A Festive Occasion, Pt. II
"I give you thanks then, Ch'dais of High Reaches. You are a very poor liar," the woman informs the bronzerider, allowing a glint of humour to show through. But then, having mistaken being handed off for a loss of attention, Valandys seems startled to find herself once more to be Jerion's focus. "Ah, my apologizes, Headmaster. I had thought that the Weyrwoman and you were otherwise engaged. Thank you, Weyrwoman." It takes another moment after that for her to run what was said back over the canvas of her memory. One night, and then an early morning. "Of course," she then continues. "I am accustomed to rising early but unfortunately, early in Igen is not the same as early in High Reaches. I will do my best not to be tardy, or tedious with my weaknesses."
"The Caucus barracks are kept stocked with Crom coal throughout the winter for warmth, thanks to an agreement made at its formation," Lexine assures Shayandra with a touch of amusement. "It wouldn't do for us to allow our tropical flowers to wilt in the chill of Reaches winters." She reaches up to try to ruffle fondly at E'sere's hair, likely expecting him to move away. "And you, my dear, try not to monopolize them. There are more than just goldriders joining us today."
Shayandra flicks her hand at B'ren in a gesture that might be a wave or simply a dismissal of something annoying, then settles down into the chair he vacated. Lexine is given a bright, if rather vacant smile. "Oh, he's just being very kind in welcoming us newcomers, Weyrwoman. And that's a relief!" she says brightly before sneaking a glance at the wingleader again. "I might just have to take you up on that," she smirks.
Jerion smiles with something of amusement. "Given the differences in time," he answers Valandys with his voice properly controlled for her rank, "you will get to sleep in a little. I suggest you use those hours to your advantage," he adds, his eyes falling on Shayandra for a few moments, and once more, his pokerface erupts. "And given the temperature difference, you'll find plenty of warm furs have been allocated. We are well used to the needs of those from hotter areas." He gestures to where the caucus areas are found off the cavern. "We're over there. I'm sure you'll quickly learn your way," he adds kindly.
E'sere, indeed, pulls away from Lexine's hand as she starts to ruffle his hair, immediately reaching up to rake his fingers through it. "Must you do that?" he whines good-naturedly. "You'll mess it all up, and I'll lose my horde of admirers." He smirks up at her for a moment before directing that expression at Shayandra. "I'd be most happy to show you around anytime I'm free, weyrwoman," he tells her, his words quite proper, even if the tone is not.
"You offend me, young miss," Ch'dais returns, in a tone that sounds not the least offended. "I happen to be a fine liar." There's a sparkle like sunlight in seawater as he watches Valandys from the corner of his eye, and then the burly figure half-turns from her conversation with the Headmaster. He frees his riding belt, drapes it casually over one shoulder. Next comes the klah mug, grasped and lifted for a longer, more luxurious sip.
Lexine smirks faintly at E'sere, almost mischievous as she lifts her mug for a sip. "I'm afraid I can't tell the difference between when you have it arranged your way and when it's been ruffled. Disadvantages of letting you be raised here, I'm afraid." Chuckling softly, she turns her attention on Shayandra. "Shayandra of Ista, I assume. I hope your Ovelath is settling in well?"
Valandys inclines her head to Jerion, the gesture rich with respect. "I will sleep soon, and well, I think. Thank you, Headmaster." The information about the furs is greeted with another version of her polite smile, as if she were reluctant to admit to a need for them. Instead a second nod is given. Silent acknowledgement, before the conversation turns to directions. "I have been fortunate in my guide so far... you have met bronzerider Ch'dais? Once I have finished my klah, perhaps I'll go exploring," she adds, looking down the beverage in question. One sip has been had, and the rest is cooling, untouched.
Shayandra lowers her eyes and flutters her eyelashes just a bit. "Oh, no, sir, I couldn't possibly take up your time like that," is what she says, though her tone sounds more like, "I'll take you up on that anytime." She looks suitably innocent when she looks up at Lexine, though, sipping at her own mug. "You honor me by recognizing me, ma'am. Ovelath is settling in just fine," she says simply, words matching tone this time.
