A Festive Occasion, Pt. I

[lemushstaff]

Who: B'ren, G'thon, E'sere, Ceriyne, Miniyal, Magaly, Jerion, Ch'dais, Valandys, Shayandra, Lexine, Ginella
Date: Day 9, Month 10, Turn 200 (Oct. 30, 2005)
Where: Living Cavern
What: New and departing members of caucus are celebrated by their host Weyr. The occasion serves as meet and greet and provides an opportunity for networking.

Living Cavern

Large enough to hold the majority of the Weyr's human population, this cavern can become loud enough to deafen thanks to the acoustics caused by its size. The ceiling is so far overhead that it's cast into shadow, a darkness that is broken only by the spark and glitter of a lucky beam of light striking the minerals found in the rock walls. Below, most of the floor is covered with an assortment of long tables and benches. There are some smaller tables, surrounded by chairs, but privacy appears to be a rare thing in this bustling cavern. Large hearths line the west wall, with fires burning day and night to warm the food and drink that keep the Weyr's inhabitants fueled. The serving tables are near the hearth, opposite the dais that holds the single table reserved for the Weyr leadership and honored guests.

This room may be +watched (+help watch).
Contents:
B'ren
Map of Ista Weyr

E'sere has arrived.

B'ren is sitting in one of the chairs with his feet propped up on another, a cloth full of ice held against a bruised jaw.

The Weyrleader's arrival is late, but draws along with it a trail of several Caucus attendees, many of them out of the crafthalls, who move almost as a unit toward the tables not yet fully loaded with the evening's provisions. "It's been a pretty low key celebration this turn," G'thon is telling one of Tillek's assistant headwomen, whose presence might betray that of other Tillek notables - but not yet has any other noteworthy member of that holding discovered that dinner's almost prepared. It's the students who tend to find out first, and flee from the mingling with hoi polloi in their effort to get to the head of the line. "No untoward events - well, not many," he affords, catching sight of B'ren from the corner of an eye.

Entering from the lower caverns, E'sere runs a hand through his damp hair and glances briefly about the living cavern, noting a few faces, notably the Weyrleader's. Drawn almost magnetically toward the man (or perhaps just his knot), the bronzerider ventures lazily in that direction, his path meandering as though he hadn't any firm goal in mind. He pauses to inquire after the health of another rider near the group, a few brief seconds of conversation before he turns to glance at the older man. "Good evening, Weyrleader," he greets G'thon. As yet, he takes no interest in B'ren, the greenrider apparently beneath E'sere's notice.

B'ren rolls his eyes a bit as he's ignored by both bronzeriders. And since a bronzerider recently punched him in the jaw, he holds a rather low opinion of that color at the moment. He gives G'thon a lazy salute before rising to his feet and going to get a meal for himself, walking around to the back side of the table so he can serve himself now rather than waiting in line. If people were smart, they'd line up on both sides. Perhaps he'll start a trend.

G'thon continues walking alongside, and conversing with, the assistant headwoman out of Tillek; he manages a tip of his head for B'ren's salute. The arrival of E'sere, tugged by that gravitational pull, causes the talk shared by the older man and his guest of proper food for mixed crowds and the doings of his mother to pause. "Ah, Wingleader," the Weyrleader notes after the slightest pause, a one-sided smile lifting his mouth. "It is, at that. You know Aysha, I'm sure." The headwoman's assistant dips her head with all the regal poise of those not born to privilege, and apparently adequately certain that E'sere doesn't know her at all, murmurs an excuse and drifts gracefully off to greet the Weyr's kitchen's master, apparently an old friend.

Ceriyne enters from the infirmary.

Ceriyne has arrived.

Indeed, it takes only a few moments for the apprentices of Caucus gathered at the table's one side to note the advantage of the greenrider on the other side - and soon, there are several in line behind him. This does not go over quite so well with the serving staff, who are now obliged to dart between the feasters to lay out new plates and serving ware - but it's a festive occasion, and no one actually complains.

"Aysha. Of course," E'sere agrees, nodding, after a subtle checking of the woman's knot. "Of Tillek. I hope the hold's well. Pass my regards on to the Family." Whether he really knows or is just bluffing is debateable, for after niceties with the departing holder, he turns back to the Weyrleader. "It is, at that. I hope it finds you well, sir? And Hirth, too, of course," he adds to the man, his eyes straying to the serving table as people line up on both sides of the table. "Mm. Bright of them," he remarks vaguely. Taking a step forward to join the line, he glances back around at G'thon. "Can I get you anything as well, sir?" he offers generously.

B'ren snorts softly into his pasta. Smart. Yeah, sure. Hungry is more like it. Taking his plate he returns to his seat, eating with one hand while the other continues to hold the ice pack against his jaw. He darts a glance to G'thon, wondering if he's heard from Lexine yet. Surely if B'ren was to be punished he would have pulled him aside by now, right? He hopes so.

G'thon lifts his chin just slightly and turns his head, a gesture suggesting stretching of a sore neck as much as it allows him to review his wingleader's natter and/or ruse from the corners of his eyes. They twinkle a little, just there, for that. "I am always well when the Weyr is well - and it never hurts for the Caucus to show off its best advantages," the older man notes, and falls into step a half-stride behind E'sere in approach of the serving table. "Thank you, Wingleader. I'll get my own - perhaps you can suggest what's best to sample tonight. I haven't had a chance to hire an informant from the kitchens yet." Apparently, if punishment is upcoming for B'ren, public humiliation is not on the menu.

Ceriyne looks tired and walks like she's carrying a great deal of weight with her as she enters. With her shoulders slumped, she massages the side of her head as she moves out of the infirmary toward the far end of the living cavern. Food is obviously sought, though her surroundings aren't paid all that much attention to. As she walks, she stifles a large yawn. Several feet and closing, she finally seems to notice the crowd at the table and it draws her to an abrupt halt. A debate rages silently, though in the end the need for food wins out. Resuming her walk toward the table, Ceriyne positions herself at the end of the line.

