(no subject)
Continued from Part One.
"I'll find you again soon enough, Sefton," Bailie returns affectionately, as she leads Penny off. She giggles girlishly, /so/ much less stiff and formal once away from the eyes and ears of so many dignitaries at once, as well as her father. "Not at all - thank /you/, if you hadn't come over I might've been stuck there for /hours/. Your father's reaction to your dress was just priceless, you know - everyone thinks you look gorgeous, by the way. I wanted to go and find G'thon, see how he's holding up in all the bustle... do you mind coming with?"
Neiran's solemn expression is lightened somewhat when he glances over his shoulder, and discovers his escape has been perfect. Wonderfully alone, he ducks around a few loiterers at the northeastern corner, and finds himself near the edge of the harpers' stage. His sleeves rustle faintly as he folds his arms, and leans his shoulder-blades against the wall of the cavern. His chin tilts back, but it is not to pompously peer down his nose at anyone. In fact, his eyes close, and he allows himself the moment of much-needed respite, close enough to the harpers that each individual voice and instrument can be picked out within his mind, and he can enjoy in his own quiet way.
Barely registering that she's been addressed until the Weyrleader's well passed by and Saramia blinks a few times. "Uh ... no ... sir ..." trails after the man's back and then considers the table he's gone to now that she's standing in place instead of spinning slowly around. A slight bouncing up and down betrays the fact that while she's no longer turning about, she's far from standing still. The expression on Saramia's face speaks loud and clear though: she's quite boggled by the array of choices on that table and she turns to speak to one of her companions again only to find that the girl she was talking to earlier is out on the floor being spun about by one of the young men in the group. Narrow shoulders lift and descend once more and left to her own devices, Sara approaches one of those impressively laid out serving tables, slipping in amongst others to consider choices.
Berrigan shufts his weight, or perhaps it's a stumble in diguise as his balance is tested with the waving off of his daughter and her friend - at any rate, he manages to keep upright, and rubs again at his spiky beard. Dark eyes settle on Anshuman mostly, though there's a definite flicker between the two Masters, and Sefton, and his brows furrow curiously. "You've your moment then, Anshuman?" His prompt is barely disguised, and he doesn't look to be making any offer to move somewhere more private.
"Hmmm?" Clearly, not understanding the faux pas of wearing a similar shade as the bride-to-be, or having skirted over the engaged pair in her study of the hall, Diya's dark eyes scan the crowd once more, fixating on Bailie. "Ah, I see. I don't imagine we used the same weaver, unless she's wearing one of her mother's gowns, and somehow," the Reaches goldrider smiles ruefully in her assessment of the Fortian girl, "I doubt our Lady Bailie would enjoy wearing hand-me-downs for such an auspicious occasion. Does Sinopa accompany you today?" Slender shoulders, made all the more feminine by the filmy material that hangs loosely off them to her wrists, shrug slightly, pulled back as she takes in E'sere once more. Mataiya's path towards her mother is distracted by the arrival of a good-looking young man at her elbow and her animated flirtation carries in it the semblance of the Lady Sian.
Penny laughs, a somewhat less girlish echo of Bailie's giggle. "He did turn a rather charming shade of purple, didn't he? Sometimes my father needs a reminder that I'm not exactly a little girl of six anymore, wish though he might." She glances over her shoulder at the group of leaders, a faint frown on her face. She does not comment on it, though, instead eyeing Bailie suspiciously. "This dress is -not- what I had thought I ordered, you know. I'm wondering if I'm going to have to blame -you- for all the reactions this ridiculous dress is getting." She does look cheerful at the praise, though, smiling in spite of herself; her cheeks still flame, though, and her relief at no longer being at the center of that group is obvious. "And no, of course I don't mind. Though I've never actually met the Weyrleader," she adds, glancing in the man's direction with some trepidation. "Bailie, I... I won't know what to say to him." This last is in a low murmur.
"Thank you, Berrigan," replies the Lord Tillek, who then crinkles his eyes into a deep, dry smile, one in which the participation of his mouth is purely secondary. He nods toward Derien then and lifts his shoulders helplessly to the Lord Fort: -you- try and hurry him up.
Derien waits for the drinks to be distributed to empty hands around the circle of people before clearing his throat, raising his voice in a bellow more than loud enough to echo over the sounds of the vast forges of the Smithcraft Hall. "Attention!" he shouts first, then pauses with an embarassed fluster, clearing his throat again. "I mean," he mumbles before raising his voice again. "If I could have everyone's attention, please!" And then he waits, though there's an agitation about him, not particularly comfortable with his role to begin with. That bark is just /waiting/ for someone to keep talking a minute too long.
E'sere half-smirks at Diya, nodding once. "No, I don't imagine so, either. And why should she if she doesn't have to?" He shrugs idly, giving the other cluster of people a glance, brows arching as he notices Bailie and Penny not among them. He frowns lightly and regards the Mastersmith intently, murmuring to Diya, "I've not seen the weyrwoman Sinopa as yet, no." And then he's silent as Derien quiets the crowd, edging a step closer to Diya in mild perplexity.