"There's an art," E'sere notes, "to mussing it just so." He demonstrates: his 'art' seems to consist more of rubbing a hand through it, then smoothing out any pieces that stick out too much or are obviously tangled. "Much better. And--well, if you insist," he adds to Shayandra, rather blandly. "So, Mother, how has your day been? Not too stressful, I hope?" he asks of Lexine, turning back to her.
Jerion smiles rather easily. "I have met a great number of people," the headmaster answers Valandys' question cheerfully enough. "And despite his deplorable lack of manners, I trust he is a suitable escort until it's time for you to retire." And then his eyes go to Ch'dais, and there's an intent aspect to them. Or else, might be inferred, although the smile on his face successfully achieves the state of blandness. "I fear I have a veritable mound of hidework to do yet tonight, so I'll leave you to it. Clear skies, both of you." And then he tap, tap, taps away, his cane presaging his exit from the living cavern, stopping briefly for idle chatter along the way.
Lexine chuckles quietly at E'sere, shaking her head slightly. "It's been as it has this time of the turn for the last ten turns. Thankfully, it's almost finished now. Shayandra, don't let him take advantage of you," she adds to the other goldrider, smile wry.
Shayandra titters at E'sere's demonstration, sounding as there's not an ounce of brains in her skull. "You're quite the experienced musser, Wingleader," she says, rather than responding to his bland reply to her less-than-forceful protest. The Weyrwoman is giving an innocent look, and then she laughs again. "Oh, I'm sure a bronzerider wonderful enough to be wingleader wouldn't take advantage of little ol' me," she chirps brightly.
Ch'dais hunches up his shoulders, just a tad, when Valandys draws him back into the conversation; still, he turns again towards Headmaster and student with a determinedly blithe smile. "Good evening, Headmaster," he calls, gesturing a hearty farewell as the other man makes his exit. "I'll take good care of her." Then, leaning towards Valandys with a tangled fall of auburn braids and hair, he confides softly, "The man loves me. You can see it in his back."
"Thank you, Headmaster," Valandys repeats again- she clings to these pleasantries as she does to the mug of klah, another blind made of words- smiling at the older man until his back is presented. "I am certain he will be... although I hesitate to monopolize what I realize must be a rare moment of free time, bronzerider. Much as I appreciate your escort and your... ah... honest view of the world." The klah becomes useful again, used to diguise her need to bite her lower lip, to keep from chuckling at the quiet exchange. She is struggling to find a reply that doesn't encourage the man. "Perhaps I should find the caucus areas he mentioned. I don't wish to keep you from time spent with more esteemed company."
E'sere nods toward Lexine, his smile wry agreement. "Ah, of course. Quite busy right now," he agrees with her, before shaking his head. "You think so little of me," he tsks, apparently crestfallen at his mother's words. "I'm hurt, really I am. At least /you/ have faith in me still." He offers Shayandra a charming smile, relieved by her reassurance. "And thank you--it's the turns of practice, you see." Proudly, he brushes a few longer strands of his hair aside, completing his look.
Lexine just shakes her head, smile amused. "Careful, E'sere, or I'll find your foster mother and send her after you with a comb," she warns, settling for a pat on his forearm before she turns to Shayandra. "I bid you welcome, Shayandra, and wish you luck in your studies," she concludes with a warm smile, taking her drink and moving on.
Shayandra returns E'sere's charming smile with one of her own, thought with a hint of amusement visible in the set of her eyes. "Very impressive! I'm sure few have such skill," she coos. This statement is a bit much even for her, though, and just a hint of sarcasm manages to make it into her tone. Then, with Lexine's leavetaking, she manages to get control of herself again enough to give the Weyrwoman a bright, bubbly, empty-headed farewell. "Thank you very much, ma'am!"
Ch'dais smiles faintly, his stubbled beard wreathed in steam as he lifts his mug to his lips. "The esteemed company has all the esteem it can well manage, I think," he muses, casting a good-humored glance across the cavern at E'sere's table. Then more seriously, "You head on down that way--" a hand on Valandys' shoulder orients her towards the appropriate tunnel-- "and I'll join you once I've had your things off of Arinth. We'll see you to the barracks at any rate; I'd never break a promise to the Headmaster." The note of sincerity in this last is spot-on.