E'sere quirks a brow, allowing himself a slight smirk of his own as Aysha moves off. "Of course, sir. It seems like a very good group this time," he remarks, ambling forward to join the line, just behind Ceriyne. He glances briefly over the young woman from behind, then turns to peer back at G'thon. "Hmm. The mixed vegetables are excellent, sir, as is the baked herdbeast," he suggests. Despite his recommendations, however, he fills his plate with other, lighter fare when he reaches the food.

B'ren spots Ceriyne and follows her with his eyes. He gets to his feet and moves over to stand behind her in line, despite having a full plate of food already. "Do you not like me?" he asks her point-blank. He may have cut in front of E'sere, but he doesn't seem to notice. Perhaps he didn't.

"Oh, they're almost always very good groups, I'd say," the Weyrleader muses as if distracted, turning to consider the spread provided for the feast at the precise time required to allow E'sere that visual once-over of aftward Ceriyne without notice from the older man. A nod, perhaps, to the wingleader's suggestion, he takes a thin strip of the herdbeast for his plate, accenting it with white cheese and black bread and plain raw greens. "You've met some of the new ones already, I hope?" Slight suggestion taints that tone, like G'thon considers such meeting a good idea.

"Why would you even ask me that?" Ceriyne appears curious and not the least bit offended by his blunt question. She shuffles forward when the line moves, but manages to keep her attention split between the greenrider and the food she begins to pile onto her plate. "I mean, I didn't do anything to make you think that, I hope?"

E'sere retreats a hasty half-step backward as B'ren barges into place with Ceriyne, though careful to avoid bumping G'thon in turn. He fixes the greenrider with a disapproving look. "/I'm/ not particularly fond of you at the moment," he drawls to the man, shaking his head. Howeever, for all his flat words, he seems to pay the pair little mind, just so long as they don't hold up the line too long. "A few, sir, a few," he tells G'thon noncommittally. "I plan on meeting more, though; I thought it best to let them settle in a bit first. There'll be many more days for meetings."

B'ren shrugs a shoulder, "I dunno, you left kind of fast and I thought I saw you angry for a second. I just thought I'd check. I'm new here and already have a few enemies, I need as many friends as I can get," he says hopefully, with what he hopes is a winning smile. He turns to look back at the Wingleader and smirks, "Yeah? Get in line," he mutters. His tone isn't challenging or condescending, rather it's sad. "I'm not in line to get food, just to talk," he assures. So it's not really cutting.

The Weyrleader is, indeed, the place where the back-stepping stops; he seems unconcerned with the proximity of Lexine's son, and his smile even creeps a bit farther upward on the one side. But it's past E'sere, to B'ren, G'thon speaks. "If you are trampled in a stampede of hungry members of Caucus, then, greenrider, we will not be able to punish them for it." A little wry, he adds, "Despite their enthusiasm it is they and their instructors who have first rights to our tables tonight. - And you should share a table with some, if you have time, Wingleader." And the tall, gloss-headed man steps back from the fray, apparently content with what's on his plate, to allow others in at that baked herdbeast.

Ceriyne only becomes aware of E'sere's presence when he speaks, and she pauses in her food gathering to look over her shoulder toward him. The knot is noted, drawing a faint frown and a less then pleasant look leveled toward him, but she quickly looks back toward B'ren. "It wasn't you. I just had things to do and, well, the weyrwoman seemed displeased enough, I didn't think sitting around would've been the right thing to do." Food collected, Ceriyne pauses to get a drink before moving to select a seat. A quieter askance toward B'ren follows, "That isn't him, is it?" A backward nod of her head toward E'sere follows.

B'ren shakes his head at Cerinye as he heads to his seat, pulling out a chair near his for her if she wishes to join him. "No. -He-," the one they're talking about, "probably has a bruised nose." He flashes a cocky grin at the Weyrleader and waves a hand, "Of course not." He's just a greenrider. Caucus members would /never/ get in trouble for something as minor as the trampling of a greenrider. Dark humor takes hold as he sits down again. "Not all Caucus members are so bad though," he admits, giving voice to his thoughts, "I've met some really nice ones."

Miniyal enters through the tunnel that leads from the upper caverns.

Miniyal has arrived.

"It makes them more well-rounded, too, I believe, to meet their peers outside of their circle." At this point it may become unclear as to whom the Weyrleader's advice is really directed - and again B'ren distracts him, as something a little louder in that now-distant conversation causes a dimming of the tall man's eyes and a thinning of his one-sided smile. A murmur in his throat is his only musing remark on the topic, however, and he turns to head for his wing's usual table instead. That table is currently dressed with cloth and wines, as most of the others are, and the dressing is signal that the Weyr's members are invited to take any seat, anywhere, to mix and mingle and enjoy - but G'thon heads for -his- table just the same, and for his chair. "Do as I say," he murmurs sotto voce to the wingleader, "and not as I do, you know."

Ceriyne hmms softly in response while following after B'ren. The offered seat is taken, with as minimal fuss as possible. "I suppose I can keep an eye out for him then, if he ever does decide to show up to get his nose looked at." Comments on trampling and caucus members are ignored, if only for the fact that they're not truly directed her way, at least not until B'ren's last statement reaches her. With a sideways look toward him, she muses, "A collection of all sorts, isn't it?"

It is only poor luck that sends Miniyal on her way into the living cavern just as a much taller, in a hurry, individual is on her way out. The collision would have been a silent affair, the former records keeper not carrying anything, but the woman ran into squawks about her shoes and that sends Miniyal into a stuttering apology. She is very quiet about it, but those close by will notice the incident and the way the red-faced pudgy woman sidles by the glaring woman and keeps her head down as she follows the wall around the room, seeming to be doing her best to not hit anyone else. Or run into a table. Judging by the way some people watch her warily it seems as if that is not an unexpected event.

