High Reaches Masked Ball Part One
Who: Dragonwing Mask, Driftwood, Exotic Seabird, Gold Dragon Mask, Lady in Pink, Laelle, Man in Black, Patchwork Woman, Red Feathers, Red Masked Man, R’en, Shipfish, Silver Scale Mask
Where: Living Cavern
When: Evening on day 6, month 9, turn 3 of the 7th Pass
What: The Caucus’ etiquette instructor has arranged a masked ball. There is dancing and drinking and laughing and no murder.
Note: I had to bail due to lateness and cold. I post up only what went on until I left. Thanks to everyone who came!
4/28/2007
At High Reaches Weyr, it is evening on day 6, month 9, turn 3 of the 7th Pass.
The evening fall air comes in through the tunnel to the bowl providing some measure of relief from the press of costumed bodies in the living cavern. The party is just getting under way and people stream in together or separately. Many head for the tables where they might find food or a glass of wine, but a few are already heading for the dance floor to get the night going properly.
There is a general air of good cheer. It doesn't seem like any brawls will break out at this party. Then again, there could be fun of that sort. One never knows at a High Reaches gathering. For now things are calm with a certain level of anticipation for things yet to come. The level of conversation is quiet for the moment although as more people come in it will get increasingly louder.
SilverScaleMask slips in from the lower caverns, reaching up to fiddle with one of the tails that ties her mask on, peering here and there to take in the sight of everyone dressed up, down, and multicoloured.
as the party begins and the partygoers start to gather, one more figure slips into the crowd. A woman in a dragonwing mask and a gown to match makes her way down the stairs from the bowl, arms swinging loosely at her sides as she pauses to look around at the various masks and outfits before she moves towards the table that holds food and drink.
The number of people on the dance floor is steadily increasing. Slowly as it's early yet and no one wants to be worn out right away. The harpers play a song designed to encourage people to move if not go crazy just yet. There's plenty of time for that later. There is lots of ohhing and ahhing and compliments over costumes.
Two women enter from the lower caverns arm in arm, the one on the left, visibly older despite the simple blue fabric mask she wears, clearly monopolizing their conversation of the moment. The one on the right, decked in a striking black and white pattern, demurely listens as they gradually swirl in with the other pretty dresses of the evening but takes her leave moments after they've crossed into the outer skirts of the crowd. After only a whispered word they part, the elder skimming over to the dance floor while the Patchwork Woman winds her way toward the wine.
SilverScaleMask isn't one for actual dancing, but watching? That she can do, oohhing and ahhing with much of the crowd, on her way to the drink table, bypassing one group of drinks for another. A cautious sip is taken, regardless, before a smile appears.
The woman in the dragonwing mask looks up from the small bit of meat wrapped in bread that she holds as the woman in white and black moves nearby, and then the figure in the silvery scaled mask. A little nod is the offering given as well as an easy, "Good evening."
A Lady in Pink stands by the wine, waiting for a glass to be poured. She turns to the woman in black and white Patchwork with a ready smile, growing larger as she takes in the get up. "Oh, how fantastic," she bubbles readily. A glass of white is put in her hand, but she takes little notice as her eyes are drawn towards another amazing dress and then another. "Oh, look at all the dragons. How cunning! Is there one of each color?" she asks the stranger decked out in a veritable flight, craning her neck to hunt each out.
A pair of girls, their age not easy to tell, but definitely in the young range, wander by the tables. They giggle and point at this person or that. When a man dressed in scarlet walks by they giggle again and trail after him as they whisper back and forth to each other.
The Patchwork Woman inches around the groups gathered around the food tables, drawing her voluminous skirt out of the way with a guiding hand when need be. She skips the mess of people waiting for the good wine and instead swings around to the side, selecting a forgotten skin of an ambiguous white and pouring herself half a glass. With it held steady in both hands, she turns, her white wrap left to dangle from her shoulders as she scans the crowd. Wallflower eyes are drawn to the Lady in Pink, though, her red lips turning up a soft smile as she utters a smooth, "Oh, thank you." She turns, when the Lady does, to the bulging woman in the dragon dress, her smile hitching higher in greeting, for both her and the silver-masked woman nearby, and staying that way.
"Good evenin'... that's a lovely mask.." the woman in silver scale replies with a bit of a smile, before nodding to the Patchwork Woman and the Lady in Pink, before addin', "Everyone seems to have done gone all out for this evenin'.."
A couple who clearly planned their costumes to match head out to dance. She is tall and graceful in lavender and black as is he. They both wear tunics and wide legged trousers. The only difference is their colors are reversed. Where hers is colored in one place lavender his is black. Whomever they are, they dance together well if exclusively of the rest of the room.
The man dressed in scarlet moves across the room again, the same two girls trailing after him. Halfway across he pauses and turns to meet their eyes. They giggle louder and he winks behind his mask before beckoning them closer.
It's into a sea of color and festivity comes a girl wearing a feathered headdress, escorted by a man who wears a mask resembling Driftwood. Taller than her escort, the ExoticSeaBird nonetheless allows him to take the lead, his prowess at maneuvering them through the throng in no doubt as he cuts a swath through the be-masked people. Himself rather plainly dressed -- though elaborately masked -- there is a grim determination to the man as he reaches back and takes the woman's hand, apparently not wishing to lose her amidst the gathering. His manner would seem to belie his shorter height, the breadth of him impressive if not his tallness. The confident wariness with which he moves makes Driftwood /seem/ taller than he actually is. Their goal, it would seem, is a pair of chairs against the wall nearest the hearth. The girl, for her part, seems reluctant to even be there.
Amid the bevy of greeting and compliments, the woman in the dragonwing mask tilts her head down, eyes lowering. "Thank you," she replies, and then to the woman in pink, "There is." The woman turns slowly to show off the rest of her dress and the blue on the back of it. "I suppose it's a rare opportunity to be flamboyant without consequences." This as to why there are so many people going 'all out'.
It's easy for a man in black clothing to make an unobtrusive entrance, and that's exactly what this one does. He follows shadows along the wall until he reaches the edge of the dance floor, then steps out as though he'd been there all along. After a moment spent scanning the dancers, he sweeps in with them as a quite forward, colorfully dressed young woman grabs his arm.
Wine in hand, the Lady in Pink scans over the Dragon dress again. "Oh look, yes, the blue is right there. Fabulously flamboyant," she says, grinning. "Everyone needs a night to be flamoyant once in a while." Her attention turns to include the Patchwork wonder. "That is simply amazing. Please tell me that you didn't do all that work yourself," she says with a beaming smile, an open hand gesturing at the black and white skirt.
Having reached those chairs, Driftwood waits for the the tall woman he accompanies to settle before seating himself in the spot nearest her. He has not let go of her hand. Eyes are squinted behind the mask, the weight of it on his face still something unfamiliar, and he scans the crowd, with pauses on the dancers, and then on the food. "If you need anything, you will let me know?" is spoken low, the man leaning in so that his words might hit the ears of the companion without too much interference from other noise.
Exaggerated steps from the lower caverns. The toe of boots scraping the stone, the body entering moves in a strange fashion. The long, hooked curve of the beak-mask poking out ahead of it, shoulders hunching and arms moving, wing-like, in time to the music that plays in the background. And then it stops, poised, finding among the dancers a suitable target and proceeds toward them, making an elegant leg and offering a gloved hand. When said hand is accepted, the glove slips to the woman's waist and the other hand clasps, instantly shooting their grasped mitts out for a rather startlingly angular pose before moving into a more fluid step, red feathers rustling and curling about mid-air.
SilverScaleMask chuckles, and nods, "Well, there is being that -- but I'm thinkin' I couldn't, unless I enjoyed certain other drinks more than would be doin' good for myself..." she trails off, before peering to watch a couple of new dancers. "Many, many certain other drinks...."
The Patchwork Woman's gaze lowers not to the dragons that decorate the dress of the women who spins before them, but to her belly, noting the curve there before returning with a gleam of recognition to look her straight in the eye. She's silent until addressed, though, blinking over to consider the Lady in Pink as if surprised at the attention. "Oh, I did," she responds quietly, modestly, one hand lifting off her glass to hold her wrap steady as she leans over to peruse her handiwork. "It wasn't too difficult, really. Just an alteration to something I had lying around. Seems I'd gotten a bit too big for it." Surely there'd be a blush on the cheeks behind that mask, her eyes lowering to the ground as she smiles and gives a graceful little shrug. Then her hand returns to the wineglass held still at her waist.
"Perhaps only a few drinks," the dragonwing masked girl suggests to the silverscales, "and the comfort of supposed anonymity will do the rest of the bolstering." Blue eyes move to regard the black and white patchworked woman and her pointed study, golden lips curling upward into a smile a bit more wry. "Well. Some of us can manage anonymity a bit better than others. Fewer tells."
"I think I would be bein' skinned if I were to do so. Drink and I.. well, let us just say more of a mess would not be appreciated..." Silver Scales admits with a crooked grin, having made no such in depth considerations of her companions costumes, taking most things at face value for the evening.
A good dance partner can do wonders to make one look attractive. Such is the case for the red feathered woman's partner, who has caught the eye of a colorful girl on a not-so-colorful man's arm. When the next song ends, she steals away from her former partner and catches hold of a new one, leaving the Man in Black to blink across at RedFeathers. After a beat, he extends his hand as an offering.
"I will, rest assured," is Driftwood's answer, the girl leaning close to his ear to be heard. Otherwise, she sits quietly on the sidelines, her eyes moving around the living cavern. If one were to look closely at the eyes peering from beneath the mask, they might see an almost haunted expression. But, she's at least smiling. "At the moment, the only thing I really would like is ... well, a drink would be nice. Some water or white wine, perhaps. That way, if I spill it on myself, it won't stain the dress," she jokes. The fan is removed from her wrist, and she snaps it open, beginning to slowly fan herself. The delicate fragrance of perfume drifts on the air from the fan's carved blades, mingling with all the aroma of food.
Having bowed to the LightYellow lady, the red-feathered dancer turns, suddnly spotting the man in black and cocking the wide gray beak to the side in consideration. And then, another bow, arms sweeping to the sides as a gloved hand takes that which ManInBlack offers. Versatile, where red-feather had taken the gent's place in the previous dance, red-feather now takes the ladies' facade, a hand upon ManInBlack's shoulder. The carmine plumed brigand even allows themself to be lead in the dance.
"How marvelous. You've done an astounding job." The Lady in Pink would clap were it not for the wine glass. Instead she brings both hands together just to hold the steam. "I might have to guess that you're a seamstresss by trade and you'll not convince me otherwise." She watches the look that passes between the woman in black and white and the one dressed with dragons. Then says aside to the latter, something laughing but nonetheless sympathetic in her voice. "Some people do seem to have some unfair advantages." Her eyes cast out to the rest of the party. "It's a sea of strangers to me, I'm delighted to say."