Valandys, who had been sincere in her remark about other company, seems bemused when the chance to escape isn't taken. "Such opportunities should not be missed," she counsels Ch'dais, following his glance at that table with her own. Perhaps it's impertinent, but the combination of growing weariness and the warmth of the cavern, after the cold of *between* and outside, softens that stiff exterior. "But I do appreciate that kindness." The near-full mug is set down, freeing her to struggle back into the heavy jacket and oversized gloves. Then she's off towards the indicated tunnel, inclining her head to those that catch her eye on the way out.
"You wouldn't!" Horror strikes E'sere, and he keeps one hand on his hair protectively. "She'd bring scissors, too--you know how she is." He relaxes, though, as Lexine pats his arm and moves away. "Good night, Mother," he tells her. As the Weyrwoman moves away, E'sere relaxes, leaning back in his chair and folding arms over his chest. He regards Shayandra with an amused half-smile, shaking his head slowly. "I'm sure," he agrees simply after a moment.
Valandys passes into the tunnel that leads to the bowl.
Valandys has left.
Lexine takes her reprieve towards the kitchen door, under the guise of making certain that everything is properly in order. In point of fact, she takes a moment to actually enjoy her klah behind the screen of drudges going in and out.
Jerion heads up the long tunnel that leads to the upper caverns.
Jerion has left.
Ch'dais takes the time to drain his mug, to let his gaze wander lazily over the evening bustle. At last, abandoning the empty vessel on the table, he takes up his gloves and heads for the nighttime chill of the bowl-- off, no doubt, to disburden Arinth of the Igen visitor's satchel.
Ch'dais passes into the tunnel that leads to the bowl.
Ch'dais has left.
Shayandra doesn't quite manage to muffle her true laugh at amusement at E'sere's horror and protectiveness over his hair, but tries to hide it by directing her attention momentarily to her cup of wine. She sips at it for a few moments, then, her composure recovered, she gives E'sere a coquettish smile. "I suppose I should leave you to your duties, busy Wingleader," she says, feigning sorrow at such a thought.
E'sere eyes Shayandra, his expression wry as she laughs at him, though there's no anger in the expression. "Perhaps you should," he begins, "but you certainly don't have to. I appreciate the company, actually." He pauses, inserting a mild shrug between his words. "And--" he adds, pausing again for effect "--and I'm free for the rest of the night, actually. My duties can wait until morning. Perhaps you need some help settling in further? Moving your things, perhaps?" He arches a questioning brow.
Still hiding herself out, Lexine slips into the kitchen when she sees Fort's Lord headed her way. Not without finishing her klah, she isn't.
Lexine makes their way into the hustle and bustle of the Weyr's kitchens.
Lexine has left.
Ginella enters from the bowl outside.
Ginella has arrived.
Shayandra's returning smile is almost a smirk, any lost confidence regained as the bronzerider starts to play the game right. She flutters her eyelashes and strives to look demure again before she answers. "Oh, sir, that is so very kind of you. If all of High Reaches is as thoughtful as you, I'm sure I'll find myself at home very soon. I do have some things I could use some help with if such a thing isn't beneath you," she purrs.
"Never let it be said that High Reaches doesn't make its guests at home," E'sere tells Shayandra. "I'd be happy to help you out, of course." Standing, he offers an arm chivalrously to the goldrider before starting to make his exit.
G'thon arrives through the long tunnel that comes from the lower caverns.
G'thon has arrived.
Shayandra nods, then takes a few moments to finish her wine before deliberately setting the mug on the table and gracefully rising. She takes the offered arm and smiles up at the bronzerider before saying, "Shall we then, sir?"
"We shall," agrees E'sere with a slight nod, heading for the door with Shayandra on his arm.
E'sere passes into the tunnel that leads to the bowl.
E'sere has left.
Shayandra and E'sere are surely not the only riders - or others - leaving by pairs as the evening winds down. The Weyrleader, by contrast, arrives as one part of a pair - with the Tillek Lord Anshuman at his side. The two men wear broad smiles: Anshuman's finely built and distinguished, G'thon's higher on one side than the other. The echo of laughter is not audible, but it clings about them tangibly, and there is a clasping of hands, all four hands mixed in one big handshake, after which the broader, shorter man collects some of his service - most notably an assistant headwoman from his Hold - by sheer power of gravity, then departs to awaiting riders who will carry them home. Once the Lord is gone, the Weyrleader shrinks very slightly in a softly relieved sigh.