E'sere nods slowly to G'thon, adopting a slight smirk at the Weyrleader's words. "Yes, sir," he agrees; and despite his words to the contrary, he seems more intent on tailing the Weyrleader than venturing toward a few of the new Caucus members. "It's what they're here for, after all. It would be quite a waste if they didn't," he adds to the older man, stepping over to the table with him. Before seating himself, he skims the living cavern vaguely, though eyes rest just a second longer on B'ren and Ceriyne before sliding away, across Miniyal and her victim and finally back to G'thon. The young wingleader settles into a seat nearby, a nod his answer to the Weyrleader's aside. "Yes, sir," he agrees.

B'ren nods thoughtfully at Ceriyne as he begins to twirl his pasta onto his fork. "Indeed. I've met some rather charming folks. And some folks I want to avoid for the rest of my life. Nice ones, and arrogant ones. All sorts, yes." Not the diplomatically minded, he doesn't seem to notice or care that the very members he's generalizing about are all around the cavern at the moment. At the commotion he looks up, and spying Miniyal his face bursts into a smile and his eyes dart for the map that's fastened on the wall. Then he leans forward to whisper to Ceriyne, "That's her, the one I stood up for. She hates me."

Magaly enters from the bowl outside.

Magaly has arrived.

The living cavern in any Weyr is always easy to find. It's that really large spot with a constant hearth simmering a pot of something and the almost as constant din of noise. Magaly ambles inward, flight jacket still tightly clasped to her person and gloves not yet removed. "Sharding colder than I like it, already," is the thought she mutters out loud.

Heading along the wall as is, it is only a matter of time until Miniyal comes upon the map. Perhaps she has not seen it before, but that implies she avoids the living cavern. Judging by the way she keeps her head down and tries to move quietly and unnoticed that might be the case. The map, however. The map gets her attention. She doesn't hear her so-called defender speak up. Much too busy with cocking her head from the left to the right as a frown forms. Peering closer at it she then begins to snicker, it's not a pretty snicker either. More like high pitched and almost nasally, no girlish giggles from her.

Ceriyne eats as she listens to B'ren, though the lean toward her finds her pulling away quickly, with just a moderate amount of surprise upon her features. Unable to cover for it, she does attempt to keep her embarassment minimal. "Miniyal, right?" Asked quietly while Ceriyne watches the woman's progress with close scrutiny, "Well, like I said...there's all sorts around here now. Not everyone's going to like you." Habitually, G'thon and E'sere's positions are checked, "Who are they? I mean, I know who he is-" G'thon is motioned discretely toward, "The other one though?"

So there they are, then, the Weyrleader in his chair and E'sere nearby, neither of them following the older man's wise, wise advice. And that seems to suit him just fine in the end; he reigns at the table's head with casual indifference to the finery with which the tables are dressed and cuts bits of herdbeast to accompany the season's first tender winter squash on tines of a fork. "Is it, you think?" An aside to the Wingleader, the question is dryly put. His eyes take in arrivals both gracious and less so - the latter including Miniyal's misstep and Magaly's curse. The latter earns a crooked brow.

B'ren looks back over his shoulder, "E'sere," he says, "Bronzerider and wingleader. I wonder if I'll be in his wing." Miniyal's snickers are heard and he grins, "Excellent," he murmurs to Ceriyne, "I drew that map - long story - I'm glad she's amused by it. And listen to that laugh! My gosh, like a dying wherry."

As the general noise of so many people talking begins to materialize into individual conversations, Magaly allows the snippets heard here and there to wash over. There are more important things to attend than the current gossip, as of yet. "Something hot, and preferrably alcoholic?" she asks a passerby on their way out. A finger points to the obvious assortments on yon serving tables. "Thanks, chap," the gloves, now slipped off, are snapped in friendly-like manner against the fellow's shoulder. It earns Magaly's retreating back a quizzical look, but she's off and away for that something hot-and-alcoholic. As she goes, a surreptitious glance rounds the nearby tables and a bobbing nod greets those that meet her eye.

E'sere arches his brows, pausing in his dinner to study G'thon. "You think otherwise, sir?" he counters after a moment. He busies himself cutting small pieces from his meat for a few seconds, before continuing without glancing up. "Is it not to let the best and brightest of Pern's young leaders meet and share experiences while learning from the older and wiser?" he asks, sounding like a textbook's definition of the Caucus. He flashes a wry smirk at his dinner companion. "Perhaps I'm mistaken. I certainly didn't have anything to do with it's creation--that was Mother's domain."

"Yeah, I got the bronzerider part." Ceriyne remarks dryly. Looking back toward B'ren, she asks, "Do you want to be in his wing? I mean, I know you guys really don't get a choice, but... if you did, would his be it?" The later of B'ren's statement once more gains a small smile and shake of her head, "At least you have a good sense of humor."

Miniyal is more than amused and she continues to snicker, one hand finally clapped over her mouth in an attempt to stifle the less than pleasing noise. When that mostly works, amusement partially stifled she turns around, eyes searching the room without managing to quite look at anyone. Instead she just lets her attention pass over forms until they find a figure that is almost recognizable. When she finds this she focuses more and then heads towards B'ren, a determined look in her eyes and on her way she manages to run into a few tables, mumbling embarrassed apologies.

Jerion enters through the tunnel that leads from the upper caverns.

Jerion has arrived.

The mention of alcohol has B'ren looking around, and he tips a hand to his forehead towards Magaly with a grin. He looks back to Ceriyne and shrugs, "I don't know. Haven't heard anything good or bad about him as far as wingleading goes. I want to be in a wing where the leader keeps us alive in Threadfall." He gives a jaunty wave to Miniyal as she approaches. "So what do you think?"