G'thon provides a pleased, slim smile for Lexine's passing-by. And a nod: he seems unconcerned with, maybe unsurprised by, the business going on in the middle of the room. He is one of the last to turn about, in fact, though as he's said nothing since his few words for Saramia, he is one of the first to contribute to the silence the Mastersmith demands. While the crowd turns quiet, the Reachian Weyrleader pours himself a new glass, this one merely water. Then he rounds about at last and watches, one hand crossed over to form a prop for his other elbow, the wineglass held high. At ready, even.
Lexine's brows rise briefly, a sudden smile easing across her features as an idea comes clear as an uncovered glowbasket, a faint nod at remembering for herself or grasping what's going on. Smile quirking deeper at one corner at the Mastersmith's discomfort, a fond amusement, she only chuckles softly before falling silent for his words.
Sefton turns back from watching Bailie and Penny's departure, and is beginning to address the Masterharper once more when Derien's voice rings out over the crowd. All of Lord Mitali's nephews were frequent visitors to the Smith Hall growing up, and Sefton is as conditioned as any of them to fall silent when that bellow reaches his ears. And so he does, turning polite attention on the man.
Even Berrigan falls to that bellow; though the man is now probably regretting his decision to not offer to usher the men elsewhere, he shows no hint of outward regret.
Diya waves her free hand, lifting her glass to take one last sip as if Derien's announcement might ruin any desire to drink, or eat for that matter, and remains silent. E'sere's closer steps are taken as indication for her to lean closer to spare quiet words in the bronzerider's ear.
Derien waits for the crowd to quiet down before clearing his throat once more, raising his glass in one hand at the other tugs and smooths his tunic into even more of a mess than it began in. "Ah. Thank you." He hedges for another moment, then finally continues. "Well. First, we'd like to deliver the official announcement of the Conclave's agreement with the betrothal," he says, dipping his jowly chin to Anshuman. "Lord Tillek here's been kind enough to stand for their stead. But the rest of us of the /Grand/ Conclave," he nods to Kazimir, searching out Kalinda's bronzerider-surrounded form in the crowd to nod to her as well, "Have an announcement ourselves. A betrothal gift for the lucky groom." He grins, a glimmer of humor suddenly appearing in dark eyes as he fixes his gaze on Sefton and pauses to let the younger man sweat.
Bailie is in the middle of repeating her compliment for Penny's dress when the call comes for everyone to pay attention; perhaps her father isn't the only one hiding his regret, for surely this young Lady would rather be next to her betrothed if someone is going to hijack -her- party. The girl obviously recognizes the voice as one other than her father's, for she doesn't bother to dull her voice to remark, "How odd," to her friend - whether it earns her a scowl, she seems not to care.
Anshuman nods his agreement with Derien's report and folds in a very small, "Congratulations," as verbal affirmation at the appropriate moment. It would come across very well indeed if he'd addressed it directly to Sefton, but his clarion gaze keeps wanting to shift over to Berrigan.
E'sere's eyes narrow slightly as he observes the Mastersmith. Whatever Diya whispers to him draws a brief shrug, not much of an answer, and he glances quickly sideways at the goldrider to gauge her own thoughts.
Dozens of Caucus students around the room crane their necks to eye their politics instructor -- let's see whether /he/ can keep up that irritating calm under the sort of pressure he puts them under in class on a daily basis. Sefton doesn't disappoint. One hand comes up to rake his hair back from his eyes, (Bailie did not succeed in nagging him into that haircut), and he raises both brows to Derien in query, his drawl carrying only so far as the first few rows of people nearby. "You spoil me, Master. Surely my bride should be the centre of attention."
Lady Kaile has made her way abck around the room to hover closeby her husband, catching his eye long enough to let him know her support is there. Lord Fort's brows shoot up as he shifts his attention firstly to Derien, then Sefton, and lastly the instigator of all this, Anshuman. What the fat little man wouldn't give for a glass of whiskey, right now!
Kazimir commences now with the elaborate business of framing a mildly approving expression. Another man might not have a problem with this, but for the Masterharper it comes in visible stages: the absent smile, gently raised eyebrows, hands clasped before him and effectively hidden beneath the overlarge folds of his robe. He's watching Sefon, though-- quietly, carefully-- and that desert gaze seems sharp enough to dissect the man with its scalpel and label the very smallest of his parts. Be they of body or character.
Penny turns to regard her father as well, her forehead wrinkling into a curious frown as she listens. "Odd indeed," she replies to Bailie. "Did you hear anything about this beforehand?" Then, with a small smile, she adds, "Perhaps you should go back up there." She releases Bailie's arm generously, gesturing towards Sefton. "He no doubt misses you already." Said of the cool manner the caucus instructor handles the sudden spotlight on him.
"As some of you may know," the Mastersmith continues pontificating, pausing for a sip of his toasting drink and ignoring Sefton's protest with a toothy grin, "Headmaster Jerion has been feeling ill of late." In fact, most probably /don't/ know that. It might have something to do with the fact that he hasn't been. "Regretfully, he has had to resign as Headmaster of the Caucus, though we're all proud of the work he's done with it. Almost as proud as we are of Sefton's performances as an instructor," he adds, flashing a grin and looking as though he's got a whole wedding toast planned. "Few have done so much to prepare our children for the realities of the political world, as I've heard from my own daughter." The perfect opportunity to shoot both Penny and Bailie a look counseling silence. "And so, in light of recent events, the Grand Conclave of Pern, Craftmasters, Weyrleaders, and Lord Holders assembled, in honor of the impending wedding and the exceptional work shown thus far, name you, Sefton, Headmaster of Caucus." Without pausing for a chance to protest, he grins and raises his glass. "To Sefton, Headmaster of Caucus!" he bellows, likely counting on the high population of students to cheer and cut off further protests.