A flash of blue meets the woman with the dragonwing mask as Patchwork Woman glances back up, smile curling almost sheepishly. "It is sort of hard not to notice," she admits softly, but her eyes remain steady instead of darting to the woman's belly again. Her fingernails tink against her glass as she ripples them down and then she looks away, running a quick scan of the surrounding masks and the eyes behind them. She gives a gentle laugh to the Lady in Pink as she happens upon her profession, smile remaining wide though she turns toward the Silver-scaled one, saying with light encouragement, "Oh, have a bit. The whites are wonderful, I hear." Eyes crinkle behind the black and white mask with the strength of her smile as she lifts her own white wine as demonstration, then lowers it again unsipped to watch the crowd.
Driftwood tilts his head, the change of weight prompting one of those rough fingers to push at the mask, re-adjusting it over his face. While it's there, the stubble on his chin gets a rub. And he releases her hand. "All right. You will wait for me here?" The crowd is then scanned for the best possible route, and the shoreline-esque man is to his feet, making his way along the outskirts of the dance floor, squeezing around groups of chatting people, until he's reached the table of food and drink.
Laelle arrives, for her mask does little to hide her identity, along with a woman of shorter height and softer build wearing blue. They are barely part of the crowd before the blue-clad girl spots a friend with a happy laugh and slips off to join her in a gaggle of brilliantly attired girls. Laelle is left, and not unhappily so, to linger at the edge of the gathering, letting her watchful eye sweep over the myriad disguises.
The man in black has to make adjustments for the hat, the beak, and all other things costume as the dance begins, and his first steps are awkward while he does. Finally, with his head lifted and shoulders drawn back to avoid being struck by either, he snugs his arm more securely around red-feather's waist and falls in with the music, his steps light and easy if not as impressive as red-feather's were in the previous round. "If you're not a woman," he mutters, stepping red-feather to the side as the music takes them, "I don't want to hear about it."
"Alas and alack, it's true," Dragonwing Mask agrees with a small chuckle for the Patchwork's statement, "but you're not so very far behind," she notes more quietly as her own eyes dart to the other woman's unsipped wine. "I love your hair."
No words from the Red Feathered brigand. The avian-masked one merely cants its head to the side and nods once, slowly. There is a stocky person beneath the red feathers and dark leather, but the nimbleness of the steps is definitely present. A bit of favoring on the right leg, however. Red Feather even performs a bold curl, taking ManInBlack's hand and swinging out into a wide space in the milling bodies that dance as weave near them. Then, on right-tip-toe, the bird-person curls back in, clasping hands once again and even pulling ManInBlack into a neat little dip.
SilverScaleMask takes a sip from her glass, then steps aside for the man in seaside attire, offering a quick smile as she does so, her attention moving back to the dancers.
"I will, yes," ExoticSeaBird replies, smiling. The tone would indicate she's thinks it's highly doubtful she would go anywhere. Instead, she looks around the cavern, watching the interplay between costumed and masked people. Some people she can recognize from clues about their person, but others are a mystery to her. While Driftwood makes his way through the crowd, she remains quite content on the sidelines. One thing she does is avoid looking at the dancers. No, that's just too painful a memory.
The dip Red-Feather leads them into takes the Man In Black by surprise, his mouth popped open for a second before he can catch himself and snick it closed. "Hang on," he grits through his teeth, turning his head so he can peer around the limits of his mask, examining the area the brigand brought them to. "Okay." Suddenly the black clad man, taking advantage of a break in the dancers nearby, sends his partner out at arm's length in a very fast spin.
LadyinPink slips off from Patchwork and Dragonwing, leaving the friends to talk and heading the short distance toward the woman in the Silver Scale Mask. The Pink lady lifts her own glass to her, "To your taste?" she asks of the wine, smiling broadly.
GoldDragonMask, fashionably tardy, enters from the bowl, slipping through the doorway carefully. She's mindful of the unwieldiness of her costume, which makes movement through the crowd a delicate process. She manages, though, with polite smiles, and soft apologies. It helps that she seems to have no specific purpose, just moving into open spaces, the better to get a look at the costumes of others.
The drinks are acquired, one water, one white wine, and the Driftwood man is on hsi way back. An awkward stretch of an attempt at a smile is offered to the silver scaled woman, along with a quick, low, "Thanks," as he makes his way past, pausing briefly to ensure neither drink is spilled. The spinning of Red-Feather is avoided as he moves past the dance floor once more, and then it's back to the hearth. The wine, offered to ExoticSeaBird. The water is kept for himself, and he's sitting back down.
SilverScaleMask admits cheerfully, "The juice is, aye - wouldn't be takin' more than a couple of sips before I'd be fallin' on my... er.. well, that's actually havin' a chance to happen regardless. This way, I'll still be awake when I land, at least.." she adds with a bit of a grin and a shrug, before taking a sip of her drink.
LadyinPink steps to stand rather more beside the Silver Scale woman than facing her, better to watch the colorful frenzy that's taken over the living cavern. "You're sensitive to wine, I gather?" she returns lightly. She takes another sip of her own, fearless of its effects.
"Thanks," Patchwork Woman returns, one hand subconsciously reaching to tap the back of her head, insuring bun and ribbon are both done up tight, while she slowly tears her eyes away from a tall man in dark blue that passes them by. "It's finally long enough to do something with it," she comments with an inconsequential bit of frustration, her eyes rolling slightly from the faint shadows the mask casts. "Yours is quite elaborate itself," she continues, a bit of the demureness stripping away as her smile tips in amusement, an appraising glance set over the egg-shaped stones and her wineglass lifted to indicate them further.
For a moment, a large figure dominates the entrance to the living caverns, and then RedMaskedMan steps aside, to make way for those others who follow. There's no mystery in the design of this mask and costume -- this recent addition adjusts one of the three large Weyrleader's knots that adorn his shirt as he swaggers through the crowd, and further in.
"Wine, brandy, spirits, ale... you name it, I'll be passin' out from it. Not of a like sort, I take it?" Silver Scales asks, nodding towards LadyinPink's own glass.
Fair is fair, and after the dip, RedFeathers is certainly deserving of some payback. Once ManInBlack's arm extends, RedFeathers is ejected from their close proximity, gloved hand slipping free of his grasp and continuing the spin, solo. It lasts for a good couple seconds before the toe of one boot cuts a neat sound upon the stone, and then the red-feathered one is taking twirling steps back towards its shadowed partner.
"Flamboyance," the dragonwing masked woman says around a little smile. "Seemed an opportunity for--" but then into the room swaggers a very tall, very red, very very knotted man and whatever the girl was about to say is instead swallowed up in laughter.
It's reluctantly that R'en comes, edging in like he knows he doesn't belong at events like these. He won't drink so he eyes the wine floating around like a depraved fiend instead and tries to find someone, anyone, who looks familiar enough to talk to. Drifting, he keeps away from the crowd.
GoldDragonMask seems to have decided that the beverages is the general way to go, and it's in that direction that she slowly heads. Eyes still scan the crowd, and then light on the newest arrival and his brightly-colored hair, and she covers her mouth with a hand as she laughs, shaking her head. He's watched as he swaggers through the crowd, and she wends her way so as to intersect him near the tables.
Laelle's gaze passes along heads and shoulders, over the RedMaskedMan and then... back to the RedMaskedMan. It quirks a twist to her lips and she turns away only to see that R'en has arrived somewhere behind her. He's easy to spot, what with the mask in his hand instead of on his face. The twist of a smile stays put for that, and she weaves through the swirl of colored skirts to head toward him. "You're not doing it right," she tells him when close enough.
"No, I can have my share of spirits," the LadyinPink says to SilverScales. "Which is not to say that I can have limitless amounts, but this is my first glass so I'm not in any danger yet. However, if I do look like I'm about to fall over, please do ask one of these strapping men to catch me?"
When his dance partner doesn't return to him immediately, or in fact for the next few seconds, the Man in Black allows his gaze to dart swiftly over the room. It is, of course, the tall RedMaskedMan that he notices, but he barely has time to blink at this before RedFeathers returns and he has to catch up with wherever the music has gone by now. "Weyrleader's here," he comments, but there's no time for his partner to puzzle out the cause of dark amusement in his voice before he dips RedFeathers backward, his vengeance not yet complete.
The Weyrleader's entrance is a good one, good enough to distract R'en from his own awkwardness and from the oncoming approach of one very lacy Laelle. When she speaks he starts, turning abruptly to give her what would have only been a glance. It extends into a doubletake. "Uh." And, in the face of such truths, he can only weakly hold up the mask and shrug a shoulder. "Brought one. You look--" His hand sort of hovers. After clearing his throat he can say, "Purple."
Red feathers jiggle in silent amusement and then disappear backwards. The wide black hat atop the avian dancer's head falls. It seems great care was taken in concealing identity, for when the hat disappears, a multitude of red plumes are unleased. A crest, of sorts, atop the head and down the back of the black shawl. And then a sharp turn of the.. well, beak, and then the red brigand pulls away, bowing low and apologetically. The hat is retrieved and, nimbly, the red dancer trails over to the weyrling R'en, depositing the plumed hat atop his head and disappearing from the dance floor.
RedMaskedMan is hale and cheery as he swaggers through the room, lifting large hands to offer familiar salutes to those he passes, clapping shoulders, pausing by one group of wingriders from 1C to snatch a piece of fingerfood from a bronzerider's hand, take a bite, and replace it all in one movement. Then he continues cheerfully on his way, until he winds up halted by the drinks, and intercepted by GoldDragonMask, who gets a broad grin.
SilverScaleMask chuckles, "Well, if it won't be stretchin' your own capacity, you can be havin' my share to boot - or give it to one of those fellas you're eyin'.." she returns with a bit of teasing wrapped around the words, before shaking her head, "Some folks have put /way/ too much plannin' into their costumes. How's one get /that/ many feathers attached?"
The woman in black and white follows the gaze of the woman decked in dragons, and finds the masked man weighted by that heavy knot. An eyebrow cocks higher and she snorts a silent bit of laughter before looking back. "I think your dancing partner just arrived," she notes, bringing her wineglass to her lips, but only to hide the wide curve of her smile as a chuckle not quite so silent escapes her.
When her escort returns with the drinks, ExoticSeaBird smiles and accepts the glass of white wine with a murmur of, "Thank you." The glass is held between her fingers, as he re-seats himself beside her, all her attention apparently now going toward him. "At least it's cool tonight, though with all these people, the cavern's going to heat up quickly." She continues to fan herself in a casual manner. "There are a lot of lovely costumes here tonight, aren't there?" she muses, head turning to regard the elaborate GoldDragonMask and dress. "Now that is truly lovely," she says, nodding in the woman's direction. "I wonder who it is? It's too tall to be the Weyrwoman." All this said in a moderate tone of voice, which probably doesn't carry far beyond her escort's ear.
GoldDragonMask is shaking her head as she approaches 'the Weyrleader', laughing again as he grins at her. "You...," she fails for a moment to pick a word, "I don't even know," she admits with a laugh, "You're a piece of work. I don't even want to know what that is in your hair. Now shouldn't you guzzling wine and leering at me, or something?"