Another low museful noise in the Weyrleader's throat, an entree to his reply. "They're young people, E'sere." He sets down what will only be his third bite of his meal, resting the fork against the edge of the plate with the handle on the table, overturned. For this remark, containing the wingleader's name, he lowers his voice considerably, but it's the light in those crinkle-rimmed eyes that conveys the real tone in his perfectly level speech. "Surely they have their own personal motivations." Then he's taking the fork up anew, only to add, "You should visit with them," before closing his mouth around that morsel.

Magaly returns the casual salute B'ren throws her way in kind. Upon arrival at the mulled wine, she finds a mug fit for a Lord and fills it to the brim. Quick, mincing sips bring it down to allow room for a small refill and then Magaly's on the road to satisfaction. /Now/ she can socialize. Tucking her gloves in the links of her gold belt, the plain-faced woman slowly meanders towards the larger of the groups gathered. Without a word, though she nods to B'ren and his tablemates again, Magaly takes a seat and cocks a foot on the edge of the table. Pushing back to rest her chair on two legs, she flicks her interested gaze to each face in turn.

"No doubt." Ceriyne responds as she glances toward Miniyal. More food is taken in in the lapse that follows, though long before she's able to finish the full meal, a small boy steps up to her side and tugs on her sleeve. Ceriyne stops to look toward him, and bends closer to recieve the whisper that follows. With a soft sigh, she stands and moves with him toward the infirmary entrance without so much as a wave to B'ren or those at their table.

"What do I think?" Miniyal repeats, her tone filled with all sorts of things, the most obvious amusement and annoyance. "It's terrible! It looks nothing at all like it should. The lines are hideous. Do you even know how to set a pen to a hide?" Shaking her head she stomps her foot. "It's not at all done properly and it looks terrible. How could you put something like that up? It's incorrect!" She's full on into explaining the problems with the map and doesn't really notice arrivals and departures with more than a quick glance.

Ceriyne moves into the infirmary.

Ceriyne has left.

B'ren dips his head with a smile for Magaly, eyes taking in her knot. "Evening, Weyrwoman. High Reaches Weyr's duties. You're welcome to join this table, but we're the lower cavern workers and less important dragonriders." He grins and nods towards where G'thon and E'sere sit, "They're our Weyrleader and a Wingleader. Bronzeriders and perhaps more aligned to your taste in company?" He's not being rude, just assuming she's lost and sat at the wrong table by mistake. "Tell me though, how is the wine? I've yet to try it." He turns to regard Miniyal with a grin, "But it's a map, isn't it? Someone looking at it knows how to get around, right? And it's already done. I'd say it's more effective than the one you've got in your possession, which no doubt doesn't even have the bowl outline finished." His eyes twinkle at the merry banter.

A soft clacking noise presages a now-familiar form to the High Reaches living cavern. Jerion is moving slowly this day, using his cane as a staff isn't really good for maneuvering quite so well indoors. Tap, tap, tap. The aging headmaster looks around as the smell of food and the sound of chatter assault his senses. With a slight smile of fondness for one of the two, he moves amongst the tables, nodding when greeting, pausing to give a minor pleasantry hither and yonder, a whole half-bow of courtesy when he spies a certain Magaly somewhere he wouldn't have ordinarily have expected it, before stopping near the Weyrleader's table. "Weyrleader, wingleader," he greets politely, his smile not quite bland, merely acknowledging the other two's presence and their ranks in the expected formal way. "Edible today?" he asks, his hand flickering very briefly at the meals in front of those at the Weyrleader's table, the tone in the harper's voice either very arch, or he's teasing someone somewhere.

Seated with G'thon at the Weyrleader's table, E'sere is paying no mind to the various conversations circulating around other nearby tables, instead focusing his attention on the other man. "That's hardly exclusive to the young, sir," he points out with a shrug that dulls the edge in his words. "But, if you insist, I'd be happy to. I'll leave you in peace. Good evening, sir. Master, I was just on my way out, actually, if you'll excuse me." Bidding the Weyrleader and Jerion good-bye, the wingleader finishes picking over his food, having hardly touched it, and passes the plate off to a kitchens worker. Then, he rises, inclines his head to G'thon, and ventures across the cavern, toward B'ren's table. "Now, now. Don't slight yourself. You're all important to us, of course," he tells the greenrider with a smirk, arriving in time to catch a few of his words. "I wanted to apologize for my... brusqueness, earlier. Hunger makes a man snappish," he adds.

Miniyal folds her arms over her chest and glares more at B'ren. "I will have you know," she informs him imperiously, "My map is three quarters of the way done. And it is -accurate-. Which is what is in important. People need to be able to look at a map and know exactly what they are seeing. Not just. . .just what you think it should look like. I saw three errors on it. The lines are too thick. One side curves improperly. There's a half inch too much on the south side." Shaking her head she looks over at the map hanging on the wall. "People would not be able to judge correctly if what they are seeing is correct. A proper map takes time."

Magaly glances towards the hotly contested map for later reference, it's vaguely in the direction of E'sere and G'thon's noted presence. Lest they think her wary, studying gaze rude, she lofts the mug and warms her lips into a smile for salute. "Ah, I think I recognize them vaguely, I'll remember to thank them for providing the good wine." Mag admits to B'ren with a dry tone. Instead of deterring the man from his debate or the newly arrived bronzerider's apology, she merely slips the quiet rebuttal in: "I could count more Weyrwomen who were dredged up from the lower caverns of their own Weyr than I could of those nobly born." A wink, and she's back to nursing the mulled wine.

B'ren turns and smiles up at E'sere, extending a hand to the man, "Not to worry," he says with a grin, "hunger does that to the best of us." He then looks at Miniyal, his brows lifted and an expression of 'are you serious?' on his face. "It's accurate," he assures, "I was born and raised there remember." He turns then and grins at Magaly, "Welcome to the Table, then, ma'am." Clearly pleased with her view of things in general. He returns her wink.