Shayandra passes into the tunnel that leads to the bowl.
Shayandra has left.
Ginella enters from the bowl, brushing a bit of leaf dust out of her hair with one hand and glancing over her shoulder at an approaching bronzerider. She steps back quickly to let him in the door, and then heads over towards the hearths and serving tables, again stepping back to let the bronzerider cut in front. Small plate collected, she heads towards a seat near the door, just in time to crane her neck a bit to watch the Lord Holder and his entourage leaving.
G'thon, sombered, also heads for the serving tables - though this time, a plate doesn't come to hand. Instead, the man takes up a glass and pitcher, pouring some klah that's well past its prime. He replaces the pitcher and turns away from the table, tipping a nod to the bronzerider as he passes by, then sips thoughtfully of the klah and winces at the taste. Still narrow-eyed, he considers the dwindling crowd, the few new additions to Caucus who are apparently too anxious to sleep, the existing members milling about trying to figure out how the pecking order will change, and the remaining members of the Weyr just there to nick a good meal before the fine tablecloths get put away again. Of them all, he aims for Ginella in the end; for whatever reason.
Ginella is picking at a baked tuber with a fork, showing little discernable interest in actually eating it. She surveys the room with quick glances through her lashes, eyes flickering about too quickly to allow anyone to make eye contact easily. As the crowd continues to dwindle, she turns her attention back to her food, even taking a bite, one that distracts her from the Weyrleader's initial approach. Looking back up, she sees G'thon heading towards her, and quickly looks around to see if there are any other places he might be heading. Seeing none, she swallows a bit too quickly, and spends a moment trying to straighten her hair and clothing as discreetly as possible.
It makes G'thon smile again, the right side of his mouth way up, hazel eyes taking on a brightness. He shakes his head once, just slightly, just so, the tiniest gesture: no need, not on my account. And then, inevitably, he's close enough that speech will do, and he starts by overturning a hand in a gesture at the back of one of the table's other chairs. "Mind if I?" A pause; the sparkling eyes take her in a bit more carefully, looking for signs. None come, but he comes up with, "We'll have to get you one of the pins. Have you otherwise been settled in?" just the same.
Ginella doesn't seem the least bit comforted by G'thon's gesture, though she does give up trying to clean up and just focuses on sitting up straight and crossing her hands neatly and things like that, instead. At his gesture and question she shakes her head quickly, even before he's finished asking. "No, of course not Weyrleader, please, go right ahead, I don't mind at all, of course. And yes, all settled in, it's very nice, thank you, all set." She seems just on the verge of stammering, almost, and reddens faintly, but focuses on something else, raising a brow and asking, "Pins?"
G'thon awaits with perfect patience for the young woman to finish, his smile unshakeable - though one brow starts to inch up much as the smile does on that one side. "There's a brooch," he explains, partially, while drawing back the seat requested. "That identifies members of Caucus. It's rather nice looking, not too big." He settles into the chair and puts the stale klah down on the table, the uncreamed brown liquid swirling and briefly coating the inside of the glass. "You'll get one, from the Headmaster or Counselor, or our headwoman, or someone nearby you in the barracks who's managed to get a hold of an extra - " He stops, and offers a hand out across the table's corner. "Ginella," he presumes, apparently having found his sign. "Welcome to High Reaches."
Ginella nods quickly in understanding. "Of course, that makes sense," she agrees, poking at the baked potato on her plate with the fork. "I'm sure I'll get one soon." She pokes at the potato a few more times, then seems to realize what she's doing and quickly puts the fork back down and refolds her hands, blushing a little bit darker. "I'm sorry," she says faintly before extending her hand a little tenetively and stopping when he says her name. "How did you-- I mean-- silly, you probably have a file? Of course. I'm sorry. Very nice to meet you, Weyrleader, an honor, thank you."
