial sort but he's sharp enough when he cares to be. The motion of Sinopa's hand is noticed, prompting another bellow of, "ESSIEL! Bring the woolies!" followed by his toothy-bright smile. "Your taste is as exquisite as the rest of you, madam." The young woman he'd called for arrives quickly, one of her arms draped with scarves ranging from finely knitted to sheer gauze. The most delicate have fringe dotted with flashing metal beads and bells. "Take your pick, please," he tells Sinopa. The ever present Essiel is pushed forward a step, before Theren retreats as something resembling a headwoman's knot is seen in the distance. "If you'll excuse me... madam! I say, madam! I wish to speak with you about the matter of our lodgings..." His bellowing grows faint as quick, waddling steps carry him off. But the bonfire burns on, and not all of the wine has disappeared yet, nor have the traders closed shop. There's time yet before they get to enjoy their beds.
Jerion listens to the report from the girl he'd spotted earlier, then nods to himself. Her words don't seem to make his day, but after a few moments, he puts on his habitual pleasant pokerface and slips back into the light a few wagons down from where he'd originally disappeared. The wares of the train are duly examined by the headmaster before he chooses a few items for the Caucus's quarters, sensible things that won't win him any praise from those used to luxury. "Have them delivered to the Caucus offices in the morning, if you would please," he remarks after handing over the expected and finally agreed-upon payment. He eventually finds his way back to the main cluster of weyrfolk, glancing at both Sinopa and then the pairing of Ceriyne and Ch'dais. "How are you finding everything?" he queries with mild interest.
In the shadows of the approach of twilight's hour, Diya finally makes her exit of the administrative complex. It'd be difficult to miss the sights and sounds of the gathering near the exit, the eye-catching bonfire's flames garnering a brief look, which then skirt across the various attendees, as dark blue eyes seek out familiar faces. A breath, a reflexive catch of escaping confidence, is inhaled before her steps are resumed, and in the elegance of her stately glide, she begins to greet people, names attached to each with relative ease to such banal comments such as: "It's good to see you again," or, "I'm sure your son is doing well at the crafthall." It's in this way the warmly smiling woman makes her way towards the center of the half circle of wagons.
Ceriyne's smile is broad as she lifts a brow and half cants her head. "You'd have made a wonderful harper, I think. Pitty a dragon got to you first." Or so she says, "But yes, they start the stories like that. There's lots of 'meant to be' 'knew it'd happen' and 'who else but me' in there..." Drawing off, Ceriyne eyes the crowd and the wares once more. Jerion's approach gains her attention, and a smile of greeting. "Fine, surprisingly enough."
Sinopa is most definitely in her element; a perfect little world in which people fawn over her. Chattering at an impassive Essiel, the younger junior weyrwoman selects a scarf, drapes it about her neck and goes about on her way. Her previous companion gone, the rider continues along in silence as she looks over the wares from other wagons. The other junior weyrwoman is spotted, for although shiny objects and colorful items are eye catching, she's just as much there for the people as she is to collect new accessories. "Good evening, Diya," she calls out to the approaching woman.
Ch'dais returns mildly, "Lying is as much the sailor's art as the harper's." He considers a moment, then adds, "Or the rider's, for that matter. But you already know this story, so I'll let you finish it yourself." A ragged chuckle, a long pull from his cup, and then he nods in greeting to the approaching Jerion. "I'll be better when I'm nearer the fire." A turbid glance goes from Headmaster to Healer's assistant, and he extricates himself to do just that.
Jerion pretends to look offended when Ch'dais says harpers lie, but an amiable smile is donated to the two young people. "Evening, Diya," he greets the junior weyrwoman with the same inclined half-bow that Sinopa got earlier. "I trust all is well for you too?"
Ceriyne parts her attention long enough to look toward Ch'dais' retreating back. A thoughtful smile tugs the corner of her lips, though doesn't remain long enough to bear witness to more then a soft noise in the back of her throat. With her attention back on Jerion, Ceriyne watches his interaction with Diya, though pays the weyrwoman as much attention as she does Jerion. Remaining silent for the moment, Ceriyne seems content with simply hanging back to watch.