"Hardly indeed," murmurs G'thon, but the words are meant for himself, as if some sense of satisfaction has been derived from succeeding in inspiring that dull tone and that sharp mood from his Weyrwoman's son. He closes his mouth around another bite of his meal at exactly the right moment to use it, with smiling eyes and a welcoming gesture, as excuse to allow the wingleader to make his excuse and escape before conversation with Jerion truly begins - then the Weyrleader swallows, and rises even, putting his one-sided smile very wide indeed for the headmaster's appearance. "My opinion of what's edible is far from the refinement of a harper's palate, Jerion. Still, I'm sure there's something there meant for you. It's practically your celebration, after all." Tease for tat, and G'thon comes around the side of the table, abandoning his seat in apparent gladness for the other man's arrival.

Jerion swivels his gaze around the living cavern with a keen eye. "You would be surprised what a harper's palate might be suited for, my dear Weyrleader," the headmaster answers with a slight nearly-genuine smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "And aside from the graduation, why on Pern would any of this be for me, hmm? It should be for those who excelled so. I merely encouraged them," he adds in a genuine-sounding humble tone. "I simply hope they will occasionally remember their time here and put their lessons to good use for the benefit of us all."

E'sere offers his own hand to B'ren, his apology accepted. "Indeed, it does," he agrees, before glancing briefly at the map that's such a source of contention. Perhaps wisely, he doesn't add his own comments, instead focusing an appraising look on Magaly. "Weyrwoman," he greets her politely, tilting his head. "Don't let me interrupt your dinners or your conversation." Though, despite his words, he seems in no hurry to run off, instead loitering just next to them.

Ch'dais enters from the bowl outside.

Ch'dais has arrived.

Valandys enters from the bowl outside.

Valandys has arrived.

"You don't even have a proper scale. How can people tell the distance of things?" Miniyal demands, another stomp of her foot. "It's wrong. I'm telling you right now that if you don't remove it there will be trouble. It is entirely incorrect. I saw three errors just by a glance." A shake of her head and she tilts her chin up, "I cannot believe you would be proud of that. . .thing."

"I do doubt that very much," G'thon remarks, but again he's come to the point where he speaks more to himself than to those around him, even the headmaster to whom the comment should properly be directed. But the hazel eyes sparkle and the one-end-up smile does not falter, and after a moment of gazing about much as Jerion does, just basking in the fullness of the cavern and the mood of the gathering - or something like that, given the mood isn't entirely baskable - the Weyrleader turns again to the other man and murmurs, "Do excuse me." That's all; he nods again to B'ren as he passes that table on his way toward the stairs.

G'thon heads up the long tunnel that leads to the upper caverns.

G'thon has left.

Jerion inclines his head in farewell to the Weyrleader as the other departs and with a soft clacking noise on the stone floor, he makes his way to the knot of riders and such apparently involved in some kind of discussion. He remains on the outer edges of the group, merely using his height to peer over Miniyal's head almost curiously.

Magaly rocks gently on the two back legs of the chair, a bemused expression begins to form on her face as she watches the interaction between Miniyal and B'ren take a slightly serious turn. "Settle down, sugar," her raspy chuckle interjects to the plump girl. The front feet of Magaly's chair come down with a clack for emphasis and she straightens her posture authoritatively. Habit, and all. E'sere is regarded in turn, her smile still set, "Wingleader, wasn't it? I may remember you from a Gather or some such." Such things are always possible.

B'ren grins charmingly at Miniyal, "I am proud of it. If someone of a rank greater than mine tells me to take it down then I shall, of course, but until then I think it does a fine service." He glances at E'sere, wondering if such an order is going to be given. He in turn gives a wide smile to Magaly, liking her more and more.

Head snapping over towards Magaly when she speaks, Miniyal blinks and stares at the other woman as if she has, perhaps, grown a second head. "Excuse me?" she asks with a frown still on her lips. "It's. . .wrong. Incorrect. Don't you understand how bad that is? You can't have incorrect maps any more than you can have incorrect records and sums. It's a falsehood. It's encouraging people to believe what is not true!" She stares, amazed, that someone would not see this. At B'ren's words she hmphs quietly. "I see. Then I will have a word with weyrwoman Diya about your inaccuracies. If you take so little pride in your work. Not that it surprises me."

Ch'dais sweeps in amid the scattering of locals coming and going from the bowl, unremarkable save for the young woman he leads on one arm-- a stranger, and by the look of her hailing from nowhere near this frigid clime. "If you happen to find a jug of juice, Valandys, then you're welcome to it." The burly rider's tone makes clear that it won't be very likely. Himself, he's headed for the hearths; he doesn't so much surrender his grip on the maid as loosen it, giving her the option to wander as she will without insisting upon it.

At that glance from B'ren, E'sere only shrugs. "It's the best we have right now," he remarks. "Until we have a better one, I suppose we'll just have to leave it where it is. But I'm sure the weyrwoman would be /most/ happy to give you a higher ruling." His voice is dry and faintly sarcastic. And that's all he's going to say on the subject, for he turns back to Magaly and seats himself at the table, all pretensions of exiting abandoned. "A gather, perhaps," he agrees. "But yes, that's right. Wingleader E'sere. How are you settling in--well, I hope?"

Jerion rocks back on his heels after a few moments of silence, listening to each person give their opinions on the subject of a map. "Who would be using this map, and for what exact purpose?" he asks thoughtfully, interjecting the question into a smooth lull of the conversation. "If it might be possibly used for between visualizations, or for Threadfall shelters, or any safety-related issue, then it must of course be as accurate as possible. If it's merely to decorate the necessary, then its accuracy is... less important." His voice is mild as he speaks, looking to the apparent creator of the map for an answer to his question.