That bird's escort nods simply, lifting his own water glass to his lips and draining a good portion of it. "It is convenient that the back of this mask is not solid," he murmurs for the talk of heating caverns, reaching behind his head to run his fingers over a few of the seashells twined in the netting. A nod as he scans the costumes - though the Weyrleader dress receives a bit of a grimace. "There are not many I recognise," is decided, now. A glance toward the dance floor, no longer occupied by those red feathers. "If... If you would like to dance, later... I only know simple steps, but we could."
"Now there's the compliment I've been waiting to hear all night," Laelle returns to R'en, even and easy. "Give it here," she holds out a hand for his mask.
"I can't imagine what you mean," the woman decked in dragons says as dark blue eyes widen behind her mask. "That figure all in gold with the wings must be the Weyrwoman, the way she jumped to greet him like that." Then, finally, she pops the bit of food she has been holding into her mouth and chews.
When those feathers appear in place of the hat, the man in black can only blink and give his head a tiny shake, lips twisted to the side as he considers the obvious care that went into this person's costume. He returns the bow smoothly enough, and seems to follow the brigand's lead in moving off the dance floor - though their paths diverge quickly as he moves to get a drink and RedFeathers to harass a weyrling. The man in black cuts his way through the back of the crowd and yanks himself a glass of wine.
RedMaskedMan laughs, reaching for another piece of fingerfood, and wags it disapprovingly at GoldDragonMask. "Weyrwoman, most disrespectful," he replies at a half roar, pausing to adjust first one, then two, and then the third of his knots before he speaks again. "I wouldn't dream of leering, you have a guard with two large knives attached to you. Let us dance, instead?" The food goes into his mouth, his fingers are dusted off against his leathers, and he extends a hand to her.
For the first time since arriving - even if it has only been minutes - R'en grins, openly, and he does so at Laelle. In the process of giving his mask over as instructed he's hatted - this interrupts the process somewhat, but she could easily reach out for it. It's a simple design for just the eyes, deep blue with a few feathers dyed the same color and something fixed to the material to glint under the light. Meanwhile, he's pulled the hat down and is looking at it, then looking around for the red thing that put it on him. "That-" ... "'d you see--?"
"It's amazing, isn't it? I just made myself a mask to match the dress," the Lady in Pink points out to SilverScales. "I had no expectation that the idea would be received so very well. However much planning or effort or marks everyone has put into their outfits, I couldn't be more thrilled with the results."
SilverScaleMask tilts her head at Lady in Pink, blinking behind her own mask, "'bout what I went with... but uou are meanin' all this is your doin'?" she asks, waving the glass at the various and sundry on the dancefloor and gathering in small groups.
Laelle blinks as the red creature appears, produces a hat and disappears again. But then she just waves a hand, as if that sort of thing is entirely expected at these parties and R'en shouldn't get too worked up about it. She takes his mask. "Now turn," she says. She seems to intend to tie it on him herself.
There's a certain stiffening from the ExoticSeaBird as her Driftwood escort offers her a dance. She takes a deep drink of her wine, letting it slowly descend until she's balancing it on her lap in both hands. "Thank you, but I believe I'll pass on the dancing," she replies, her voice extremely soft. There's a quality to her words that might be indicative of ... well, something that troubles her. As the silence stretches, she does offer a form of explanation. "I don't know how to dance very well. I only ever did it once, and that was at last turn's spring party when --" Yes, when tragedy struck, and a lot of trouble began for her and for the weyr. "I usually just sit on the sidelines and watch everyone else."
"Of course, you would want to watch out for the knives," GoldDragonMask agrees with a grin, "And he could be anywhere, you'd never know with all these disguises." She winks from behind the mask, and turns a glance to the dance floor, appraising. "I suppose it's only appropriate that we dance, set an example," she agrees, "You'll have to help me with the wings, though, I can't dance with them on."
Eventually R'en does get over it. That the red hat doesn't look like it's going to turn on him with gnashing teeth any second helps. With it clutched still in one hand he gives Laelle a little eye and turns like she said; then, uncomfortably, he lets his eyes wander and shifts from one foot to the other. "Sure is a lot o'wine here."
"Set an example," agrees the Red Weyrleader, still at volume. "For our people." He lifts one large hand to gesture for her to turn away from him, and dusts his hands clean again before he investigates the manner in which the Gold Dragon's wings come unfastened. "I've got plenty of dances to get through tonight if I'm going to do my duty," he informs his first partner, leaning over her shoulder to speak in her ear. "You're my first and last."
"Oh, I could hardly take the credit. Endless people involved," the Lady in Pink brushes off easily. "And I certainly didn't dress them," she adds to SilverScales with a cheeky little smile. "Or you. I do love the colors you've chosen. Very elegant." As opposed to all those brightly color hussies, of course.
"Ah, yes," Patchwork Woman responds quietly, head turned to peer at the pair in question, "she's always so eager to be around him. Really, the things one hears." Scandalous, to hear the teasing note of quiet disapproval in her voice. Already looking that way, the appearance of a black-clad man at the wine tables catches her attention for a moment, then she turns casually back to the Dragonwing woman, meandering a step closer. Her wine is held off to the side in one hand and the other gently touches down on the woman's elbow. "Let's mingle," she requests lightly, back already turned toward the wine tables as she attempts to guide the woman away.
Whether out of relief or disappointment, the Driftwood-clad man sits back a bit in his chair, idly swirling the water in his glass. "As you will. I thought only it would be polite to offer." He's quick to drain the remaining liquid, twirling the glass in his fingers for the time. A moment of quiet, and then, oddly brave, he leans over fully to offer a whispered comment to the ExoticSeaBird. Only once he's pulled away does he lean to place his empty glass on the floor near his chair. Newcomers to the caverns are eyed warily. "What was the purpose behind this event?"
SilverScaleMask chuckles quietly, "Well, I'd be a poor .. what I am, if I couldn't be managin' a bit of a mask, even if I wasn't the one doin' the sewin'. As for the dress... well, I've had it for a good time, rarely get to be wearin' it, so no real effort were bein' involved.." she admits, dismissing the compliment, before adding, "Well, regardless of all that, if this is bein' your idea, I think you did a very lovely thing, and are bein' deservin' of full compliments." The glass is lifted up to the Lady in Pink, then sipped from, even if it is only juice.
Having fetched his wine, the black clad man begins to wander while he drinks it, his eyes flicking back and forth at the people he passes. The Lady in Pink makes him pause, his eyes squinted behind the mask, before he adds to his flicked glance with a nod to her and her silver masked companion.
"More redheaded babies forthcoming, from the way I hear it told," the dragonwing masked woman says with a roll of her eyes behind the gold wing. "Mingle? With...no..." She begins moving along with the Patchwork woman towards the man in black. "It can't be. I distinctly saw that fellow speak multiple words at a single go."
"Yes," Laelle answers R'en as she slips the mask over his face, leaning around his shoulder to check that she has the eyeholes lining up with his eyes. Then she straightens and ties the string without flourish. "It has that... smell. The wine." She takes a deep breath and frowns on the exhale. "Let me see you." She pushes his shoulder to turn him back around now that she's done.
"Precisely," the gold-clad woman replies, "They're all looking to us, after all." She turns obligingly, and he'll find that the wings are just a pair of straps and some sort of fastening at the sides, something easy. Once removed, she turns, and finds a clear spot beneath one of the tables to hide them. "There we are. Let's do our duty, then," she says with a smile, "I've a few dances to get through myself, naturally. You understand."
At first it's a little lopsided, the mask, and he has to squint an eye to keep it intact when an edge comes dangerously close. Putting his hands up to his face, R'en guides the process and, when nudged at, continues to follow along in this strange ritual that only Laelle seems to know the steps to. Turning, he faces her with his mouth a thin line of 'well?'
The wineglass held in her hands becomes a most interesting object to stare at, and the ExoticSeaBird doesn't lift her eyes for a long time. At least not until Driftwood finishes whispering in her ear. Her lips are moistened before she sighs deeply. Then she leans close to him, obviously whispering something in return. When she finishes speaking, she straightens and looks away, a hand lifting to her lips for a moment. A trembling hand, at that. There's a guarded, wary expression in eyes that watch newcomers arriving. Only a few are readily recognizable, but one brings a smile to her. She leans close to Driftwood again, this time smiling as she nods in Shipfish's direction.
Shipfish moves into the room with an air of grace and confidence, looking around through her eyes of the mask. A smile is seen though, trying to figure out who all the others are in the room she mingles and makes her way to the serving tables for something to drink.
"You are too kind," LadyinPink says to SilverScale, holding up hand to hold back any further compliments. And then that hand shoots out to try to snag the Man in Black as he nods and passes by. She doesn't seem to have any real purpose in it, other than to attempt to stop him. "If I knew what all my helpers were wearing," she continues to her Silver dressed companion, "I'd point them out to you, but I'm afraid I haven't the slightest who is who tonight."
RedMaskedMan laughs, takes possession of GoldDragonMask's hand, and swaggers through the crowd once more, carving a path for them through the mass of bodies to the dance floor. He's as bold as brass, wrapping both his hands around his partner's waist, and lifting her up and out onto the dancing floor with a grin. "Did you get taller, Weyrwoman?" he asks, making a concerted effort to look down the front of her dress.
Oh, but they're not moving towards the man in black. In fact as soon as the Patchwork woman gathers they might be on a collision course with the shadowed figure, she veers them off into the milling crowd. "I think it is," she mutters as she leans her painted mouth in closer to the other woman's ear. "I'm hiding," she then adds, even softer, with an air of enjoyment to it as she reveals her game. They mingle in slowly-- after all there are delicate conditions on both sides to consider-- and as they do the woman in black and white casts a sudden half glance over her shoulder.
Laelle folds her arms in front of her, her weight set to one leg so that her spine curves to set her shoulders at an angle. She lifts her chin as she looks over R'en, a flick of eyes. "Purple," she tells him, though there's no purple on him of note.
"As you said - a perfect reason for bein' up to mischief - or was that flamboyance...?" Silver Scales trails off, before grinning and shaking her head, "You'll just have to be sharin' after the hangovers all be wearin' off..."
GoldDragonMask follows the red-haired, multi-knotted fellow out onto the dance floor, taking a step back to prevent him from staring down her dress, and tilting a look of reproof at him. "Remember the knives!" she warns, before adding with a smile, "And it's just heels, of course. I can't grow overnight, can I?" They begin to dance, and she gives the crowd around his shoulder a bit of a peek. "I hope you plan to dance with Benden's weyrwoman at some point tonight," she says, "If you can find her. I hear she's asking all sorts of questions."
The corner of Driftwood's mouth gives a bit of downward twitch, but he nods. Leaning back in toward her, a tentative hand is reached for one of hers, set to be withdrawn at the slightest hint from his companion. Stubble likely brushes at her lower cheek, and the base of her mask as he speaks. A glance toward the shipfish finds pale eyes squinting from behind their mask. And said louder is, "You believe so?"
So then he must take it another way. "I meant... Nice. Lovely. All those words that mean pretty, they're all the same." Flustered and showing it, R'en looks away from her toward the dancing. There are gauzy things stretched over the eyeholes of his mask from the inside; his eyes are obscured. He's tense, distracted, the hand not curled in a hold around the brim of that hat busy rubbing on his pantleg.