Bailie shakes her head, and echoes Penny's frown. "Nothing at all - come with, Penny, please." Moral support, or something. She motions the smith after her as she starts to pick her way back through the crowd, coming up alongside her mother who blocks the rest of her path with a hand out. "Hold back, Bailie."
With that announcement, Neiran's eyes open, and fix on the distant figure of his politics instructor - suddenly Headmaster - for his reaction.
Anshuman is, of course, one of the first to provide applause. The voices of some of the students indeed beat him to it - the dancing has halted, and those who enjoyed such distraction moments before now enjoy the distraction of hooting and hollering - but the 'instigator' of this scene merely grants Lord Berrigan a seeming, placid smile and puts his hands together for the new Headmaster. Above that smile his eyes are ferny and firm. They suggest, not gently, a little clapping might be in order from Sefton's someday father-in-law.
Sefton's eyes widen -- reaction enough, from this man, and his mouth is half open to speak when he's drowned out with noise. Whether those words would have been thanks or protest will have to go forever unknown, for in just a few seconds Sefton's response has been marshalled. Producing a grin, he's all pleased surprise for the benefit of the crowd, turning to seek out Bailie's gaze and using the opportunity this provides to run his eyes over the crowd, taking a tally of the various reactions.
Lexine herself takes a sip of her drink in toast before tapping her wrist in a quiet clap, another pair of clear green eyes fixed on Sefton from afar, gauging him for his reaction. Still, there's a certain appreciation for the presentation of the proposal, and a glint of humor in her expression.
E'sere's brows shoot sharply upward as the Mastersmith finally makes his announcement, presumably in surprise; but he recovers quickly and gives a couple of mild claps, made awkward due to the glass in his hand. He leaves the outright cheering for the students of the Caucus. "How unexpected," he remarks to Diya at his side, in a decidedly neutral tone of voice.
Penny starts to protest, hanging back from Bailie with something almost akin to bashfulness. "No, you go ahead, really." Anything else she might have said is forestalled by her father's speech. As he draws to the end, she falls still entirely. A passing drudge takes her empty wineglass out of her unresisting hand while she stares, her mouth falling open slightly. She does not join the applause, not yet -- she does look around vaguely, as if bewildered as to why everybody else is clapping.
Saramia had just put a bite of something in her mouth when the call for attention was made and so she's got her lips firmly closed during the announcement itself as she tries to chew discreetly. Her eyes widen a bit at the actual content and she applauds, all the while, still chewing away.
Kazimir echoes, "To Sefton, Headmaster of the Caucus." But of course he isn't drinking; indeed, he has no drink. Still he smiles absently, hands still clasped, eyebrows gently raised. And still watching Sefton, steadily, with that measuring knife's blade of a glance. "We'll be checking up." Too soft to carry, really, this seems stated for the Masterharper's own peace of mind alone.
Diya is silent, an unnatural quiet, and with purpose, she reaches across the short distance to attempt to place a firm grip on E'sere's arm. "Unexpected?" Two thin brows lift, turning to favor the bronzerider with a cool look. "The Caucus is a lesson in politics for its students, and a play of politics for those who steer it." Her words, while low and predominately bland in emotion, carry an edge. Dutifully, however, after the information's sunk in and her exchange with the Reaches wingleader, she lifts her glass into the air, parroting her own congratulations into the crowd.
"Huh." Berrigan's first reaction is dry, almost disinterested with his heir presumptive's new title, though perhaps only so to prevent his equals from any satisfaction his irritation might bring. Anshuman's smile is caught, and draws the desired reaction from Fort - his hands come together in loud, slow claps for Sefton, though a good deal after the rest of the party has started their applause. "To Sefton," he agrees, but behind his thin smile his yellow teeth are gritted; Kaile takes it upon herself to go to him now, the movement of her tall and thin figure probably giving Sefton a cue to where his betrothed is standing. Bailie is still for a good moment, but takes a cue from her mother perhaps and applauds as she moves behind the tall woman, head lifted up to try and catch a glimpse of Sefton over the crowd.
Like Lexine, G'thon has a glass to contend with. It's the same for much of the crowd, but the Weyrleader nudges the stem out between two fingers and manages some applause between the flattened fingers of the one hand and the palm of the other. What's more telling, perhaps, is the low droll chuckle. It has been long-absent, and its return is lost in the murmur and rattle of the crowd.
Draining his drink in one long swallow, Derien promptly steps back from the group of people, offering only a small smile for Sefton. "Make good on it, m'boy," he rumbles fondly, dipping his chin once before starting to slip back into the crowd and leaving Anshuman and Kazimir to deal with further repercussions.
"Lord Fort certainly seems surprised," observes E'sere to the weyrwoman, eyes glancing down to her hand on his arm. "And our new Headmaster as well. They must be very pleased--such a nice addition to the family." Either he's entirely oblivious to the Fortian Blood's reaction, or he's perversely amused by it; hard to tell. "Though," he adds thoughtfully, "I'm sorry to hear just now that Master Jerion has been ill."