Initially making a somewhat round about approach, Diya's destination becomes clearer as she steps closer: the Headmaster. But her purpose is delayed, feet stopping short at her name being called over the crowd's din, and for Sinopa there's a pleasant smile and a small flicker of fingers as a wave. She doesn't reply until her steps resume towards the other junior, a hand outstretched as if to test the expense of the scarf looped around the girl's neck once she arrives, "I see you've already picked up some of the wares for yourself. Fine material, absolutely lovely fringe work." The Headmaster's words are acknowledged with a slanted glance, the smile particularly favorable for silver-templed man. A finger lifts, 'one moment,' and she'll surely be with him with intelligent conversation and flatteringly charming words.
Sinopa lifts up part of the scarf with the back of her hand to give Diya a better view of the dark smoke colored accessory. "Of course," she says, sounding smug, "Can't waste the opportunity to get some items from afar," she giggles, "They have such lovely scarves here, and some lovely indigo fabric that would make a perfect dress. Have you had much opportunity to look around? Or did you just get here?"
Jerion seems quite willing to wait to speak to Diya, still looking around with affable grace, even going so far as to examine more of the traders' goods, but alas not really buying anything. While the traders might pout for a few moments, his lack of ornamentation or need for same is well known, and thus it's taken with relatively good humor, especially as one or two of his students tend to follow him everywhere and they're now fairly bursting to buy stuff. One of them even goes so far in picking out the very same piece of jewelry Jerion had looked at for the longest before passing over, the hero worship plain to everyone nearby. However, if the headmaster notices, he doesn't show it.
Ceriyne, sensing a missed opportunity, slips away from Jerion and Diya alike. The gifted though small skin of wine is kept clutched beneath one arm as she makes her way toward a less crowded wagon. The wares are browsed with a too casual eye. Nothing is purchased, despite the duration of her stay at the wagon. When enough time has passed properly by, Ceriyne looks back toward the entrance of the Weyr, her lips thinned with slight worry over whatever may or may not be present there.
Diya watches the younger woman in a way that some may find maternal indulgence. Very few will note the skittering flash of irritation behind the warm blue eyes. "I just arrived actually, there was a few matters to attend to, to allow for all this to be with us a few days yet." A simple nod to the caravans indicates their presence here, followed by a look that follows after the trader that waddles away. Mild interest traces the line of the scarf around Sinopa's neck, taking in the intricate delicacy of the near mesh knit. "You chose well, the color suits you." Thoughtful, the faint lines of her forehead deepen as movement from the corner of her eyes, Ceriyne, captures the tall woman's attention. "If you'll excuse me?" Vague in her removal from the younger junior's side, she maintains her slow gait to come up near Jerion, any further conversation broached by others stayed with a simple lift of her hand. Later, the gesture promises with a twist of her wrist as apology. "Good evening." Spoken lowly, her alto contains richness of one who knows how to utilize her voice well.
Any degree of irritation, or sign that Sinopa's empty talk is a bore to Diya are completely ignored by the teenaged goldrider. "Why thank you, I prefer simple greys and blacks. They are so much easier to pair with my wardrobe... Oh no, don't mind at all." She'll just find someone new to prattle on to about clothing and whatnot. A wave is given to the departing figure of the elder junior weyrwoman and then she heads to a new booth, sneaking glances now and then to catch glimpses of various people.
Jerion did notice Ceriyne's departure, but he says nothing about it as Diya presents herself after a few moments. A twisted sort of smile graces his features for a few conspiratorial seconds as Sinopa is spoken to by the more senior queenrider. However, his more professional expression reasserts itself. "You were seeking me out?" he queries of Diya as he leans on his staff easily, most of his weight on his good leg, even though his healer would have a conniption if he found out. "Any particular reason why?"
A hesitation occurs before Ceriyne steps away from the wagon with a softly dismissive shake of her head toward the trader attempting to engage her in barter. One hand pulls at the edge of her shawl, tugging it closer and tighter about her shoulders as she weaves her way through the crowd, back toward the entrance she'd been eyeing. Within a few short moments, she's stepped through the entrance back into the weyr.