"I believe so, yes," ExoticSeaBird replies to Driftwood's question. She seems to have caught that downward twitch of his mouth, and has let her eyes return to the glass she holds. It is lifted and drained to the point of emptiness. A deep breath is taken. "It would make sense, considering she comes from an ocean-side hold, wouldn't it? And it's a clever costume, as well." She's deliberately keeping her comments spoken in a light, casual tone. "There are a lot of very clever costumes, aren't there?" A repeat of an earlier comment, yes. "It looks like people are at least having fun."
ManInBlack, ready to move on, shies to the side as the Lady in Pink's grab catches him by surprise. Although he quickly slips free of her grasp, he has indeed been stopped, and turns to face her and her companion more directly. His eyes move between them, behind the mask, as he takes a sip of his wine - and once he has a mouthful, belatedly remembers to chug it down quickly so he can greet them both with, "Evening."
RedMaskedMan whirls his chosen Weyrwoman around the dancefloor with surprising agility for one his size -- perhaps it helps that some clear the way before them. "Benden's weyrwoman, and every girl in the place," he replies, pulling her in close, glancing once more down the bodice of her dress, and then whirling her in a tight circle. "It's my duty, you understand. I'd rather be somehwere quiet, working, but these damned social events. You know how it is, my dear." All this at a half-bellow, cheerful as can be.
Shipfish gets herself a glass of wine, turning to scan the room, bringing the wine to her lips to taste. After a few minutes of observation a conclusion seems to have been made when she steps over to the hearth where ExoticSeaBird and Driftwood are seated. She smiles warmly at the pair, "Goodevening you two. Are you enjoying yourselves?" She glances behind her at the dancefloor, a longing look briefly passes through her eyes before they are covered up. "Mind if I join you?"
"Yes, I know," Laelle says of R'en's fumbled attempt at a compliment. She seems vaguely entertained by his discomfort, but tells him anyway, "Relax. No one is looking at you. They're too busy with the wine and the pretty girls. Would you like some?" she asks. "Wine?"
"Oh, lovely," laughs the woman wrapped in dragons as she slips deeper into the crowd with her patchwork companion. "Verbose and cranky. You do enjoy living on the edge." Her attention drifts a moment to watch a few of the figures moving around and then to smirk again at the noisy Weyrleader.
"I don't recall suggesting you treat Benden's weyrwoman the way you have every girl in the place," GoldDragonMask replies dryly, "Nor would I. Her brownrider's as big as you are, maybe bigger." The tight spin is expertly executed, then she twirls away, foiling his glance down her dress once again. "Of course, and I'd rather be off with my guard, soaking my feet, and knitting booties, but we have obligations, unfortunately." His bellow finally causes another brief laugh to slip out, and she shakes her head. "I don't know how I work with you."
"Clever," is mused, the Driftwood masked man looking again for the Weyrleader costume. "Some are very detailed," is mused, a bit awkward, but he's never been one for small talk. "It is... interesting." That allowance made, he looks now to the freshly approached Shipfish. A gesture toward a nearby seat serves as a confirmation to her request. "There is much to look at."
Like some-- wine. R'en visibly relaxes. He'd swung around, all open-mouthed, at first. Relax. She said that too. He takes a deep breath. That's relaxing, right? "Right. Right. Just..." Quirking his mouth unhappily, he takes another measure of the room. "Somethin' always happens at these things." Meeting her eyes again, despite the mask, he makes a little smile for her and drawls, "Reckon I could have a little." Wine.
Back across the room treks the scarlet clad man. With him are his two adoring, giggling followers. They bob and weave through the crowd with ease, never losing sight of the man they follow. He does, occasionally, turn to look back at them and wink as they trail along.
"Mischief indeed," the Lady in Pink answers. "Perhaps I'll have to surprise my helpers with very large breakfasts very early in the morning." That's an impish smile for Silver Scales. And then she turns to the Man in Black. "And speaking of hang overs, I'm afraid my friend here doesn't drink," she gestures her glass at the woman beside her. "What do you think of the wine?" It's as good as any other reason to grab a passing man, right?
ExoticSeaBird smiles at Shipfish at the other girl's approach. "Oh, please do," she says, also gesturing to the empty chair. "Everyone looks so nice, don't they? I've been trying to figure out who everyone is, but it's so difficult." She seems to have lightened up in mood considerably in the last couple of minutes, or else she's a better actress than people might suspect. She sounds positively happy, and only those who know her well would ever tell it's mostly bravado. "But you, I recognize your voice," she warns, wagging a finger at Shipfish. "It's really nice to see you here."
"You are bein' a cruel, cruel woman," Silver Scales informs the Lady in Pink, before offering the Man in Black a cheerful smile, "Good evening, sir - and please be helpin' cover my dismay that I cannot give opinion on the wine.."
The music the harpers play slows down and couples take up more space on the dance floor. Bright colors mix with muted ones as the dance begins and many people hold each other closer than might be thought proper were everyone not hidden behind a mask.
Apparently the glance that Patchwork Woman shoots behind her soothes whatever suspicion sparked it, for she turns back smiling to the woman beside her. "Sometimes you just have to make them work for it," she murmurs impishly. She considers her wineglass idly as they walk, tilting it side to side to watch the sloshing. "Plus, it makes it more fun, this way." A beat and then she's nudging them toward the dance floor. "Let's go watch them dance," she suggests only after angling them in that direction. "See if any daring young men want to take a chance on a perfectly ordinary pregnant woman whose balance is off. Where's your guard, by the way?"
Puzzled, perhaps, by the question he was grabbed for, the man in black lets his jaw slacken faintly while he mulls it over. Not until Silver Scales addresses him, drawing his stare off the Lady in Pink, does his initial surprise wear off him, and he glances down at the wine as though a look could give a good indication. "Think it's fine," he says, somewhat hopelessly, with a glance and a shrug back at Silver Scales.
Shipfish sits down in one of the chairs, folding her dress neatly underneath her to not wrinkle it too badly, "yes, everyone looks wonderful. Absolutely amazing what some have come up with." She smiles warmly, looking over the pair, "Not that you two have done a bad job yourselves. I like." she says with a soft laugh. "A few of the costumes are very.....well interesting." she states before sipping from her drink. A grin tugs her lips upward more at ExoticSeaBirds assumtion of who is behind the mask, "And your voice I recognize as well."
RedMaskedMan guides his GoldDragonMask through the dancing bodies, and tuts his reluctant agreement at her words. "Obligations," he agrees reluctantly, peeling one hand away from her to clap a passing bluerider on the shoulder, nearly sending his knees buckling. "Speaking of which, I've got a whole weyr to dance with. I can see a girl dressed in every colour dragon over there, that should clear out my obligations pretty quickly, then I can get back to pursuing our working partnership, Weyrwoman." At the edge of the dancefloor, finally, he releases her, sketching an elaborate bow.
"You lead the way, what with your balance being better. For now," murmurs the dragonwing masked woman to her companion. "He's somewhere in here. Working. Trying to seek him out when he's on the job and doesn't wish to be is mostly a futile endeavor."
Driftwood gives the slightest tilt of his head toward his ExoticSeaBird companion. "She had the masks done. Any compliments are hers." He studies the Shipfish's mask for a moment, then gives a quick nod. "Yours is interesting as well."
GoldDragonMask slows as the dance winds to an end, quickly hiding a smirk at the blow to the bluerider. "You do indeed," she agrees, "And there are a few I ought to speak with as well." Her eyes turn to the bedragoned woman, and she nods, "She ought to discharge your duty admirably," she agrees. The bow gets a laugh, and she bends knee in a hint of a curtsey, then follows in the same direction, smiling at the patchworked woman and her companion. "Both your costumes are lovely," she offers, "I hope you're enjoying yourselves?" Still she plays the hostess, with a teasing half-smile.
Shipfish looks over to the dancefloor again, thinning her lips in thought before she looks back to Driftwood with a smile, 'Oh thank you. It actually turned out very good." She takes another sip of her wine, putting it down on the table she stands abruptly to stand in front of Driftwood. "I don't think that your companion would mind too much, but my dance card is empty. I would really appreciate it if you would join me in one." She holds her hand out to him, sending a wink at ExoticSeaBird.
"Apparently you aren't missing much," the Lady in Pink tells Silver Scales with a laugh for the Man in Black's shining assessment of his drink. "Are you enjoying yourself?" she asks the man.
RedMaskedMan sketches another elaborate bow as he wraps an arm around GoldDragonMask's waist for a most improper squeeze, winking through his mask as he releases her. "I've a duty to dance with the whole weyr tonight," he informs the dragonwing masked woman, extending a hand to her. "And you look like a good half a wing or so, so that'd get that checked off my list nice and quickly, so I can get back to work. May I have the honour?"
"Here I thought you might have wanted to ask me to dance," Laelle says straight-faced even though humor lilts in her voice. "And really you just wanted to keep an eye on things." She cants her head in the direction of the wine. If they're to get some for him, they should head that way.
Patchwork Woman nods slowly, dragging her attention up from the wine-heavy glass in her hand to the dancefloor as they come to its edge. "Probably best," she comments quietly, alluding to the other instances when the guards had to be brought in to handle such an event. Her hand peels away from the other woman's arm as they find a comfortable spot in which to stand and observe. "Oh look, there's the Weyrleader," she mutters, feigning an faintly awestruck and fluttery air, "and the Weyrwoman. Coming our way, oh dear." A quick adjustment is made to her mask before the hand lowers to clasp her wineglass again, holding it low at her waist. "I am," she assures the woman in gold, dipping into a shallow, modest curtsy, though her eyes flick up mischievously to focus on the mask of the woman addressing them, "thank you."
If one were to pay extremely close attention to the skin beneath the stubble that shows under the Driftwood mask, one would see a slight paling. "Dance," is repeated. "I do not dance very well." His hands have come to hold tight to the arms of the chair. Eyes close briefly, and when they come back open, it's only the confirmation from the sea bird that has him getting, grudgingly, to his feet. Once he can no longer stall by claiming deliberation. He remains hesitant to take the offered hand.
R'en's face changes. It's a bemused frown he wears now while sliding a step in the direction she indicated. "D'you... /want/ me t'ask you t'dance? I know how," he adds, quick and terribly innocent. Pausing before he continues any further, he offers his arm to the girl from Nerat and tries to look like he does this sort of thing all the time.
The be-dragoned woman's lips curve into a smile as the golden-gowned lady offers her compliments. "Yours as well. I loved the wings, Weyrwoman, although I do suspect that dancing with the Weyrleader first was a bit of a giveaway as to your identity. Oh!" She looks over at said Weyrleader, gaze widening behind her mask. "Far be it from me to impede the duty of the weyr, sir. You may." Lightly her small fingers are settled into the large man's much broader paw.
"Well, perhaps if you be givin' him a bit of time - the question was a bit out of no-where.." Silver Scales protests, before reaching over to pat the Man in Black on the arm in response to the shrug, before adding, "I'd be tryin' to help you out, but sleepin' the rest of the party away's no way to spend the evening, or so I'm told."