Neiran's hands come together in applause. It's difficult to tell if he's merely being polite, or there's genuine earnestness behind each contact of palms. Perhaps a telltale sign is that he goes searching for a drink, in the spirit of a toast for his instructor. Moving away from his spot of security, somewhat restored, he moves for the beverage table closest to the harpers' stage. Once again, he orders water.
"This is surreal," murmurs Penny, watching the new Headmaster with consternation. Spying Neiran as he moves towards the water yet again, Penny abandons Bailie entirely by hurrying over to him. "Did our politics instructor just get named -headmaster-?" she asks, under her breath, glancing over her shoulder again as she reaches for a fresh glass of wine. "Tell me at least one other person finds this strange. You've always had doubts about him, haven't you?"
Sefton inclines his head and upper body to Derien, signalling obedience perhaps to the will of the Conclave, rather than simply the Mastersmith alone. His first drink of the night is promptly claimed, however, one arm snaking out to pull a glass of wine from a passing tray. Too restrained to down the lot in one go, he confines himself to a long sip before he moves to head into the crowd -- away, if he can manage it, from Derien's co-conspiritors, and towards Lord Fort's daughter.
Anshuman steps forward. His shoulder-clapping hand raises, aimed for Berrigan's arm - but Kaile's approach gets a glance, and he draws his hand back down to his side, settling for a grin to the Lord Fort. "Thank you, my friend. You know how it is getting him to out and say something." With deftness that betrays his figure and his age, Lord Tillek slips away, searching out the Ruathan Lord and any other likely no more pleased with this than with the marriage itself, for a little smoothing-over of matters.
Ginella slips into the room likely unnoticed with all the commotion. After a minute or two of searching, she catches sight of Bailie, and makes her way through the crowd towards her friend. "What's going on?" she asks, still looking about at the crowd, "I'm so sorry I'm so late, all sorts of things went wrong, but... what's just happened? I thought I heard someone saying something about the Headmaster? Did he say something?"
"He can't have been surprised." Diya's keen gaze flickers past the various people to take in G'thon and Lexine's reactions. "The Grand Conclave: Weyr, Hold, and Craft. I wonder," the dark eyes swerve from her Weyrleaders to that of Sefton's form, her lips curving thoughtfully around the rim of her champagne glass. "I can't imagine Lady Bailie is much for the news overshadowing her day."
Lexine slips off even as her brother does, the pair making the rounds through the dignitaries in an odd sort of symmetry. Quiet smiles and an easy demeanor are enough to soothe the least worried, while a few soft words of explanation and possibility serve for others. Most, it seems, are at least unsurprised by the announcement, and soon return to their drinking and dancing.
Saramia swallows down her mouthful and absently licks crumbs off the end of her thumb. "Well ... I wonder if that'll change classes any?" she murmurs aloud, mostly to herself and steps around the person in front of her to secure a glass of something to clear her mouth with.
Neiran wraps his fingers around the stem of his glass easily, a subtle turn to his right bringing him face-to-face with Penny. "Doubts about Sefton?" He queries, affected puzzlement in his tone, eyes keen over the lip of his wine glass bearing water. "I had my initial skeptical thoughts, but they have been deftly assuaged. I do not doubt his competence," he says, loud enough to be overheard. He leans ever so slightly towards his fellow Caucus student, voice several degrees lower. "I imagine you're happy to hear of his appointment to such a prestigious position, regrettable though Jerion's resignation may be." His tone, added to the weight of his look, clearly suggests that if she isn't, she had best appear to be. "No doubt he will do the office justice," he evenly concludes, lifting his glass faintly towards the Headmaster, as if the gesture could even be noticed across the distance, through the thick of people.
"Of course, Anshuman. Go, get yourself some whiskey, enjoy my hospitality!" Berrigan tells the Tillekian's back icily as the other Lord retreats. He slips an arm about his wife, meaning to guide her away - most probably to find the Bollian Lord whom he was seeking a moment ago. Bailie is caught by Ginella, on her way to meet Sefton; she pauses, turning to her friend, unable to school her suprised expression straight. In the place of stumbling over words, she takes a breath; "Sefton's just been named the Caucus Headmaster." No hello, how d'you do, what went wrong - Bailie is still a little overwhelmed. -Her- party has just been hijacked, you see, and (predictably) she's a little distraught.
E'sere shrugs mildly, his response to Diya. "Perhaps not," he concedes. "But I have trouble imagine a better time to announce it, nevertheless. All of Pern is here--all the important people, anyway." He shrugs again, this time in apparent dismissal of the subject. "You should save a dance for me, weyrwoman," he slides the conversation away from the new political developments.
G'thon's laughter has subsided. Perhaps it was never even there, for how easily it was missed. But he washes his mouth with a sip of the water in his wineglass, then sets out toward E'sere and Diya. His expression, by the time he finds himself near enough to lift the water in a sort of wave announcing his intent to join them, is evenly made: brows level, eyes neither as hollow as they can sometimes be nor as sparkling as they once regularly were. Smiling, but barely. "Weyrwoman," he greets her; and, "Wingleader," of course, for E'sere.