Miyamurath backwings to a landing outside the circle of firelight, curling her tail against her haunches daintily. B'ren spends a moment by his green's head, stroking her muzzle and murmuring softly to her before he straightens his jacket and swaggers into the firelight, "Evening!" he calls with a tilted smile, waving and bowing and winking to everyone he sees.
Ch'dais stands for a time before the bonfire, silhouetted by the blaze, one strong arm wrapped about his midsection to hold his jacket closed against the night wind. He drains his cup as he watches the jump and stutter of the flames, each shift of light playing over the hollow of absent features, impassive expression. At last, his wine gone, the man retraces his slow steps towards the cavern complex.
"Must there be a reason for everything, sir?" Adopting formality in light of the crowds, Diya spares the man a deliberately flattering smile. It's meant as a tease, the ease of banter as opposed to a flirtation that wouldn't become her age. "Have you heard anything of the Reaches' Hold student?" There must be one in particular, a captivating girl that's caught the weyrwoman's eye, or the boy that causes trouble. In either case, there's some fodder in this common ground. Voice quiet, she notes, "She thrives on this." Who is not specified, but the look that follows Sinopa across the way is telling.
Indeed, Sinopa is thriving at the festival of merchant wagons presenting their crafts from a variety of places across the northern continent. So many trinkets to look at, some of them gaudy and ill-suited to someone with fine tastes, but others which are quite pleasing to behold. Not to mention there was the leader of the wagon train fawning over her and showering her with gifts. Finishing with one area, the junior weyrwoman trails back towards the weyr, evidentally done with perusing for the time being.
"There is always a reason," Jerion replies with his most gallant tone and matching smile. "Even if we do not understand it." His eyes track Sinopa's departure, and he nods to Diya's words. "I'd gathered that, yes," he answers Diya's statement about the younger queenrider. "And I hear everything of importance about every one of my students," he then addresses the first statement. "Which student and which 'anything' are you hoping I have heard about, weyrwoman?" He can be all formally polite when he wants to be as well. His gaze tracks the arrival of a greenrider not yet familiar to him, but he keeps his peace for the moment.
B'ren spots a likely candidate and strides forward towards Diya and Jerion, sweeping a bow to the pair as he nears, "Weyrwoman Diya. I am B'ren, and my green Miyamurath. Reporting for duty." He rises upright and then winks at the woman, "Whatever duty you'd prefer." Shaking some dark hair from his eyes he stands there and smiles. "From Ista," he adds, incase she doesn't recognize his name.
Capable in her role as hostess, Diya doesn't miss the opportunity to greet, the rustle of dragon wings an all too audible indication of an approach towards the dwindling bonfires and the traders that, with word of lodging within, have begun to pack their wares, promising further days of sales. "Good evening," is her pitched greeting. "Ah, yes, I recall Elanora mentioning you. B'ren, well met." Humor finds the blue eyes, implying she may know more than she lets on. "Headmaster Jerion, of the Caucus," she introduces for the younger man's benefit, and lower, in an aside to the aging man, she murmurs, "We can speak of this later, perhaps, Headmaster. For now," the pleasant alto lifts, "Would you like an arm, Jerion? I'm sure it'll do you better service than your staff."
Jerion nods briefly to B'ren, not giving it the full treatment like Diya and Sinopa got earlier. Especially since he himself wasn't addressed in the other's greeting. "Greenrider," he greets formally. "Of course," he replies courteously in an equal murmur to the queenrider's first statement. And it might be the answer to the second, for he doesn't say anything until the last statement sinks in. "Ah, that would depend upon /whose/ arm you are offering," An impudent twinkle reaches his gaze as he continues, "For it would give quite the wrong impression if I were to avail of his." And by 'his', he gestures with one hand to B'ren.
B'ren grins impishly and offers Jerion his arm anyway with another wink for the both of them before his arm falls gently to his side. He gives Jerion an even look, "Headmaster of the Caucus?" he inquires, "I'd like to be in the Caucus." Back beyond the firelight his green rustles her wings and lifts her head a little higher with a soft croon.