But Valandys continues along at Ch'dais' side. In an unfamiliar place, his is the only face she knows and though she appears outwardly calm, there is a tightness about her eyes and mouth that hint at discomfort. She engages her hands in pulling her gloves off, a finger at a time, and in the unfastening of the heavy but very old riding jacket wrapped around her frame. "I suppose I should cultivate a klah habit. My mother says it stains the teeth, makes the breath stink though." Such pleasant conversation. She falls silent, ear cocked to those that they pass on the way to the hearth's welcome heat. "...they speak differently here. You as well," she tells the bronzerider at her side, quietly.

Shayandra enters from the bowl outside.

Shayandra has arrived.

The dangerous look that flashes in Magaly's brown eyes, albeit very briefly, suggests Miniyal's tone had better be moderate when directed towards this weyrwoman... be she foreign or native, it matters not. Pride is apparent in Magaly's carriage. But, it's never a good idea to start off offending the residents of one's new, if temporary, home and moreover it's a /terrible/ idea to preempt another's authority. It is with a measured tone that she comments, finality in her voice, to Miniyal, "A suggestion may find an easier way than a demand." Then, the weyrwoman turns to more pleasant conversation: E'sere's. "Magaly," she offers her name, and smiles thinly, "I arrived the night before, but I've already had to run back and forth for the things I keep forgetting to remember."

B'ren chuckles at Miniyal, "Trust me, Miya and I are far better at flaming than we are at drawing maps. You asked for my help," he nods at the map with a smile, "There it is." He smirks at E'sere, catching the dryness in tone and nods. Jerion's question is replied to, "Not visualizing for between, sir. No, it's for anyone going to Ista to know where to go once they get there. 'Where's the Living Cavern' and all that." He gets to his feet, "More wine?" he offers Magaly, "Anyone need anything?" he offers the table in general.

"Maps are a valuable resource. To hang it up here infers that it is considered to be accurate. And it is -not-." Miniyal points towards the map, expression changing from annoyed to sad. "Don't you understand? What if. . .what if someone. It's wrong." A stomp of her foot again and she wipes her sleeve across her nose as she lets out a sniffle. "You can't go showing people stuff that is not correct. It's -lying- to people, it is." Someone with a bit more charisma to them might have fared better, but as Miniyal suddenly realises she's turned into a brief center of attention she ducks her head and mumbles something. The mumble could be anything, one thing it is for sure is her farewell because the doesn't lift her head, just turns, nearly tripping over her feet, and hurries off back the way she came.

Lexine enters from the bowl outside.

Lexine has arrived.

Ch'dais leans in to fetch one of the kettles hanging over the hearth-fire. "It may, at that," he opines, after a moment's consideration. "Fortunately, I can't rightly recall what my teeth looked like before the klah." He flashes his charge the briefest of smiles-- embrowned or otherwise-- then decants a steaming mug of the stuff for himself on a nearby table. "And you'll get used to us, in time. No gift for phrases, but we mean well. Usually." His grey-green eyes go to the maid once more, questioning now, as the kettle's spout hovers above a second mug.

"No, thank you," E'sere declines B'ren's offer, very polite toward the greenrider now. He offers him a brief smile as well, then glances again to Magaly. "Unfortunate, that," he agrees with a nod. "But if it's minor things, I'm sure our storerooms here can supply you, unless you just /want/ to ferry back and forth. Though, perhaps you prefer your own things?" He tilts his head slightly, eyes cutting toward Miniyal as she flees. His expression remains distinctly uninterested in her worries over the accuracy of the map, however.

Only usually? Valandys' gaze drifts to the young woman who's hurrying to exit, the tone of Miniyal's parting words easy enough to make out though she's too far and the cavern too crowded to make out just what was said. Her eyes go even darker as thick black brows draw down over them. Indeed. "Hmm? Oh... thank you, bronzerider." She pulls her focus back to him, forcing her mouth into something that better resembles a sociable smile. "The heat is welcome, at least." While waiting for him to pour, and the mug to be handed over, she shrugs out of the riding jacket and drapes it over one braceleted forearm. "After... do you know if I am meant to register with anyone?"

Lexine sweeps into the caverns with her usual aplomb, practically a force of nature as the crowds make way in her path. Politely, she greets many with easy smiles and gracious nods, stopping regularly on her path to grant personal attention to those arriving or departing from the Caucus. It means it takes her quite some time to get anywhere, but she seems content to make small talk rather than get where she was going, for today at least.

Jerion steps aside to allow Miniyal to flee without interference, being so kind as to ensure his cane is not in the way either. His gaze takes in some late arrivals, and he directs the usual formal respectful nod-thingy to folks like Ch'dais. "I've been to Ista many a time," he remarks as he looks at the map once more. "And when it comes to the core concept of 'this is where things are', this is eminently suitable. It is merely wise to ensure that it is /not/ used for between exercises, and there is no fuss over it," he concludes equably. His eyes once more falls on Ch'dais... or rather the person with him. However, he's far too old and wily to be caught staring once he figures out whom the other is. However, his attention is immediately diverted by the whirlwind named Lexine, and something of a fond smile creases his lips.

Magaly is quick to hand her depleted mug over to B'ren's capable hands. "Oh yes, much appreciated--and you ought to try a mug yourself, the spices are blended just so." With the heat of the map debacle over, Miniyal (though she's now to far gone to see it) is given a considerate look that borders the line of confusion. Such a silly thing to argue over; tourist maps. Momentarily distracted, her brown eyes take in Jerion at last and she offers the man a smile as well as a belated and murmured greeting. New arrivals in the form of Ch'dais and Valandys are briefly studied for signs of familiarity before E'sere once again receives her attention. "Small, personal effects," Magaly grins, "As well as last minute details to finalize, professionally speaking. So long as I can weather that absolute cold of *between*, frivolous trips don't seem so wasteful."