Ginella just sort of blinks and Bailie, and gapes, before following her along towards Sefton. "Sefton? Headmaster? Of the Caucus? Sefton? Your Sefton?" Why yes, she /is/ quite surprised. "But... what happened to Jerion? You didn't know about this? He didn't tell you?" She's clearly quite shocked, and in no way relieved by the fact that her friend looks no less surprised.
Derien, for his part, has already found a place at the edges of the room where he can avoid the rest of the high muckety mucks while keeping a close eye on his daughter, looking somewhat dismayed at the realization that she is indeed all grown up. Nevermind Headmasters and marriages, shardit! His little girl has cleavage!
Kazimir turns away as Sefton gracefully flees through the press, no more eager than he to exchange more pleasantries. For now. Once his back is presented to the principals in the crowd, his expression falls into something more pensive-- slack of lip, eyes downcast, withdrawn into his own extensive cogitations. In this manner he shuffles off to find himself something to eat.
Sefton is no doubt aware of the glances coming thick and fast from all sides -- his gait is slow and unconcerned, and his grin easy as he comes up behind Bailie, a hand going to her waist. "Good evening, Ginella," he greets his student over Bailie's shoulder, pausing to offer a nod to a passing crowd who would congratulate him. One hand tightens at his betrothed's waist, and he leans down to speak in her ear, although no doubt Ginella will hear. "Smile, pet, do your best to look pleased. We'll discuss it later, mmm?"
Well, if the Mastersmith is keeping an eye on his daughter, he probably won't be pleased to see her watching some young healer man's face so intently. "Of... of course," Penny says faintly, taking a long, slow drink from her new glass of wine. Now that the news has had some time to sink in, she glances back at Sefton thoughtfully for a brief moment. "It's not a question of his competence," she murmurs, but she sounds a little less sure of herself. "Never mind. How are you enjoying the party?" A rapidfire change of subjects, but Penny seems determined to make pleasant conversation.
And what does Lord Mitali think of all of this? Boll's Lord looks very much like his nephew -- or perhaps it would be more correct to say that his nephew resembles him. At any rate, Mitali is keeping company with a Master Vinter, comparing vintages with all the unconcern of one who is entirely unsurprised by this most recent announcement. After all, he has already given his nephew to Berrigan -- if Berrigan must now share him with the Caucus, what of it?
Bailie leans back gently into Sefton as he takes her waist, returning just a nod for Ginella for the moment. Another deep breath sees her composure regained, and she manages a smile that's pretty if lacking enthusiasm. "I /am/ pleased," she reassures her husband-to-be, who's currently also her leaning post. "Nothing at all, Gin, though it's the way politicking men work, don't you know. I'm glad you got here, though."
Agreeably, Diya leaves well away from the news, instead slanting a very dry look for the younger man. "You might ask your mother out on the floor. How dashing would that be, leaving all the hold girls' hearts to flutter at the gentlemanly bronzerider taking his aging mother out for the first dance of the night. But later-?" The alto trails off, her gaze fixing onto the glossy ebony hair of a girl mixed in the crowd. "There are others that will complement your youth and good looks far more than myself. Ah, see, G'thon, now he's more to my speed." The hand at E'sere's arm drops, stretching forward towards the Weyrleader invitingly. "-You- will save a dance for me later, yes?"
"Weyrleader, sir," E'sere turns quickly, fixing the older man with a broad smile. "How are you, sir?" He glances between his two companions, quirking a brow as Diya demurs. "Perhaps I shall," he agrees. "But there will be many dances, I imagine, enough for me to spare you one, weyrwoman." Half-teasing, he offers her a mild smile, though as she looks away, his eyes follow hers curiously.
Neiran wryly presses his lips together, acknowledging Penny's change of conversation with a tacit nod. "It's...bustling," Neiran states, a small hand gesture given. "Other than my brother's alarming greeting, it has proceeded better than I had thought." Namely, that he's been mostly left to his own devices, able to sip his water and watch the webs being woven by those more skilled in politic and banter than he. "The music is pleasant," he ventures to say, nodding towards the harpers. Lips press together, hesitating a moment, before further venture is made. "The music is something I came to enjoy during my term here." With the Healer Hall practically annexed to Harper, music was as plentiful as the wine is tonight. "This is...somewhat nostalgic." Likely left feeling a little uncomfortable with that moment of unusual openness, his next words follow a little too quickly on the heels of his last. "And you?"
Lexine eventually frees herself from the dignitaries once more, pausing to get a refill on her glass and take a moment to scan the crowd in silence.
"-I- will save a dance for you now, Diya; and if you choose not to take me up on it until later, I will somehow content myself." G'thon's silvered brows slink up, his hand going out to provide a perch for the weyrwoman's fingertips, curving beneath and lifting them the slightest bit. He inclines his head to her; even bends a bit at the waist, like a lad courting, then turns to E'sere to answer him as well. "Well, E'sere. Very well. It is good to enjoy a celebration of something as touching as an impending marriage." As if he's completely missed the Grand Conclave's representatives crashing of the party. Back to Diya, then, with a little bit more smile, high on the right side and low on the left: "I am at your convenience, then." And he releases her hand.
Derien is soon finished with his drink, not to mention watching men hover around his baby girl. Heaving a tired sigh, the Mastersmith steps away from the wall to shuffle his way towards Penny, reaching out to wrap a bulky arm gently around her shoulder again. "It's time for me to start back to the Hall, nugget," he murmurs fondly, smile faint.