"There's something to be said," Diya asserts with a calming hand reaching for Jerion's staff, ostensibly to pat the hand that holds it in what may be construed as overly familiar between the Headmaster and weyrwoman, "For blunt honesty." The greenrider is given an encouraging smile, "You may wish to speak with the Weyrwoman, rather than trouble the Caucusmaster, as he enrolls based on recommendation." But there's enough time to speak of this later, and the statuesque woman is hailed by an approaching headwoman. With apologies in her expression, she flashes a respectful smile for the elderly gentleman. "I will speak with you later, sir. If you've the time. Tomorrow, perhaps."
Jerion's humor is clearly only for certain personages, for the greenrider's impudence is met with a coolly arched brow. As Diya reminds the other rider exactly how one gets into the Caucus, his sole comment is, "Quite." The slightly distant behavior once more changes when Diya regains his attention. He's too polite to shrug off the hand. "I look forward to it. Clear skies to you and your queen. I'm afraid I too must attend to my duties." For he sees one of the Caucus instructors waving and trying to get his attention. With a final curt nod for the greenrider, he makes his limping way toward the instructor.
B'ren scowls as both people walk away, and he turns from the firelight to return to his green.
Date: It is 22:50 on day 20, month 9, turn 200 of the 6th Interval (present day)
Where: Southern bowl - High Reaches Weyr
What: Traders arrive to share wares and news.
Ceriyne doesn't miss the inflection within Ch'dais' tone. She purses her lips in brief thought, gaze settled away from him to avoid him realizing such, "He believes those he teaches within his craft ought to see him as an instructor and not an equal. His... taking me on... well, it ensures I'll never don the knot of a Healer." Her retort ends with a look over her shoulder back toward him, quietly skeptical, "Of all the riders I've spoken too, I think you've given the most bland story of Impressing." A delicate pause draws forth, "A disappointment, too...especially for a bronzerider." His query about her willingness (or lack of) to drink gains a simple smile, and little else.
The evening is growing dark, and chill, but someone has built a bonfire in the bowl and there's a semi-circle of merchant wagons arranged near the exit tunnel. Many of the Weyr's residents have come out to enjoy the festival air, late as it is in the season. Acrobats have just finished tumbling around the fire, turning themselves into human building blocks, and children from the train have haded out the last of small samples of Tillek wine. One of the wagons has also been opened to reveal useless pretties and luxury goods.
It's all about cultivating admiration, rather than seeking a bedfellow or another male accessory to supplement the one that snuck away out of boredom. "Why thank you, so much," she says, keeping up the charade. "Your acrobatics are quite amusing to watch, and I've much enjoyed perusing the wares that your fellow traders have brought along." Casting the cuff another glance, a hand drops to one of her scarves and she rubs the soft fabric between her fingers. "Festivals are a lovely change of pace from the typical weyr life."
Ch'dais meets Ceriyne's dubious glance with an indulgent little grin, tucked up within the red-brown stubble of his beard. "Well. I hate to disappoint; let me try again." He watches her for a moment-- his look level, joyless despite his expression-- before lowering his head for a long, thoughtful sip of wine. Then, with a note of high drama, "The sky was clear blue, cloudless, but as I stood on the deck of my father's three-master I could feel that the day was rich with promise. It was almost as if the search dragons were already there in spirit, blowing wind into our sails with their great pinions..." The man trails off, then fixes Ceriyne with a curious look. "Something more like that, you mean?"
Theren may play the jovial sort but he's sharp enough when he cares to be. The motion of Sinopa's hand is noticed, prompting another bellow of, "ESSIEL! Bring the woolies!" followed by his toothy-bright smile. "Your taste is as exquisite as the rest of you, madam." The young woman he'd called for arrives quickly, one of her arms draped with scarves ranging from finely knitted to sheer gauze. The most delicate have fringe dotted with flashing metal beads and bells. "Take your pick, please," he tells Sinopa. The ever present Essiel is pushed forward a step, before Theren retreats as something resembling a headwoman's knot is seen in the distance. "If you'll excuse me... madam! I say, madam! I wish to speak with you about the matter of our lodgings..." His bellowing grows faint as quick, waddling steps carry him off. But the bonfire burns on, and not all of the wine has disappeared yet, nor have the traders closed shop. There's time yet before they get to enjoy their beds.