B'ren watches Miniyal leave with a shake of his head as he pours himself and Magaly some mulled wine. "It's not inaccurate," he murmurs. "You land and face north, living caverns are a bit behind and to your right. Ahead is the hatching grounds...it's accurate." Finished with talking to himself - or his green - he gently rubs at his bruised jaw. He nods to Jerion with a bit of a smile for the man, in thanks for seconding the map's accuracy. It couldn't be used for between anyway, it's just a two dimensional line drawing, nothing special. He returns to the table and graciously sets Magaly's mug down before he resumes his seat, silent for the moment.

Miniyal heads up the long tunnel that leads to the upper caverns.

Miniyal has left.

Shayandra waits for a general lull of conversation in the room before entering, but just misses it and doesn't actually make into the large cavern before the noise level rises again. She sighs to herself, then begins scanning the area, putting a pretty smile on her face. Finally, a destination is chosen as she makes a beeline for a familiar face. "B'ren," she purrs. "Fancy meeting you here. Why don't you introduce me to these nice folk?" she says upon reaching the area with the greenrider. While everyone within reasonable distance gets a glance, Ch'dais and E'sere get longer, more calculating looks.

Ch'dais lowers his head over the second mug and pours, his braids swaying gently above the coarse wood of the tabletop; it's either a minor miracle or an effect of long practice that the maid receives her klah unadorned. "Mm. You'll want to speak to the Headmaster, I expect." His glance shifts briefly to the man in question, then passes on. "And when you've settled, it may do you a turn to pay your respects to the Weyrwoman." A nod of the head goes in Lexine's direction, this time. The big man straightens, takes up his own klah-mug in one gloved hand.

Lexine slowly makes her way through the cavern until she reaches Ch'dais and Valandys at the hearth, a brief, wistful glance given the klah cavern before the focuses on the young woman. New face, Caucus. "Ch'dais," she greets with a small, warm smile, tirelessly maintaining her courtesy. "I see you've taken to helping us with our new arrivals; I do appreciate it." She turns her smile on Valandys next, tilting her head slightly. "Ah. Let me think a moment..." she says, raising one finger. "Your must be Valandys, from Igen?"

"Ah, I see," notes E'sere with a nod. "No, I suppose it's best to make the trips, in that case. Really, it's not too bad--not like you're a holder, begging for a ride back, after all." He shrugs mildly, glancing away from her. The crowd surrounding Lexine gets a brief look, though E'sere doesn't worry long about her as she moves off to talk to the various new Caucus members. Instead, E'sere flicks his gaze to the latest to join the table, offering Shayandra a smile. "Good evening, weyrwoman," he greets her as well.

Jerion looks at the Ista goldrider approaching, and he gives the other a long look of no particular emotion aside from the formal nod. "Weyrwoman," he acknowledges with the polite smile he's expected to give. "Excuse me." Slipping away, he moves carefully toward Lexine and her new party, folding his hands over his cane. "Welcome," he greets Valandys with the exact sort of tone appropriate for her rank.

Valandys' eyes follow the gentle back and forth of the bronzerider's braids, caught somewhere between fascination and concern. She does a masterful job of hiding her relief when the mug finds its way into her hands without being touched by those bristly ends. "Thank you. I suppose that would be a good idea," she says, acknowledging Ch'dais' sound advice with a nod- a nod that leaves her facing the woman in question as she turns while finishing it. She recovers admirably, blinking only once before giving her the same glazed doll's smile she'd offered her escort. "Yes, Weyrwoman. It is an honor, and a privilege to meet you... Ch'dais has been most kind to stay with me, he- ah, thank you, Headmaster."

Magaly nods in polite agreement with E'sere's observation. "Chelinth loves to travel, too," she adds, referencing her lifemate. Sitting back, she drinks deeply of her mulled wine, thanking B'ren with a heavy sigh of satisfaction. As the flow of conversation wans from Magaly's immediate direction, she takes the moment to survey the living caverns more carefully. Of course, she recognizes Lexine--the politics of leadership make any goldrider aware of each Weyr's Senior and junior members. For that matter, Magaly's travelling gaze picks up on Shayandra's arrival to the table with a mote of familiarity. The smile she offers is mild, and quickly dissolved by another round of sips from the mug.

B'ren blinks in mild surprise when he sees Shayandra, "Well hey there," he says with a charming smile, "You've come too, huh? But I'll bet you get to go back." He chuckles, "Well, this is Weyrwoman Magaly of Fort, lover of hot-and-alcoholic drinks and a fine woman if I may say so myself. That is the Caucus Headmaster Jerion, who is growing on me I'll admit. This is Bronzerider and Wingleader E'sere, whose wing I'm hoping to be in or not be in - I have yet to decide." He grins, "That lovely creature over there is the Senior Weyrwoman Lexine, a fine and fair lady who is kind enough not to embarrass me in public, and those two I have not met yet. Everyone, if I may introduce Shayandra of Ista Weyr, rider to Gold Ovelath." Introductions over he takes a long pull of his wine.

Ch'dais offers Lexine a thin smile that would pass for decorous by firelight. "Weyrwoman. Always happy to help." Something less than entirely true, this, but at least the note is amiable. He doesn't give the goldrider a great deal of time to object, either, turning as he does to replace the kettle on its hook above the fire. The bronzerider takes a long pull from his mug, then sets it down and begins the business of removing his own gloves.

"As it is our pleasure to host the best and brightest," Lexine replies easily to Valandys, smile warm and welcoming. "I'm certain you'll do your home proud." She nods her thanks to Ch'dais, then, before turning her attention to Jerion, smile slightly more fixed. "Headmaster, how pleasant to see you. Have you spoken with the Fortian contingent? I believe I saw the Masterharper over by the wine earlier."