Ginella nods at Sefton's greeting, inclining her head politely. "Congratulations, sir," she says, watching him and Bailie, and frowning a little at the whisper overheard. "I see," she replies to Bailie, nodding again before smiling faintly. "I'll leave you two to chat, shall I? The drinks are... which way?"
Saramia winds up with some cider, which is made short work of, leaving her with an empty glass she's not quite sure what to do with. After a moment's hesitation, she sets it down on the nearest convenient table space and then slips out for a breath of fresh air.
Penny glances towards the harpers as well, expression still somewhat troubled. "It is very pleasant... I almost envy you living here at one point. It's an odd thing, having music constantly at the back of one's mind." She sighs, setting her glass down on the table and smoothing the skirt of her dress a little. "I suppose I'd have to say I've had a surprisingly good time, too. Being told repeatedly how pretty you look, even if it's polite formality, can never be unpleasant." She turns as her father approaches, her face falling. "So soon?" And this is genuine -- despite her earlier embarrassment, she seems utterly crestfallen that the Mastersmith is leaving. "You can't stay even a little longer?" The slight curve of her lip might be called a pout, by a critical observer. "You used to have the time to spin me all around the dance floor at gathers when I was little."
Diya nods indulgently at the younger of the two men, "Perhaps." She makes no promises, except in the echoes of a sultry smile to her lips that's quickly followed by a teasing wink. "You'll find her interesting," she allows, the familiar figure, to G'thon at least, of her daughter once again training her amber eyes on the woman and her companions. "Mataiya. She's your type of girl." Whatever that maybe, and with apology in her eyes for E'sere (for retreating away from the fast approaching figure of crimson and white), the hand in G'thon's tightens chastely, without fingers interlocked. "Some food, and I can give you the first dance of the night, Weyrleader."
"Indeed." How pleasant it must be, to be called pretty all the time. Ahem. Neiran makes certain to give the Mastersmith the appropriately respectful nod when he sweeps in unexpectedly to bid his nugget adieu, though he's careful to say nothing. Caution, on his part, from the worry that the once purple-faced man might find occasion to take any too-eager greeting as an attempt to butter him up to get at his daughter.
"Aye, and you're not so little now, are you?" Derien asks with a low rumble of a chuckle, reaching up to chuck a crooked finger gently under Penny's chin. "I'm sure you can find someone more interesting to dance with than your fat old father. Just so long as he knows to keep his hands where they belong," he winks, a measure of pride growing in his features. It's matched, of course, by the look of gentle warning he gives Neiran.
"Thank you, Weyrwoman," replies G'thon with another courting nod of his head, and is then away with Diya to the dance floor.
It can be seen from the floor that Lord Berrigan and his Lady are already retreating, Kaile ushering her husband up the stairs to his office to prevent his inebriated self from exploding and ruining the party she worked so hard on. The Harpers play on, a sign that the party will continue for a good many hours to come - at least until the whiskey, wine and water run out. Most dignitaries spend the rest of the night discussing things of no consequence; some minor Holders in a heated dispute over last Turn's tithing count are ejected, but for the most part the party is every bit the success it's hostess had hoped.
E'sere, with a small smile, watches the interaction between Diya and G'thon, stepping away from the weyrwoman. "Please, don't let me keep you, then," he tells the weyrwoman. "Mataiya, hmm? I'd wondered if you'd ever let me meet her." And to the Weyrleader: "Indeed, sir, it is. I'm glad to see Lady Bailie and our new Headmaster so happy. But excuse me." As the pair move to the dance floor, the wingleader lingers behind a moment longer, then sets off through the crowd, freed again.
The Mastersmith's response seems to shock Penny -- the hurt, or surprise, or whatever it is is gone very quickly, though, and she stands on her toes long enough to wrap her arms around her father's neck briefly. "Good night, then, father," she says, releasing him and straightening with a smile. "My love to everyone back home; perhaps I can find someone to bring me down for a visit again some time soon." With that, she steps back again, all cheer and goodwill again.
Neiran blinks, looking docile and unthreatening out of sheer chance, and a dash of stupefaction. Although he was given a look of warning, could not Derien's words be interpreted as an invitation of sorts? "Good evening, Mastersmith," he murmurs deferentially, content to sip his water and watch the man make his departure, careful not to look directly at Penny for the moment. Not only due to the risk of taking in cleavage, but also to spare her some dignity for her emotional moment.
For a moment, the Mastersmith stands there uncertain, rubbing a hand at the back of his neck as he tries his hardest to be a dignified leader of Pern. And then, out of the blue, he steps forward to fold Penny into a great big bear hug. "I'm proud of you, nugget," he mumbles, patting awkwardly at her back when he starts to untangle. "You keep up the good work, you hear me? Your mother's proud of you, too." Clearing his throat, he nods to Neiran and forces a small smile. "My girl needs a dance partner," he announces to the healer. "Go on, I want to hear about smiles next time she gets home."
Sefton and Bailie know how to play their part -- they dance, they drink, they socialise as though bred to it -- which indeed they were. And eventually they sneak away, not the first to depart, but neither the last.