Jerion listens to the report from the girl he'd spotted earlier, then nods to himself. Her words don't seem to make his day, but after a few moments, he puts on his habitual pleasant pokerface and slips back into the light a few wagons down from where he'd originally disappeared. The wares of the train are duly examined by the headmaster before he chooses a few items for the Caucus's quarters, sensible things that won't win him any praise from those used to luxury. "Have them delivered to the Caucus offices in the morning, if you would please," he remarks after handing over the expected and finally agreed-upon payment. He eventually finds his way back to the main cluster of weyrfolk, glancing at both Sinopa and then the pairing of Ceriyne and Ch'dais. "How are you finding everything?" he queries with mild interest.
In the shadows of the approach of twilight's hour, Diya finally makes her exit of the administrative complex. It'd be difficult to miss the sights and sounds of the gathering near the exit, the eye-catching bonfire's flames garnering a brief look, which then skirt across the various attendees, as dark blue eyes seek out familiar faces. A breath, a reflexive catch of escaping confidence, is inhaled before her steps are resumed, and in the elegance of her stately glide, she begins to greet people, names attached to each with relative ease to such banal comments such as: "It's good to see you again," or, "I'm sure your son is doing well at the crafthall." It's in this way the warmly smiling woman makes her way towards the center of the half circle of wagons.
Ceriyne's smile is broad as she lifts a brow and half cants her head. "You'd have made a wonderful harper, I think. Pitty a dragon got to you first." Or so she says, "But yes, they start the stories like that. There's lots of 'meant to be' 'knew it'd happen' and 'who else but me' in there..." Drawing off, Ceriyne eyes the crowd and the wares once more. Jerion's approach gains her attention, and a smile of greeting. "Fine, surprisingly enough."
Sinopa is most definitely in her element; a perfect little world in which people fawn over her. Chattering at an impassive Essiel, the younger junior weyrwoman selects a scarf, drapes it about her neck and goes about on her way. Her previous companion gone, the rider continues along in silence as she looks over the wares from other wagons. The other junior weyrwoman is spotted, for although shiny objects and colorful items are eye catching, she's just as much there for the people as she is to collect new accessories. "Good evening, Diya," she calls out to the approaching woman.
Ch'dais returns mildly, "Lying is as much the sailor's art as the harper's." He considers a moment, then adds, "Or the rider's, for that matter. But you already know this story, so I'll let you finish it yourself." A ragged chuckle, a long pull from his cup, and then he nods in greeting to the approaching Jerion. "I'll be better when I'm nearer the fire." A turbid glance goes from Headmaster to Healer's assistant, and he extricates himself to do just that.
Jerion pretends to look offended when Ch'dais says harpers lie, but an amiable smile is donated to the two young people. "Evening, Diya," he greets the junior weyrwoman with the same inclined half-bow that Sinopa got earlier. "I trust all is well for you too?"
Ceriyne parts her attention long enough to look toward Ch'dais' retreating back. A thoughtful smile tugs the corner of her lips, though doesn't remain long enough to bear witness to more then a soft noise in the back of her throat. With her attention back on Jerion, Ceriyne watches his interaction with Diya, though pays the weyrwoman as much attention as she does Jerion. Remaining silent for the moment, Ceriyne seems content with simply hanging back to watch.
Initially making a somewhat round about approach, Diya's destination becomes clearer as she steps closer: the Headmaster. But her purpose is delayed, feet stopping short at her name being called over the crowd's din, and for Sinopa there's a pleasant smile and a small flicker of fingers as a wave. She doesn't reply until her steps resume towards the other junior, a hand outstretched as if to test the expense of the scarf looped around the girl's neck once she arrives, "I see you've already picked up some of the wares for yourself. Fine material, absolutely lovely fringe work." The Headmaster's words are acknowledged with a slanted glance, the smile particularly favorable for silver-templed man. A finger lifts, 'one moment,' and she'll surely be with him with intelligent conversation and flatteringly charming words.
Sinopa lifts up part of the scarf with the back of her hand to give Diya a better view of the dark smoke colored accessory. "Of course," she says, sounding smug, "Can't waste the opportunity to get some items from afar," she giggles, "They have such lovely scarves here, and some lovely indigo fabric that would make a perfect dress. Have you had much opportunity to look around? Or did you just get here?"