"If you want," Laelle returns, slipping her arm easily through R'en's. "I know how as well, though I can't say I have any true affinity for it. Of course, if you are busy dancing, you might not be able to maintain your ready watch for 'something' to happen." Her lips take a twist again, rather sly and teasing.
"Of course I don't object," ExoticSeaBird replies, smiling at Shipfish. "Please, go enjoy yourselves." She really doesn't seem to mind, and even goes so far as to make a "shooing" motion with one hand. "I'll be right here, I promise," she adds. Once Driftwood has stood, and nods with encouragement. "You'll do fine, it's a slow dance -- but if he does step on your foot, I'm a healer," she quips with an exaggerated wink to them both.
GoldDragonMask shoots RedMaskedMan a grin for the squeeze, and then turns to the pair they've approached. She smiles at the curtsey, waving a few fingers dismissively, "Oh, there's no need for such formalities tonight," she assures Patchwork, "Unless you were just attempting to be more on my eyelevel!" she laughs lightly, making clear it was a joke about the Weyrwoman's typically diminutive stature, and then smiles and shrugs, "Well, duty called," she replies, "I would not have danced with him first, had I had my druthers, but when we must, we must. And apparently you must," she grins, "Enjoy the dance." She takes a step back, eyes the wineglass in the black-and-white woman's hand. "Would you recommend the red or the white, tonight?"
For that she wins one of R'en's pulled grimaces. Of course he doesn't /want/ to, woman. "Hey, I'm just goin' by past experience. I'll take no guff from you, girl. 'Sides, I'm wearin' a mask. You're just beatin' a dead dog now." They reach the wine and he gets them both a glass, passing hers over before claiming his own.
The mask shifts over his nose as the Man in Black draws in a deep breath, his nostrils flared widely, and he shifts a small, somewhat uncomfortable step to the side, opening up their three-person circle on the side of the dance floor. "Probably not," he tells Silver Scales, his mouth twisted up wryly to the right. "It's a good party," he continues, eyes flicking to the Pink Lady. His mouth twists up an inch higher, then drops entirely down. "Wine's good."
Shipfish chuckles softly and takes his hand, squeezing it to encourage him as she leads out to the dancefloor. She turns to look at him with a smile, waiting for him to put his hands out so she can clasp one to begin their dance. She leans in a little, "Don't worry. I'll try not to step on your toes much, but its good that we have a friend who is a healer hmmm?"
"Excellent," roars RedMaskedMan, claiming the hand of his half a wing of dragons, and forging a path through the crowd towards the dancefloor like an icebreaker, towing her in his wake. "Now, you're doing the duty of a dozen men, wingrider, let's see you put your back into it," he instructs her, wrapping both hands around her, and tilting his head to catch the beat before he plunges into the next dance.
Driftwood gives a cautious frown when the woman squeezes his hand - but does allow himself to be led out to the floor. There's a final backward glance to the ExoticSeaBird, but whatever expression was included with it is mostly obscured by the mask. And then he's closing his eyes, adjusting his hands appropriately to take the Shipfish's, posture quite rigid as he counts out a few beats, and continuing to be so when he starts to move them over the floor. There's no particular style to it, but the steps, at least, are correct.
"Very generous," the Lady in Pink tells the Man in Black, her smile wide and teasing, all good-naturedly of course. "And no, my friend," this to Silver Scales, "It would be such a shame if you slept and missed the party. Have either of you tried any of the food? One of those cheese, I can't place it, but it's perfectly delicious." Meanwhile, she'll sip her wine again.
SilverScaleMask lets her hand drop to the side, offering a bit of a wry grin, before shaking her head at the Lady in Pink, "Not as of yet. Only just arrived before bein' drawn into conversation. Any recommendations to be tryin', 'sides the cheese?"
Where: Living Cavern
When: Evening on day 6, month 9, turn 3 of the 7th Pass
What: The Caucus’ etiquette instructor has arranged a masked ball. There is dancing and drinking and laughing and no murder.
Note: I had to bail due to lateness and cold. I post up only what went on until I left. Thanks to everyone who came!
4/28/2007
At High Reaches Weyr, it is evening on day 6, month 9, turn 3 of the 7th Pass.
The evening fall air comes in through the tunnel to the bowl providing some measure of relief from the press of costumed bodies in the living cavern. The party is just getting under way and people stream in together or separately. Many head for the tables where they might find food or a glass of wine, but a few are already heading for the dance floor to get the night going properly.
There is a general air of good cheer. It doesn't seem like any brawls will break out at this party. Then again, there could be fun of that sort. One never knows at a High Reaches gathering. For now things are calm with a certain level of anticipation for things yet to come. The level of conversation is quiet for the moment although as more people come in it will get increasingly louder.
SilverScaleMask slips in from the lower caverns, reaching up to fiddle with one of the tails that ties her mask on, peering here and there to take in the sight of everyone dressed up, down, and multicoloured.
as the party begins and the partygoers start to gather, one more figure slips into the crowd. A woman in a dragonwing mask and a gown to match makes her way down the stairs from the bowl, arms swinging loosely at her sides as she pauses to look around at the various masks and outfits before she moves towards the table that holds food and drink.
The number of people on the dance floor is steadily increasing. Slowly as it's early yet and no one wants to be worn out right away. The harpers play a song designed to encourage people to move if not go crazy just yet. There's plenty of time for that later. There is lots of ohhing and ahhing and compliments over costumes.
Two women enter from the lower caverns arm in arm, the one on the left, visibly older despite the simple blue fabric mask she wears, clearly monopolizing their conversation of the moment. The one on the right, decked in a striking black and white pattern, demurely listens as they gradually swirl in with the other pretty dresses of the evening but takes her leave moments after they've crossed into the outer skirts of the crowd. After only a whispered word they part, the elder skimming over to the dance floor while the Patchwork Woman winds her way toward the wine.
SilverScaleMask isn't one for actual dancing, but watching? That she can do, oohhing and ahhing with much of the crowd, on her way to the drink table, bypassing one group of drinks for another. A cautious sip is taken, regardless, before a smile appears.
The woman in the dragonwing mask looks up from the small bit of meat wrapped in bread that she holds as the woman in white and black moves nearby, and then the figure in the silvery scaled mask. A little nod is the offering given as well as an easy, "Good evening."
A Lady in Pink stands by the wine, waiting for a glass to be poured. She turns to the woman in black and white Patchwork with a ready smile, growing larger as she takes in the get up. "Oh, how fantastic," she bubbles readily. A glass of white is put in her hand, but she takes little notice as her eyes are drawn towards another amazing dress and then another. "Oh, look at all the dragons. How cunning! Is there one of each color?" she asks the stranger decked out in a veritable flight, craning her neck to hunt each out.
A pair of girls, their age not easy to tell, but definitely in the young range, wander by the tables. They giggle and point at this person or that. When a man dressed in scarlet walks by they giggle again and trail after him as they whisper back and forth to each other.
The Patchwork Woman inches around the groups gathered around the food tables, drawing her voluminous skirt out of the way with a guiding hand when need be. She skips the mess of people waiting for the good wine and instead swings around to the side, selecting a forgotten skin of an ambiguous white and pouring herself half a glass. With it held steady in both hands, she turns, her white wrap left to dangle from her shoulders as she scans the crowd. Wallflower eyes are drawn to the Lady in Pink, though, her red lips turning up a soft smile as she utters a smooth, "Oh, thank you." She turns, when the Lady does, to the bulging woman in the dragon dress, her smile hitching higher in greeting, for both her and the silver-masked woman nearby, and staying that way.
"Good evenin'... that's a lovely mask.." the woman in silver scale replies with a bit of a smile, before nodding to the Patchwork Woman and the Lady in Pink, before addin', "Everyone seems to have done gone all out for this evenin'.."
A couple who clearly planned their costumes to match head out to dance. She is tall and graceful in lavender and black as is he. They both wear tunics and wide legged trousers. The only difference is their colors are reversed. Where hers is colored in one place lavender his is black. Whomever they are, they dance together well if exclusively of the rest of the room.
The man dressed in scarlet moves across the room again, the same two girls trailing after him. Halfway across he pauses and turns to meet their eyes. They giggle louder and he winks behind his mask before beckoning them closer.
It's into a sea of color and festivity comes a girl wearing a feathered headdress, escorted by a man who wears a mask resembling Driftwood. Taller than her escort, the ExoticSeaBird nonetheless allows him to take the lead, his prowess at maneuvering them through the throng in no doubt as he cuts a swath through the be-masked people. Himself rather plainly dressed -- though elaborately masked -- there is a grim determination to the man as he reaches back and takes the woman's hand, apparently not wishing to lose her amidst the gathering. His manner would seem to belie his shorter height, the breadth of him impressive if not his tallness. The confident wariness with which he moves makes Driftwood /seem/ taller than he actually is. Their goal, it would seem, is a pair of chairs against the wall nearest the hearth. The girl, for her part, seems reluctant to even be there.
Amid the bevy of greeting and compliments, the woman in the dragonwing mask tilts her head down, eyes lowering. "Thank you," she replies, and then to the woman in pink, "There is." The woman turns slowly to show off the rest of her dress and the blue on the back of it. "I suppose it's a rare opportunity to be flamboyant without consequences." This as to why there are so many people going 'all out'.
It's easy for a man in black clothing to make an unobtrusive entrance, and that's exactly what this one does. He follows shadows along the wall until he reaches the edge of the dance floor, then steps out as though he'd been there all along. After a moment spent scanning the dancers, he sweeps in with them as a quite forward, colorfully dressed young woman grabs his arm.
Wine in hand, the Lady in Pink scans over the Dragon dress again. "Oh look, yes, the blue is right there. Fabulously flamboyant," she says, grinning. "Everyone needs a night to be flamoyant once in a while." Her attention turns to include the Patchwork wonder. "That is simply amazing. Please tell me that you didn't do all that work yourself," she says with a beaming smile, an open hand gesturing at the black and white skirt.
Having reached those chairs, Driftwood waits for the the tall woman he accompanies to settle before seating himself in the spot nearest her. He has not let go of her hand. Eyes are squinted behind the mask, the weight of it on his face still something unfamiliar, and he scans the crowd, with pauses on the dancers, and then on the food. "If you need anything, you will let me know?" is spoken low, the man leaning in so that his words might hit the ears of the companion without too much interference from other noise.
Exaggerated steps from the lower caverns. The toe of boots scraping the stone, the body entering moves in a strange fashion. The long, hooked curve of the beak-mask poking out ahead of it, shoulders hunching and arms moving, wing-like, in time to the music that plays in the background. And then it stops, poised, finding among the dancers a suitable target and proceeds toward them, making an elegant leg and offering a gloved hand. When said hand is accepted, the glove slips to the woman's waist and the other hand clasps, instantly shooting their grasped mitts out for a rather startlingly angular pose before moving into a more fluid step, red feathers rustling and curling about mid-air.
SilverScaleMask chuckles, and nods, "Well, there is being that -- but I'm thinkin' I couldn't, unless I enjoyed certain other drinks more than would be doin' good for myself..." she trails off, before peering to watch a couple of new dancers. "Many, many certain other drinks...."