At least she manages not to cry. Penny just stands there, looking a little bewildered at everything that's going on. She certainly looks like she might cry, her face reddening almost painfully and her face expressive. "Er," she manages. "Thank you..." More than that, though, she doesn't say, lest the dams break. She also doesn't look at Neiran -- one embarrassment is enough at any time.
Derien looks awkward for another moment, then pats a hand at Penny's shoulder. "Take care, nugget," he mumbles before the old man turns to shuffle quickly out before /he/ can let people see tears.
A Hold> "Of course, Mastersmith." One doesn't vocally dispute the Mastersmith's request to dance with his daughter, nor point out the fact that there'll likely be little smiling on his part. And, apparently, Penny's - spying her discomfiture, Neiran discreetly clears his throat. Wordlessly, he offers his glass of water, so she can compose herself and take as much time under the cover of quenching thirst to get on an even keel once more.
Ginella drifts away from Bailie and Sefton, across the room for a glass of wine. That in hand, she shifts back across the room, speaking briefly here and there with this one and that one, mostly those in Benden colors, or visitors from the Caucus. Penny and Neiran are spotted and given polite smiles of greeting, E'sere recieving a similar pleasant greeting as she moves his way through the crowd.
Penny takes the glass as she watches her father leave, and takes a long drink from it. Then she hands the glass back to Neiran and turns, managing a smile. "Thank you for not mentioning to him that you're not exactly here to dance with me. He's very protective." No, really? She sags a little, her earlier cheer having faded a little bit with the exhaustion of such a confrontation, and crosses her arms over her chest.
Having been caught up in conversation with an old Caucus friend from Ista, E'sere is kept busy for several minutes before he finally manages to extract himself fron the conversation and glance around to gauge the crowd again. Noting Ginella nearing, his brows arch, but he doesn't move to meet her; instead he lets her approach. And when she's close enough, he remarks, "Good evening, weyrwoman. How are you, enjoying the party?"
Neiran spares a nod for Ginella, but rapidly returns his attention to Penny, taking back the glass. "I didn't think it would be wise to say much of anything. It is the mark of a good father to be protective of his daughter. There are many men with impure intentions and silver tongues." He looks out across the dance floor momentarily, as if searching for a few examples of such vagabonds in action. His profile to the Mastersmith's daughter, he remains watching the ebb and flow of skirts, trousers, and smiling faces engaged in waltz. "Have you been invited to dance by any men tonight?"
Ginella was not heading for E'sere specifically, merely in that general direction, but she alters course towards him as she sees that the bronzerider has noticed her. "Good evening to you, Wingleader," she replies with a polite nod, "I'm afraid I arrived rather late, and with the news that's about, I've only just had a chance to really survey the party at all. It is nice to be away from homework for an evening, though, that's sure," she adds with a smile, "And you?"
At the mention of silver tongues and impure intentions, Penny's lips twitch into a more genuine smile. "Indeed. I'm sure there's any number of impure intentioned men out there, lurking in the shadows, waiting to lead me down the wrong path." She takes a long, slow breath, but it's quite steady. No danger of tears here. "No, I haven't had the time to. I only got here shortly before our hosts came down. I think my father has the universal typical parent's blindness; in his eyes, I'm sure nobody here has anything better to do than to spin me about the dance floor until dawn." Her eyes roll towards the ceiling, an expression of long-standing patience on her face.
E'sere takes the moment to glance over the faces in the crowd, perhaps seeking Sefton or Bailie; then his attention is centered back on Ginella with a small smile. "Yes, it's been quite eventful. I suppose someone filled you in on the news? Quite an honor for your instructor--perhaps he'll give you a respite from classes in light of that?" His smile is wry; he doesn't hold out much hope of that.
Bailie doesn't turn at the sound of the door; her first inkling is that it's her father, but Sefton's voice draws a pleasantly surprised smile to her lips. He is lucky, for that - the fact that Berrigan is indeed not present speaks that most likely Kaile has let him drink himself to sleep, and with a smile her first reaction, Bailie is obviously relieved about this. "Despite your hair, you cut quite a handsome figure yourself." There are remnants of her 'proper' voice here, and Bailie takes a few steps toward a waiting pitcher or klah on her hearth without turning back to look at her betrothed.
Ginella follows his gaze, but doesn't seem to find either the new Headmaster or her friend, and so turns back to the bronzerider. "I did hear, yes, and I must say, Bailie at least did not seem to have been informed beforehand. Or perhaps she was just displeased that she was not the center of attention," she adds with a faint smirk that widens as she laughs lightly and shakes her head. "I doubt it. If anything, he's likely to work us even harder now, with no one to reign him in."
"I would have thought that the men would have been upon you in droves already," Neiran murmurs, with an utter lack of levity in his voice that's almost amusing in and of itself. "You are the Mastersmith's daughter. And your dress...has already been remarked upon." His throat is momentarily exposed, chin tilted back as he drains his water, and contents himself with holding the empty glass vessel for now. He shifts slightly, brows knitting above the bridge of his slender nose. "You should find yourself a dance partner, and make some new acquaintances," he advises. Not because he believes it, but because it's the correct encouragement to make.