Jerion seems quite willing to wait to speak to Diya, still looking around with affable grace, even going so far as to examine more of the traders' goods, but alas not really buying anything. While the traders might pout for a few moments, his lack of ornamentation or need for same is well known, and thus it's taken with relatively good humor, especially as one or two of his students tend to follow him everywhere and they're now fairly bursting to buy stuff. One of them even goes so far in picking out the very same piece of jewelry Jerion had looked at for the longest before passing over, the hero worship plain to everyone nearby. However, if the headmaster notices, he doesn't show it.
Ceriyne, sensing a missed opportunity, slips away from Jerion and Diya alike. The gifted though small skin of wine is kept clutched beneath one arm as she makes her way toward a less crowded wagon. The wares are browsed with a too casual eye. Nothing is purchased, despite the duration of her stay at the wagon. When enough time has passed properly by, Ceriyne looks back toward the entrance of the Weyr, her lips thinned with slight worry over whatever may or may not be present there.
Diya watches the younger woman in a way that some may find maternal indulgence. Very few will note the skittering flash of irritation behind the warm blue eyes. "I just arrived actually, there was a few matters to attend to, to allow for all this to be with us a few days yet." A simple nod to the caravans indicates their presence here, followed by a look that follows after the trader that waddles away. Mild interest traces the line of the scarf around Sinopa's neck, taking in the intricate delicacy of the near mesh knit. "You chose well, the color suits you." Thoughtful, the faint lines of her forehead deepen as movement from the corner of her eyes, Ceriyne, captures the tall woman's attention. "If you'll excuse me?" Vague in her removal from the younger junior's side, she maintains her slow gait to come up near Jerion, any further conversation broached by others stayed with a simple lift of her hand. Later, the gesture promises with a twist of her wrist as apology. "Good evening." Spoken lowly, her alto contains richness of one who knows how to utilize her voice well.
Any degree of irritation, or sign that Sinopa's empty talk is a bore to Diya are completely ignored by the teenaged goldrider. "Why thank you, I prefer simple greys and blacks. They are so much easier to pair with my wardrobe... Oh no, don't mind at all." She'll just find someone new to prattle on to about clothing and whatnot. A wave is given to the departing figure of the elder junior weyrwoman and then she heads to a new booth, sneaking glances now and then to catch glimpses of various people.
Jerion did notice Ceriyne's departure, but he says nothing about it as Diya presents herself after a few moments. A twisted sort of smile graces his features for a few conspiratorial seconds as Sinopa is spoken to by the more senior queenrider. However, his more professional expression reasserts itself. "You were seeking me out?" he queries of Diya as he leans on his staff easily, most of his weight on his good leg, even though his healer would have a conniption if he found out. "Any particular reason why?"
A hesitation occurs before Ceriyne steps away from the wagon with a softly dismissive shake of her head toward the trader attempting to engage her in barter. One hand pulls at the edge of her shawl, tugging it closer and tighter about her shoulders as she weaves her way through the crowd, back toward the entrance she'd been eyeing. Within a few short moments, she's stepped through the entrance back into the weyr.
Miyamurath backwings to a landing outside the circle of firelight, curling her tail against her haunches daintily. B'ren spends a moment by his green's head, stroking her muzzle and murmuring softly to her before he straightens his jacket and swaggers into the firelight, "Evening!" he calls with a tilted smile, waving and bowing and winking to everyone he sees.
Ch'dais stands for a time before the bonfire, silhouetted by the blaze, one strong arm wrapped about his midsection to hold his jacket closed against the night wind. He drains his cup as he watches the jump and stutter of the flames, each shift of light playing over the hollow of absent features, impassive expression. At last, his wine gone, the man retraces his slow steps towards the cavern complex.
"Must there be a reason for everything, sir?" Adopting formality in light of the crowds, Diya spares the man a deliberately flattering smile. It's meant as a tease, the ease of banter as opposed to a flirtation that wouldn't become her age. "Have you heard anything of the Reaches' Hold student?" There must be one in particular, a captivating girl that's caught the weyrwoman's eye, or the boy that causes trouble. In either case, there's some fodder in this common ground. Voice quiet, she notes, "She thrives on this." Who is not specified, but the look that follows Sinopa across the way is telling.