The Patchwork Woman's gaze lowers not to the dragons that decorate the dress of the women who spins before them, but to her belly, noting the curve there before returning with a gleam of recognition to look her straight in the eye. She's silent until addressed, though, blinking over to consider the Lady in Pink as if surprised at the attention. "Oh, I did," she responds quietly, modestly, one hand lifting off her glass to hold her wrap steady as she leans over to peruse her handiwork. "It wasn't too difficult, really. Just an alteration to something I had lying around. Seems I'd gotten a bit too big for it." Surely there'd be a blush on the cheeks behind that mask, her eyes lowering to the ground as she smiles and gives a graceful little shrug. Then her hand returns to the wineglass held still at her waist.
"Perhaps only a few drinks," the dragonwing masked girl suggests to the silverscales, "and the comfort of supposed anonymity will do the rest of the bolstering." Blue eyes move to regard the black and white patchworked woman and her pointed study, golden lips curling upward into a smile a bit more wry. "Well. Some of us can manage anonymity a bit better than others. Fewer tells."
"I think I would be bein' skinned if I were to do so. Drink and I.. well, let us just say more of a mess would not be appreciated..." Silver Scales admits with a crooked grin, having made no such in depth considerations of her companions costumes, taking most things at face value for the evening.
A good dance partner can do wonders to make one look attractive. Such is the case for the red feathered woman's partner, who has caught the eye of a colorful girl on a not-so-colorful man's arm. When the next song ends, she steals away from her former partner and catches hold of a new one, leaving the Man in Black to blink across at RedFeathers. After a beat, he extends his hand as an offering.
"I will, rest assured," is Driftwood's answer, the girl leaning close to his ear to be heard. Otherwise, she sits quietly on the sidelines, her eyes moving around the living cavern. If one were to look closely at the eyes peering from beneath the mask, they might see an almost haunted expression. But, she's at least smiling. "At the moment, the only thing I really would like is ... well, a drink would be nice. Some water or white wine, perhaps. That way, if I spill it on myself, it won't stain the dress," she jokes. The fan is removed from her wrist, and she snaps it open, beginning to slowly fan herself. The delicate fragrance of perfume drifts on the air from the fan's carved blades, mingling with all the aroma of food.
Having bowed to the LightYellow lady, the red-feathered dancer turns, suddnly spotting the man in black and cocking the wide gray beak to the side in consideration. And then, another bow, arms sweeping to the sides as a gloved hand takes that which ManInBlack offers. Versatile, where red-feather had taken the gent's place in the previous dance, red-feather now takes the ladies' facade, a hand upon ManInBlack's shoulder. The carmine plumed brigand even allows themself to be lead in the dance.
"How marvelous. You've done an astounding job." The Lady in Pink would clap were it not for the wine glass. Instead she brings both hands together just to hold the steam. "I might have to guess that you're a seamstresss by trade and you'll not convince me otherwise." She watches the look that passes between the woman in black and white and the one dressed with dragons. Then says aside to the latter, something laughing but nonetheless sympathetic in her voice. "Some people do seem to have some unfair advantages." Her eyes cast out to the rest of the party. "It's a sea of strangers to me, I'm delighted to say."
A flash of blue meets the woman with the dragonwing mask as Patchwork Woman glances back up, smile curling almost sheepishly. "It is sort of hard not to notice," she admits softly, but her eyes remain steady instead of darting to the woman's belly again. Her fingernails tink against her glass as she ripples them down and then she looks away, running a quick scan of the surrounding masks and the eyes behind them. She gives a gentle laugh to the Lady in Pink as she happens upon her profession, smile remaining wide though she turns toward the Silver-scaled one, saying with light encouragement, "Oh, have a bit. The whites are wonderful, I hear." Eyes crinkle behind the black and white mask with the strength of her smile as she lifts her own white wine as demonstration, then lowers it again unsipped to watch the crowd.
Driftwood tilts his head, the change of weight prompting one of those rough fingers to push at the mask, re-adjusting it over his face. While it's there, the stubble on his chin gets a rub. And he releases her hand. "All right. You will wait for me here?" The crowd is then scanned for the best possible route, and the shoreline-esque man is to his feet, making his way along the outskirts of the dance floor, squeezing around groups of chatting people, until he's reached the table of food and drink.
Laelle arrives, for her mask does little to hide her identity, along with a woman of shorter height and softer build wearing blue. They are barely part of the crowd before the blue-clad girl spots a friend with a happy laugh and slips off to join her in a gaggle of brilliantly attired girls. Laelle is left, and not unhappily so, to linger at the edge of the gathering, letting her watchful eye sweep over the myriad disguises.
The man in black has to make adjustments for the hat, the beak, and all other things costume as the dance begins, and his first steps are awkward while he does. Finally, with his head lifted and shoulders drawn back to avoid being struck by either, he snugs his arm more securely around red-feather's waist and falls in with the music, his steps light and easy if not as impressive as red-feather's were in the previous round. "If you're not a woman," he mutters, stepping red-feather to the side as the music takes them, "I don't want to hear about it."
"Alas and alack, it's true," Dragonwing Mask agrees with a small chuckle for the Patchwork's statement, "but you're not so very far behind," she notes more quietly as her own eyes dart to the other woman's unsipped wine. "I love your hair."
No words from the Red Feathered brigand. The avian-masked one merely cants its head to the side and nods once, slowly. There is a stocky person beneath the red feathers and dark leather, but the nimbleness of the steps is definitely present. A bit of favoring on the right leg, however. Red Feather even performs a bold curl, taking ManInBlack's hand and swinging out into a wide space in the milling bodies that dance as weave near them. Then, on right-tip-toe, the bird-person curls back in, clasping hands once again and even pulling ManInBlack into a neat little dip.
SilverScaleMask takes a sip from her glass, then steps aside for the man in seaside attire, offering a quick smile as she does so, her attention moving back to the dancers.
"I will, yes," ExoticSeaBird replies, smiling. The tone would indicate she's thinks it's highly doubtful she would go anywhere. Instead, she looks around the cavern, watching the interplay between costumed and masked people. Some people she can recognize from clues about their person, but others are a mystery to her. While Driftwood makes his way through the crowd, she remains quite content on the sidelines. One thing she does is avoid looking at the dancers. No, that's just too painful a memory.
The dip Red-Feather leads them into takes the Man In Black by surprise, his mouth popped open for a second before he can catch himself and snick it closed. "Hang on," he grits through his teeth, turning his head so he can peer around the limits of his mask, examining the area the brigand brought them to. "Okay." Suddenly the black clad man, taking advantage of a break in the dancers nearby, sends his partner out at arm's length in a very fast spin.
LadyinPink slips off from Patchwork and Dragonwing, leaving the friends to talk and heading the short distance toward the woman in the Silver Scale Mask. The Pink lady lifts her own glass to her, "To your taste?" she asks of the wine, smiling broadly.
GoldDragonMask, fashionably tardy, enters from the bowl, slipping through the doorway carefully. She's mindful of the unwieldiness of her costume, which makes movement through the crowd a delicate process. She manages, though, with polite smiles, and soft apologies. It helps that she seems to have no specific purpose, just moving into open spaces, the better to get a look at the costumes of others.
The drinks are acquired, one water, one white wine, and the Driftwood man is on hsi way back. An awkward stretch of an attempt at a smile is offered to the silver scaled woman, along with a quick, low, "Thanks," as he makes his way past, pausing briefly to ensure neither drink is spilled. The spinning of Red-Feather is avoided as he moves past the dance floor once more, and then it's back to the hearth. The wine, offered to ExoticSeaBird. The water is kept for himself, and he's sitting back down.
SilverScaleMask admits cheerfully, "The juice is, aye - wouldn't be takin' more than a couple of sips before I'd be fallin' on my... er.. well, that's actually havin' a chance to happen regardless. This way, I'll still be awake when I land, at least.." she adds with a bit of a grin and a shrug, before taking a sip of her drink.
LadyinPink steps to stand rather more beside the Silver Scale woman than facing her, better to watch the colorful frenzy that's taken over the living cavern. "You're sensitive to wine, I gather?" she returns lightly. She takes another sip of her own, fearless of its effects.
"Thanks," Patchwork Woman returns, one hand subconsciously reaching to tap the back of her head, insuring bun and ribbon are both done up tight, while she slowly tears her eyes away from a tall man in dark blue that passes them by. "It's finally long enough to do something with it," she comments with an inconsequential bit of frustration, her eyes rolling slightly from the faint shadows the mask casts. "Yours is quite elaborate itself," she continues, a bit of the demureness stripping away as her smile tips in amusement, an appraising glance set over the egg-shaped stones and her wineglass lifted to indicate them further.
For a moment, a large figure dominates the entrance to the living caverns, and then RedMaskedMan steps aside, to make way for those others who follow. There's no mystery in the design of this mask and costume -- this recent addition adjusts one of the three large Weyrleader's knots that adorn his shirt as he swaggers through the crowd, and further in.
"Wine, brandy, spirits, ale... you name it, I'll be passin' out from it. Not of a like sort, I take it?" Silver Scales asks, nodding towards LadyinPink's own glass.
Fair is fair, and after the dip, RedFeathers is certainly deserving of some payback. Once ManInBlack's arm extends, RedFeathers is ejected from their close proximity, gloved hand slipping free of his grasp and continuing the spin, solo. It lasts for a good couple seconds before the toe of one boot cuts a neat sound upon the stone, and then the red-feathered one is taking twirling steps back towards its shadowed partner.
"Flamboyance," the dragonwing masked woman says around a little smile. "Seemed an opportunity for--" but then into the room swaggers a very tall, very red, very very knotted man and whatever the girl was about to say is instead swallowed up in laughter.
It's reluctantly that R'en comes, edging in like he knows he doesn't belong at events like these. He won't drink so he eyes the wine floating around like a depraved fiend instead and tries to find someone, anyone, who looks familiar enough to talk to. Drifting, he keeps away from the crowd.
GoldDragonMask seems to have decided that the beverages is the general way to go, and it's in that direction that she slowly heads. Eyes still scan the crowd, and then light on the newest arrival and his brightly-colored hair, and she covers her mouth with a hand as she laughs, shaking her head. He's watched as he swaggers through the crowd, and she wends her way so as to intersect him near the tables.
Laelle's gaze passes along heads and shoulders, over the RedMaskedMan and then... back to the RedMaskedMan. It quirks a twist to her lips and she turns away only to see that R'en has arrived somewhere behind her. He's easy to spot, what with the mask in his hand instead of on his face. The twist of a smile stays put for that, and she weaves through the swirl of colored skirts to head toward him. "You're not doing it right," she tells him when close enough.
"No, I can have my share of spirits," the LadyinPink says to SilverScales. "Which is not to say that I can have limitless amounts, but this is my first glass so I'm not in any danger yet. However, if I do look like I'm about to fall over, please do ask one of these strapping men to catch me?"
When his dance partner doesn't return to him immediately, or in fact for the next few seconds, the Man in Black allows his gaze to dart swiftly over the room. It is, of course, the tall RedMaskedMan that he notices, but he barely has time to blink at this before RedFeathers returns and he has to catch up with wherever the music has gone by now. "Weyrleader's here," he comments, but there's no time for his partner to puzzle out the cause of dark amusement in his voice before he dips RedFeathers backward, his vengeance not yet complete.