Penny laughs, a low, wry sort of laugh. "No, thank you," she says. "I don't think I can handle meeting new people right now." She glances back towards the entryway, though her father has long since departed. "But I understand that you need your solitude," she says, turning to eye Neiran with a smile. "I just want to get a new drink, and I'll leave you alone. It's hard to enjoy the music when you've got someone yammering in your ear all night." Her head tilts a little, her smile quirking up further at one corner. "Thank you, by the way. For the compliments. You should know that you don't look bad yourself." With that, she turns to the table, signaling one of the drudges to pour her a new glass of wine -- her third, now.
E'sere ducks his head in response to Ginella, amused. "Perhaps that's it. How terribly frustrating it must be for her," he observes mildly. "But I hope he doesn't treat you /too/ roughly," the rider adds after a moment's pause. "I'm sure he'll do a good job, and if he pushes you, it's only to have you realize your best. You look wonderful tonight, by the way."
"Thank you." This is for the woman's kind acceptance of his solitary tendencies, and his desire to hear the music. It spares Neiran the odious task of trying to politely extricate himself later, in order to slip away to his spot of discovered solitude near the harpers. The remark made before Penny turns to get a third glass doesn't meet with such an easy thanks. He blinks, bewildered and faintly surprised, and actually looks down at himself as though someone might have changed his clothing when he wasn't looking. He hardly looks any different in his mind, and that thought equates to half the oddity of his expression; the other half is simple inexperience. Compliments on his looks, even fleeting and almost obligatory ones, are not something he's heard. Looking mostly confused at the woman's verdict, he nevertheless manages to thank her. "Oh..I see. Thank you." It's an odd time to realize hunger, but he inexplicably steps to the table, to reach and gain himself a vegetable slice from an array just put down. No dip, for him, of course.
Ginella smiles a touch crookedly at E'sere and nods. "I assume that's it, of course. I'm sure the Conclave would not have simply sprung this on them out of the blue." She doesn't seem entirely serious, but moves on quickly, nodding in agreement. "I am sure he will fulfill the position admirably," she says of Sefton, "And of course his classes are always highly educational. And thank you, Wingleader, you clean up nicely yourself."
"I want to go home," Penny says quietly, surveying the dancing couples and chattering groups. Almost as if she hadn't realized she'd spoken aloud, she turns to the healer with a grin. "Enjoy the rest of the party, Neiran, if you're staying." There's only the slightest hint of a question there. "I'm going to go outside and see if there are any riders leaving for the 'Reaches." She drinks down the wine, perhaps the most telling sign of her discomfort, and replaces the empty glass on the table with a smile for the drudge. "Thanks again for your tact with my father."
E'sere quirks a brow and, predictably, runs a hand through his shaggy hair as Ginella compliments him. "Thank you, weyrwoman," he tells her, voice solemn but his eyes bright. "I even thought about a haircut for your sake," teases the bronzerider, though he obviously didn't follow through with that. "Would you honor me with a dance?"
"Any tact I've managed, I owe to the careful tutelage of my Caucus instructors." Indeed, if he was practicing /walking/ for this event, and his overall benefit, it's safe to say other lacking areas were touched upon. He looks up from the vegetable platter, to Penny. "Outside." He turns from the table, casting his eyes about. Seeing no darting blue figure about, his thin lips press together. "I might be able to aid in that endeavor. You might be able to get a ride with my...with M'eri. He doesn't appear to be within. I would like some air, in any case. There's too many mixing fragrances in here." He extends an arm, iron-grey sleeve billowing, gesturing towards the door for her to precede him.
Ginella hides a quick smile at E'sere's hand in his hair, eyes flickering upwards at the gesture. "Just for my sake?" she teases lightly, "I should hate to be the cause of such a sacrifice, though I wager your mother would thank me for it." She raises a brow at the offer of a dance, and nods. "I would, if you will please stop calling me 'Werywoman'," she requests, but with a smile, "It makes me feel old, and far too important."
Penny laughs, shaking her head a little. "Your M'eri, indeed. He's an odd one... I can see why you've never mentioned him." She raises candid eyes to meet Neiran's briefly. "Exhausting to have relations like that constantly around, I would imagine." She lifts a hand to her forehead briefly, and then flashes a wan smile. "I think fresh air would be a good idea," she agrees, heading towards the exit.
"Most certainly," agrees E'sere, as he lowers his hand and his hair falls right back down in the same position. "And that's half the reason for not going through with it--a son's purpose is to vex his mother, after all. And... Yes. You mentioned that the other night," he observes wryly, shaking his head at her correction. "A habit that's hard to suppress. Ginella." Chivalrously, he offers her an arm before starting toward the dance floor.
Ginella flicks another glance at his hair and smiles again, nodding. "Of course, and we wouldn't want you to be remiss in your duties as a son," she says, smiling again as he remembers the correction and gets it right this time. "Thank you," she says, taking his arm and following to the floor. She dances fairly well, with enough natural grace and lightness of foot to make up for a slight hesitancy most likely born of inexperience. She keeps up a steady stream of pleasant conversation so long as he seems willing to chat, as well.
With his background, it's expected for E'sere to be experienced in such social graces; and he doesn't let that down. He's a good dancer, patient with his less experienced partner. And, afterward, he keeps up a light conversation until the party, in winding down, releases a stream of guests needing conveyance back to their home districts. Then, excusing himself with a smile and a 'good night, Ginella,' he departs as well to oversee his wing's part in the departures.
-END LOG-