Indeed, Sinopa is thriving at the festival of merchant wagons presenting their crafts from a variety of places across the northern continent. So many trinkets to look at, some of them gaudy and ill-suited to someone with fine tastes, but others which are quite pleasing to behold. Not to mention there was the leader of the wagon train fawning over her and showering her with gifts. Finishing with one area, the junior weyrwoman trails back towards the weyr, evidentally done with perusing for the time being.
"There is always a reason," Jerion replies with his most gallant tone and matching smile. "Even if we do not understand it." His eyes track Sinopa's departure, and he nods to Diya's words. "I'd gathered that, yes," he answers Diya's statement about the younger queenrider. "And I hear everything of importance about every one of my students," he then addresses the first statement. "Which student and which 'anything' are you hoping I have heard about, weyrwoman?" He can be all formally polite when he wants to be as well. His gaze tracks the arrival of a greenrider not yet familiar to him, but he keeps his peace for the moment.
B'ren spots a likely candidate and strides forward towards Diya and Jerion, sweeping a bow to the pair as he nears, "Weyrwoman Diya. I am B'ren, and my green Miyamurath. Reporting for duty." He rises upright and then winks at the woman, "Whatever duty you'd prefer." Shaking some dark hair from his eyes he stands there and smiles. "From Ista," he adds, incase she doesn't recognize his name.
Capable in her role as hostess, Diya doesn't miss the opportunity to greet, the rustle of dragon wings an all too audible indication of an approach towards the dwindling bonfires and the traders that, with word of lodging within, have begun to pack their wares, promising further days of sales. "Good evening," is her pitched greeting. "Ah, yes, I recall Elanora mentioning you. B'ren, well met." Humor finds the blue eyes, implying she may know more than she lets on. "Headmaster Jerion, of the Caucus," she introduces for the younger man's benefit, and lower, in an aside to the aging man, she murmurs, "We can speak of this later, perhaps, Headmaster. For now," the pleasant alto lifts, "Would you like an arm, Jerion? I'm sure it'll do you better service than your staff."
Jerion nods briefly to B'ren, not giving it the full treatment like Diya and Sinopa got earlier. Especially since he himself wasn't addressed in the other's greeting. "Greenrider," he greets formally. "Of course," he replies courteously in an equal murmur to the queenrider's first statement. And it might be the answer to the second, for he doesn't say anything until the last statement sinks in. "Ah, that would depend upon /whose/ arm you are offering," An impudent twinkle reaches his gaze as he continues, "For it would give quite the wrong impression if I were to avail of his." And by 'his', he gestures with one hand to B'ren.
B'ren grins impishly and offers Jerion his arm anyway with another wink for the both of them before his arm falls gently to his side. He gives Jerion an even look, "Headmaster of the Caucus?" he inquires, "I'd like to be in the Caucus." Back beyond the firelight his green rustles her wings and lifts her head a little higher with a soft croon.
"There's something to be said," Diya asserts with a calming hand reaching for Jerion's staff, ostensibly to pat the hand that holds it in what may be construed as overly familiar between the Headmaster and weyrwoman, "For blunt honesty." The greenrider is given an encouraging smile, "You may wish to speak with the Weyrwoman, rather than trouble the Caucusmaster, as he enrolls based on recommendation." But there's enough time to speak of this later, and the statuesque woman is hailed by an approaching headwoman. With apologies in her expression, she flashes a respectful smile for the elderly gentleman. "I will speak with you later, sir. If you've the time. Tomorrow, perhaps."
Jerion's humor is clearly only for certain personages, for the greenrider's impudence is met with a coolly arched brow. As Diya reminds the other rider exactly how one gets into the Caucus, his sole comment is, "Quite." The slightly distant behavior once more changes when Diya regains his attention. He's too polite to shrug off the hand. "I look forward to it. Clear skies to you and your queen. I'm afraid I too must attend to my duties." For he sees one of the Caucus instructors waving and trying to get his attention. With a final curt nod for the greenrider, he makes his limping way toward the instructor.
B'ren scowls as both people walk away, and he turns from the firelight to return to his green.