The Weyrleader's entrance is a good one, good enough to distract R'en from his own awkwardness and from the oncoming approach of one very lacy Laelle. When she speaks he starts, turning abruptly to give her what would have only been a glance. It extends into a doubletake. "Uh." And, in the face of such truths, he can only weakly hold up the mask and shrug a shoulder. "Brought one. You look--" His hand sort of hovers. After clearing his throat he can say, "Purple."
Red feathers jiggle in silent amusement and then disappear backwards. The wide black hat atop the avian dancer's head falls. It seems great care was taken in concealing identity, for when the hat disappears, a multitude of red plumes are unleased. A crest, of sorts, atop the head and down the back of the black shawl. And then a sharp turn of the.. well, beak, and then the red brigand pulls away, bowing low and apologetically. The hat is retrieved and, nimbly, the red dancer trails over to the weyrling R'en, depositing the plumed hat atop his head and disappearing from the dance floor.
RedMaskedMan is hale and cheery as he swaggers through the room, lifting large hands to offer familiar salutes to those he passes, clapping shoulders, pausing by one group of wingriders from 1C to snatch a piece of fingerfood from a bronzerider's hand, take a bite, and replace it all in one movement. Then he continues cheerfully on his way, until he winds up halted by the drinks, and intercepted by GoldDragonMask, who gets a broad grin.
SilverScaleMask chuckles, "Well, if it won't be stretchin' your own capacity, you can be havin' my share to boot - or give it to one of those fellas you're eyin'.." she returns with a bit of teasing wrapped around the words, before shaking her head, "Some folks have put /way/ too much plannin' into their costumes. How's one get /that/ many feathers attached?"
The woman in black and white follows the gaze of the woman decked in dragons, and finds the masked man weighted by that heavy knot. An eyebrow cocks higher and she snorts a silent bit of laughter before looking back. "I think your dancing partner just arrived," she notes, bringing her wineglass to her lips, but only to hide the wide curve of her smile as a chuckle not quite so silent escapes her.
When her escort returns with the drinks, ExoticSeaBird smiles and accepts the glass of white wine with a murmur of, "Thank you." The glass is held between her fingers, as he re-seats himself beside her, all her attention apparently now going toward him. "At least it's cool tonight, though with all these people, the cavern's going to heat up quickly." She continues to fan herself in a casual manner. "There are a lot of lovely costumes here tonight, aren't there?" she muses, head turning to regard the elaborate GoldDragonMask and dress. "Now that is truly lovely," she says, nodding in the woman's direction. "I wonder who it is? It's too tall to be the Weyrwoman." All this said in a moderate tone of voice, which probably doesn't carry far beyond her escort's ear.
GoldDragonMask is shaking her head as she approaches 'the Weyrleader', laughing again as he grins at her. "You...," she fails for a moment to pick a word, "I don't even know," she admits with a laugh, "You're a piece of work. I don't even want to know what that is in your hair. Now shouldn't you guzzling wine and leering at me, or something?"
That bird's escort nods simply, lifting his own water glass to his lips and draining a good portion of it. "It is convenient that the back of this mask is not solid," he murmurs for the talk of heating caverns, reaching behind his head to run his fingers over a few of the seashells twined in the netting. A nod as he scans the costumes - though the Weyrleader dress receives a bit of a grimace. "There are not many I recognise," is decided, now. A glance toward the dance floor, no longer occupied by those red feathers. "If... If you would like to dance, later... I only know simple steps, but we could."
"Now there's the compliment I've been waiting to hear all night," Laelle returns to R'en, even and easy. "Give it here," she holds out a hand for his mask.
"I can't imagine what you mean," the woman decked in dragons says as dark blue eyes widen behind her mask. "That figure all in gold with the wings must be the Weyrwoman, the way she jumped to greet him like that." Then, finally, she pops the bit of food she has been holding into her mouth and chews.
When those feathers appear in place of the hat, the man in black can only blink and give his head a tiny shake, lips twisted to the side as he considers the obvious care that went into this person's costume. He returns the bow smoothly enough, and seems to follow the brigand's lead in moving off the dance floor - though their paths diverge quickly as he moves to get a drink and RedFeathers to harass a weyrling. The man in black cuts his way through the back of the crowd and yanks himself a glass of wine.
RedMaskedMan laughs, reaching for another piece of fingerfood, and wags it disapprovingly at GoldDragonMask. "Weyrwoman, most disrespectful," he replies at a half roar, pausing to adjust first one, then two, and then the third of his knots before he speaks again. "I wouldn't dream of leering, you have a guard with two large knives attached to you. Let us dance, instead?" The food goes into his mouth, his fingers are dusted off against his leathers, and he extends a hand to her.
For the first time since arriving - even if it has only been minutes - R'en grins, openly, and he does so at Laelle. In the process of giving his mask over as instructed he's hatted - this interrupts the process somewhat, but she could easily reach out for it. It's a simple design for just the eyes, deep blue with a few feathers dyed the same color and something fixed to the material to glint under the light. Meanwhile, he's pulled the hat down and is looking at it, then looking around for the red thing that put it on him. "That-" ... "'d you see--?"
"It's amazing, isn't it? I just made myself a mask to match the dress," the Lady in Pink points out to SilverScales. "I had no expectation that the idea would be received so very well. However much planning or effort or marks everyone has put into their outfits, I couldn't be more thrilled with the results."
SilverScaleMask tilts her head at Lady in Pink, blinking behind her own mask, "'bout what I went with... but uou are meanin' all this is your doin'?" she asks, waving the glass at the various and sundry on the dancefloor and gathering in small groups.
Laelle blinks as the red creature appears, produces a hat and disappears again. But then she just waves a hand, as if that sort of thing is entirely expected at these parties and R'en shouldn't get too worked up about it. She takes his mask. "Now turn," she says. She seems to intend to tie it on him herself.
There's a certain stiffening from the ExoticSeaBird as her Driftwood escort offers her a dance. She takes a deep drink of her wine, letting it slowly descend until she's balancing it on her lap in both hands. "Thank you, but I believe I'll pass on the dancing," she replies, her voice extremely soft. There's a quality to her words that might be indicative of ... well, something that troubles her. As the silence stretches, she does offer a form of explanation. "I don't know how to dance very well. I only ever did it once, and that was at last turn's spring party when --" Yes, when tragedy struck, and a lot of trouble began for her and for the weyr. "I usually just sit on the sidelines and watch everyone else."
"Of course, you would want to watch out for the knives," GoldDragonMask agrees with a grin, "And he could be anywhere, you'd never know with all these disguises." She winks from behind the mask, and turns a glance to the dance floor, appraising. "I suppose it's only appropriate that we dance, set an example," she agrees, "You'll have to help me with the wings, though, I can't dance with them on."
Eventually R'en does get over it. That the red hat doesn't look like it's going to turn on him with gnashing teeth any second helps. With it clutched still in one hand he gives Laelle a little eye and turns like she said; then, uncomfortably, he lets his eyes wander and shifts from one foot to the other. "Sure is a lot o'wine here."
"Set an example," agrees the Red Weyrleader, still at volume. "For our people." He lifts one large hand to gesture for her to turn away from him, and dusts his hands clean again before he investigates the manner in which the Gold Dragon's wings come unfastened. "I've got plenty of dances to get through tonight if I'm going to do my duty," he informs his first partner, leaning over her shoulder to speak in her ear. "You're my first and last."
"Oh, I could hardly take the credit. Endless people involved," the Lady in Pink brushes off easily. "And I certainly didn't dress them," she adds to SilverScales with a cheeky little smile. "Or you. I do love the colors you've chosen. Very elegant." As opposed to all those brightly color hussies, of course.
"Ah, yes," Patchwork Woman responds quietly, head turned to peer at the pair in question, "she's always so eager to be around him. Really, the things one hears." Scandalous, to hear the teasing note of quiet disapproval in her voice. Already looking that way, the appearance of a black-clad man at the wine tables catches her attention for a moment, then she turns casually back to the Dragonwing woman, meandering a step closer. Her wine is held off to the side in one hand and the other gently touches down on the woman's elbow. "Let's mingle," she requests lightly, back already turned toward the wine tables as she attempts to guide the woman away.
Whether out of relief or disappointment, the Driftwood-clad man sits back a bit in his chair, idly swirling the water in his glass. "As you will. I thought only it would be polite to offer." He's quick to drain the remaining liquid, twirling the glass in his fingers for the time. A moment of quiet, and then, oddly brave, he leans over fully to offer a whispered comment to the ExoticSeaBird. Only once he's pulled away does he lean to place his empty glass on the floor near his chair. Newcomers to the caverns are eyed warily. "What was the purpose behind this event?"
SilverScaleMask chuckles quietly, "Well, I'd be a poor .. what I am, if I couldn't be managin' a bit of a mask, even if I wasn't the one doin' the sewin'. As for the dress... well, I've had it for a good time, rarely get to be wearin' it, so no real effort were bein' involved.." she admits, dismissing the compliment, before adding, "Well, regardless of all that, if this is bein' your idea, I think you did a very lovely thing, and are bein' deservin' of full compliments." The glass is lifted up to the Lady in Pink, then sipped from, even if it is only juice.
Having fetched his wine, the black clad man begins to wander while he drinks it, his eyes flicking back and forth at the people he passes. The Lady in Pink makes him pause, his eyes squinted behind the mask, before he adds to his flicked glance with a nod to her and her silver masked companion.
"More redheaded babies forthcoming, from the way I hear it told," the dragonwing masked woman says with a roll of her eyes behind the gold wing. "Mingle? With...no..." She begins moving along with the Patchwork woman towards the man in black. "It can't be. I distinctly saw that fellow speak multiple words at a single go."
"Yes," Laelle answers R'en as she slips the mask over his face, leaning around his shoulder to check that she has the eyeholes lining up with his eyes. Then she straightens and ties the string without flourish. "It has that... smell. The wine." She takes a deep breath and frowns on the exhale. "Let me see you." She pushes his shoulder to turn him back around now that she's done.
"Precisely," the gold-clad woman replies, "They're all looking to us, after all." She turns obligingly, and he'll find that the wings are just a pair of straps and some sort of fastening at the sides, something easy. Once removed, she turns, and finds a clear spot beneath one of the tables to hide them. "There we are. Let's do our duty, then," she says with a smile, "I've a few dances to get through myself, naturally. You understand."
At first it's a little lopsided, the mask, and he has to squint an eye to keep it intact when an edge comes dangerously close. Putting his hands up to his face, R'en guides the process and, when nudged at, continues to follow along in this strange ritual that only Laelle seems to know the steps to. Turning, he faces her with his mouth a thin line of 'well?'