Shayandra, as attention begins to move towards her and B'ren introduces her, moves into a position that can be called nothing short of a pose. She tips her head just right to take advantage of the available light and lowers her eyes just enough to suggest at demureness. Magaly and Lexine get regal nods of vague familiarity, Jerion gets another look, longer this time, and then she returns her attention to E'sere, her smile widening just a bit at the bronzerider. "It's very nice to meet you weyrwomen again, and to meet you others for the first time," she says, though she continues to look at E'sere as she speaks. Then, in an aside to the greenrider that's more than a little sour compared to dulcet tones she's been using, she adds sulkily, "I'm not allowed to go back, no, not until it's time for Ovelath to rise."

E'sere adopts a bemused expression at B'ren's words. "Diplomatic of you," he remarks with a smirk. "Lovely creature. You're too flattering." He shakes his head, flicking a quick look over Lexine as she mingles. "Anyway. Yes, E'sere. I hope you're settling into the Weyr, nicely? It's really not /too/ bad, after all," he tells Shayandra, turning back and offering her a smile. Though, he doesn't linger attention on her for very long before giving Magaly another nod. "Well, that's a blessing, then--perhaps she'll enjoy staying here for a time," he suggests to her.

Magaly bursts out with a quick, dry laugh. "My, you are quite the town crier, aren't you, B'ren?" She toasts his thorough litany with a lift of her mug and cracks what is the first full-mouthed smile from her tonight. "Don't ever let a little thing like rank get you down, good sir, you are a noble beast all on your own." With that compliment delivered, the smile begins to fade back into the natural, thin set of her lips. Magaly's gaze studies Shayandra with perhaps a bit too open curiosity, though she speaks to E'sere in return through a murmur that hovers her lips over the crest of the mug of wine, "Oh, certaintly, until the heart of that frozen hell you call winter sets in."

B'ren grins at Shayandra, "Then you're just stuck with me. Again." He gives her a wink. "But this time, /I/ have my own ledge and you're stuck in the barracks." He chuckles and offers her his mug of mulled wine, "Wine?" He grins at E'sere, "I'm learning something by being around all these politicians," he quips. He then bestows a very warm and charming smile on Magaly, dipping his head in a bow, "M'lady Weyrwoman, you flatter me." Then he laughs and nods in full agreement with Magaly, "Aye! I've moved Miyamurath into my own bedroom so she can keep me warm. I'm not looking forward to snow."

The Igenite's smile grows slightly less fragile with Lexine's words, simple pleasantries though they may be. "One hopes, Weyrwoman," Valandys responds in a murmur. Recognizing the goldrider's attention being drawn away, she inclines her head to the pair of Lexine and Jerion before turning herself, back towards Ch'dais. "Did I thank you for bringing me safely?" It's a question prompted by hindsight, one that earns him the same deeper smile she'd given the weyrwoman a moment ago. "And for not shooing me away, into the festivities," she adds, gaze roving the crowds again. There is something in the way she lifts her mug of klah for a careful sip that suggests it's more shield than beverage- a blind from which she can study the weyrfolk.

"My dear Lexine," Jerion answers the Weyrwoman, "the Masterharper is /always/ by the wine." His craft secret told, he smiles, and hearing his name, he looks over his shoulder to spot B'ren. "He would not need yon B'ren's map to find it either," he adds with an amused grin. However, those who know him best will detect a slight edge to his voice when he says that. "As is traditional," he speaks, shifting topic and attention to Valandys, "you get the night to settle in, and then we'll expect you right and early in the morning to assess your strengths and weaknesses, for everyone has them, and properly begin your instruction."

"Now that I've handed you over to the Headmaster's.../tender/ care," Lexine murmurs with wry amusement. "I wish you welcome, Valandys, and luck in your studies." Gathering a mug of klah from a passing tray with unexpected grace, the weyrwoman slips easily away from the current grouping and towards her son, only the most aware likely to catch her grateful roll of her eyes as she takes a sip. "E'sere," she greets as she approaches, smile curving with a more personal warmth. "Hoarding the new arrivals again, I see."

Shayandra glances over at Magaly again when the other goldrider laughs, appraising her for a moment before returning her attention to the wingleader. "Oh, I'm settling in as well as can be supposed. Forgive me, sir, but it /is/ quite a change from Ista," she says, perhaps even putting a bit of honest emotion into her words. "I'm sure I'll find ways to...adjust, though," she continues more slyly before giving B'ren another sour look. "Just my luck, I suppose. You are very good at getting underfoot." Despite her words, she takes the offered wine, her expression turning grateful, and sips at it.

E'sere quirks a brow in response to Megaly's words, offering his own low ones in return. "All the better, then, to cuddle up with lots of blankets in your weyr," he tells her with a smirk and a shrug, before leaning back to regard B'ren and Shayandra. "Precisely," he tells the greenrider, letting the comment on politicians slide by without comment. "A very good i--Mother. I just can't help myself," he tells her, a wistful inflection in his voice. "They're all so fascinatingly new." With a shrug and a grin for Lexine, he casts a quick nod Shayandra's way. "Of course you will. And we of High Reaches will do everything we can to make your stay more pleasant, weyrwoman," he tells her.

B'ren grins at Shayandra as he rises and offers her his chair, "If you all will please excuse me, Miyamurath calls." With a bow the greenrider strides out, much bemused by something or other.

Ch'dais has his gloves off with a few strong tugs; he tosses them down on the table beside his mug. "You did not, Valandys of Igen Hold," he returns, an observation rather than a reproach. "But I'll assume that you prefer this to the alternative." Another vague smile goes the Igenite's way, and then he's working loose his broad riding belt. Of the festivities he says nothing, so far politic at least as to withold any personal opinion he might have while in the Headmaster's presence. After too long a pause, the man dredges up, "I wish you the best of luck in your studies here." It's the sort of thing one might write at the bottom of a letter.

B'ren passes into the tunnel that leads to the bowl.

B'ren has left.