"You're Benden's junior," the Reachian Weyrleader explains, as if Lamre were insignificant. He closes the space between his hand and hers and just presses her fingers lightly, swiftly, and withdraws his hand promptly enough that it's plain he's trying to avoid any forced discomfort - at least, any additional forced discomfort. "I don't need a file. There aren't so many queens on Pern that I couldn't remember one given a little bit of a hint." His brow settles back into place, creases smoothing out of the high forehead. He rests back in the chair, a bit officious about the way he settles, taking up the glass of klah as his hand passes it. "What are you most looking forward to here?"
Ginella nods shortly. "One of them," she confirms, clearly not feeling the same way about Lamre that he does. Her handshake at least isn't quite as wimpy as one might expect, though she doesn't seem upset about the brevity of the contact, either. "Oh," she replies about the file, "I see, of course. I'm sorry. Silly of me." She's not even going to ask what the hint might be, it seems, looking back at her potato again before looking up swiftly at his question. "What am I--? Oh, well. Ummm. Probably... I guess the..." She chews on her lip for a second, and finally shakes her head, cheeks flushing all over again. "The whole thing, I suppose. I don't really know, sir, I'm sorry. Maybe the politics classes?" she tries.
Ginella winces at the wince, assuming that it's meant for her, and then shifts a bit in her chair, rolling her shoulders back straight again before nodding. "I'm sure they are," she nods, "That makes sense." She fiddles with her fork a little, and nods. "I met Sefton, when I got here. He's the instructor?" She flushes faintly and rubs at the bridge of her nose, shaking her head. "I haven't met the others. I'm sure it's quite interesting, Instructor Sefton seemed... interesting. Friendly, I suppose, though everyone here's been friendly so far, of course." She covers a cough that doesn't sound entirely real, and takes a second to collect herself. "What does T'rais teach?"
"It's the people of High Reaches that keeps the weather warm," G'thon muses, a leading and tangential reply to Ginella's observations regarding those she's so far met. His elbows find the arms of the chair and he turns a bit at the waist to better face her. "He's an instructor, specifically of politics. T'rais instructs cartography." Both silvery brows go up and the Weyrleader's forehead creases. "Well, that's what we say, in any case."
Ginella smiles at the saying, and nods. "Yes, everyone's seemed very nice and helpful," she confirms, finally resorting to recrossing her hands in her lap to keep from fiddling with her fork. She listens with obvious attention when G'thon answers her question, nodding faintly in response before one brow arches in question. "I'm sorry, what is it that you say?" she asks, sounding confused. "That T'rais instructs cartography?"
"I'm sorry." The brows go down, the smile lifts up, and G'thon leans forward on his elbows against the chair's arms, legs uncrossing. "That was unclear. Sefton instructs politics. T'rais instructs cartography, to which you might listen closely in case spare nuggets of politics sneak in." The smile migrates from his broad mouth to his sparkling eyes and he straightens his back somewhat. "If that's what you're looking forward to, Ginella."
Ginella shakes her head a bit. "Oh, of course, I understand, sorry." She shakes her head a bit more, and brushes a whisp of hair that comes free back over her ear. "I'm sure all the classes will be very interesting. It certainly sounds like it." As for her own opinion, she dodges that part of the question, and just smiles politely.
"Not at all; my fault." The man's hands slide down from the chair's arms, palms curling over the plainly carved ends; there, they assist in pushing him up to his feet. "I'd be surprised if it were really the classes you look forward to most, though." Standing there at his full height, looking past his nose at the young weyrwoman, for a split second G'thon looks stern. But then the crinkles around his eyes deepen and he adds, "It's not what I would pick, if I were you. We'll have to talk about it again when you've been with us for a while - but for now, I should be off for the evening. Excuse me."
Ginella begins to shake her head, but then stops, head jerking up to look at the Weyrleader before she catches herself again, and turns a questioning look into one of very mild confusion. "Ah," she replies simply, opening her mouth to speak again, but shutting it before anything comes out. She nods, reddening faintly, and then nods again. "Yes, sir, of course. Thank you, sir. It was very nice to meet you. Good evening."
"And very nice to meet you, Ginella." The Weyrleader turns about, slips out from between the chair and table, and sets a straight path for the stairs that lead to the upper caverns.
G'thon heads up the long tunnel that leads to the upper caverns.
G'thon has left.