The wineglass held in her hands becomes a most interesting object to stare at, and the ExoticSeaBird doesn't lift her eyes for a long time. At least not until Driftwood finishes whispering in her ear. Her lips are moistened before she sighs deeply. Then she leans close to him, obviously whispering something in return. When she finishes speaking, she straightens and looks away, a hand lifting to her lips for a moment. A trembling hand, at that. There's a guarded, wary expression in eyes that watch newcomers arriving. Only a few are readily recognizable, but one brings a smile to her. She leans close to Driftwood again, this time smiling as she nods in Shipfish's direction.
Shipfish moves into the room with an air of grace and confidence, looking around through her eyes of the mask. A smile is seen though, trying to figure out who all the others are in the room she mingles and makes her way to the serving tables for something to drink.
"You are too kind," LadyinPink says to SilverScale, holding up hand to hold back any further compliments. And then that hand shoots out to try to snag the Man in Black as he nods and passes by. She doesn't seem to have any real purpose in it, other than to attempt to stop him. "If I knew what all my helpers were wearing," she continues to her Silver dressed companion, "I'd point them out to you, but I'm afraid I haven't the slightest who is who tonight."
RedMaskedMan laughs, takes possession of GoldDragonMask's hand, and swaggers through the crowd once more, carving a path for them through the mass of bodies to the dance floor. He's as bold as brass, wrapping both his hands around his partner's waist, and lifting her up and out onto the dancing floor with a grin. "Did you get taller, Weyrwoman?" he asks, making a concerted effort to look down the front of her dress.
Oh, but they're not moving towards the man in black. In fact as soon as the Patchwork woman gathers they might be on a collision course with the shadowed figure, she veers them off into the milling crowd. "I think it is," she mutters as she leans her painted mouth in closer to the other woman's ear. "I'm hiding," she then adds, even softer, with an air of enjoyment to it as she reveals her game. They mingle in slowly-- after all there are delicate conditions on both sides to consider-- and as they do the woman in black and white casts a sudden half glance over her shoulder.
Laelle folds her arms in front of her, her weight set to one leg so that her spine curves to set her shoulders at an angle. She lifts her chin as she looks over R'en, a flick of eyes. "Purple," she tells him, though there's no purple on him of note.
"As you said - a perfect reason for bein' up to mischief - or was that flamboyance...?" Silver Scales trails off, before grinning and shaking her head, "You'll just have to be sharin' after the hangovers all be wearin' off..."
GoldDragonMask follows the red-haired, multi-knotted fellow out onto the dance floor, taking a step back to prevent him from staring down her dress, and tilting a look of reproof at him. "Remember the knives!" she warns, before adding with a smile, "And it's just heels, of course. I can't grow overnight, can I?" They begin to dance, and she gives the crowd around his shoulder a bit of a peek. "I hope you plan to dance with Benden's weyrwoman at some point tonight," she says, "If you can find her. I hear she's asking all sorts of questions."
The corner of Driftwood's mouth gives a bit of downward twitch, but he nods. Leaning back in toward her, a tentative hand is reached for one of hers, set to be withdrawn at the slightest hint from his companion. Stubble likely brushes at her lower cheek, and the base of her mask as he speaks. A glance toward the shipfish finds pale eyes squinting from behind their mask. And said louder is, "You believe so?"
So then he must take it another way. "I meant... Nice. Lovely. All those words that mean pretty, they're all the same." Flustered and showing it, R'en looks away from her toward the dancing. There are gauzy things stretched over the eyeholes of his mask from the inside; his eyes are obscured. He's tense, distracted, the hand not curled in a hold around the brim of that hat busy rubbing on his pantleg.
"I believe so, yes," ExoticSeaBird replies to Driftwood's question. She seems to have caught that downward twitch of his mouth, and has let her eyes return to the glass she holds. It is lifted and drained to the point of emptiness. A deep breath is taken. "It would make sense, considering she comes from an ocean-side hold, wouldn't it? And it's a clever costume, as well." She's deliberately keeping her comments spoken in a light, casual tone. "There are a lot of very clever costumes, aren't there?" A repeat of an earlier comment, yes. "It looks like people are at least having fun."
ManInBlack, ready to move on, shies to the side as the Lady in Pink's grab catches him by surprise. Although he quickly slips free of her grasp, he has indeed been stopped, and turns to face her and her companion more directly. His eyes move between them, behind the mask, as he takes a sip of his wine - and once he has a mouthful, belatedly remembers to chug it down quickly so he can greet them both with, "Evening."
RedMaskedMan whirls his chosen Weyrwoman around the dancefloor with surprising agility for one his size -- perhaps it helps that some clear the way before them. "Benden's weyrwoman, and every girl in the place," he replies, pulling her in close, glancing once more down the bodice of her dress, and then whirling her in a tight circle. "It's my duty, you understand. I'd rather be somehwere quiet, working, but these damned social events. You know how it is, my dear." All this at a half-bellow, cheerful as can be.
Shipfish gets herself a glass of wine, turning to scan the room, bringing the wine to her lips to taste. After a few minutes of observation a conclusion seems to have been made when she steps over to the hearth where ExoticSeaBird and Driftwood are seated. She smiles warmly at the pair, "Goodevening you two. Are you enjoying yourselves?" She glances behind her at the dancefloor, a longing look briefly passes through her eyes before they are covered up. "Mind if I join you?"
"Yes, I know," Laelle says of R'en's fumbled attempt at a compliment. She seems vaguely entertained by his discomfort, but tells him anyway, "Relax. No one is looking at you. They're too busy with the wine and the pretty girls. Would you like some?" she asks. "Wine?"
"Oh, lovely," laughs the woman wrapped in dragons as she slips deeper into the crowd with her patchwork companion. "Verbose and cranky. You do enjoy living on the edge." Her attention drifts a moment to watch a few of the figures moving around and then to smirk again at the noisy Weyrleader.
"I don't recall suggesting you treat Benden's weyrwoman the way you have every girl in the place," GoldDragonMask replies dryly, "Nor would I. Her brownrider's as big as you are, maybe bigger." The tight spin is expertly executed, then she twirls away, foiling his glance down her dress once again. "Of course, and I'd rather be off with my guard, soaking my feet, and knitting booties, but we have obligations, unfortunately." His bellow finally causes another brief laugh to slip out, and she shakes her head. "I don't know how I work with you."
"Clever," is mused, the Driftwood masked man looking again for the Weyrleader costume. "Some are very detailed," is mused, a bit awkward, but he's never been one for small talk. "It is... interesting." That allowance made, he looks now to the freshly approached Shipfish. A gesture toward a nearby seat serves as a confirmation to her request. "There is much to look at."
Like some-- wine. R'en visibly relaxes. He'd swung around, all open-mouthed, at first. Relax. She said that too. He takes a deep breath. That's relaxing, right? "Right. Right. Just..." Quirking his mouth unhappily, he takes another measure of the room. "Somethin' always happens at these things." Meeting her eyes again, despite the mask, he makes a little smile for her and drawls, "Reckon I could have a little." Wine.
Back across the room treks the scarlet clad man. With him are his two adoring, giggling followers. They bob and weave through the crowd with ease, never losing sight of the man they follow. He does, occasionally, turn to look back at them and wink as they trail along.
"Mischief indeed," the Lady in Pink answers. "Perhaps I'll have to surprise my helpers with very large breakfasts very early in the morning." That's an impish smile for Silver Scales. And then she turns to the Man in Black. "And speaking of hang overs, I'm afraid my friend here doesn't drink," she gestures her glass at the woman beside her. "What do you think of the wine?" It's as good as any other reason to grab a passing man, right?
ExoticSeaBird smiles at Shipfish at the other girl's approach. "Oh, please do," she says, also gesturing to the empty chair. "Everyone looks so nice, don't they? I've been trying to figure out who everyone is, but it's so difficult." She seems to have lightened up in mood considerably in the last couple of minutes, or else she's a better actress than people might suspect. She sounds positively happy, and only those who know her well would ever tell it's mostly bravado. "But you, I recognize your voice," she warns, wagging a finger at Shipfish. "It's really nice to see you here."
"You are bein' a cruel, cruel woman," Silver Scales informs the Lady in Pink, before offering the Man in Black a cheerful smile, "Good evening, sir - and please be helpin' cover my dismay that I cannot give opinion on the wine.."
The music the harpers play slows down and couples take up more space on the dance floor. Bright colors mix with muted ones as the dance begins and many people hold each other closer than might be thought proper were everyone not hidden behind a mask.
Apparently the glance that Patchwork Woman shoots behind her soothes whatever suspicion sparked it, for she turns back smiling to the woman beside her. "Sometimes you just have to make them work for it," she murmurs impishly. She considers her wineglass idly as they walk, tilting it side to side to watch the sloshing. "Plus, it makes it more fun, this way." A beat and then she's nudging them toward the dance floor. "Let's go watch them dance," she suggests only after angling them in that direction. "See if any daring young men want to take a chance on a perfectly ordinary pregnant woman whose balance is off. Where's your guard, by the way?"
Puzzled, perhaps, by the question he was grabbed for, the man in black lets his jaw slacken faintly while he mulls it over. Not until Silver Scales addresses him, drawing his stare off the Lady in Pink, does his initial surprise wear off him, and he glances down at the wine as though a look could give a good indication. "Think it's fine," he says, somewhat hopelessly, with a glance and a shrug back at Silver Scales.
Shipfish sits down in one of the chairs, folding her dress neatly underneath her to not wrinkle it too badly, "yes, everyone looks wonderful. Absolutely amazing what some have come up with." She smiles warmly, looking over the pair, "Not that you two have done a bad job yourselves. I like." she says with a soft laugh. "A few of the costumes are very.....well interesting." she states before sipping from her drink. A grin tugs her lips upward more at ExoticSeaBirds assumtion of who is behind the mask, "And your voice I recognize as well."
RedMaskedMan guides his GoldDragonMask through the dancing bodies, and tuts his reluctant agreement at her words. "Obligations," he agrees reluctantly, peeling one hand away from her to clap a passing bluerider on the shoulder, nearly sending his knees buckling. "Speaking of which, I've got a whole weyr to dance with. I can see a girl dressed in every colour dragon over there, that should clear out my obligations pretty quickly, then I can get back to pursuing our working partnership, Weyrwoman." At the edge of the dancefloor, finally, he releases her, sketching an elaborate bow.
"You lead the way, what with your balance being better. For now," murmurs the dragonwing masked woman to her companion. "He's somewhere in here. Working. Trying to seek him out when he's on the job and doesn't wish to be is mostly a futile endeavor."
Driftwood gives the slightest tilt of his head toward his ExoticSeaBird companion. "She had the masks done. Any compliments are hers." He studies the Shipfish's mask for a moment, then gives a quick nod. "Yours is interesting as well."
GoldDragonMask slows as the dance winds to an end, quickly hiding a smirk at the blow to the bluerider. "You do indeed," she agrees, "And there are a few I ought to speak with as well." Her eyes turn to the bedragoned woman, and she nods, "She ought to discharge your duty admirably," she agrees. The bow gets a laugh, and she bends knee in a hint of a curtsey, then follows in the same direction, smiling at the patchworked woman and her companion. "Both your costumes are lovely," she offers, "I hope you're enjoying yourselves?" Still she plays the hostess, with a teasing half-smile.
Shipfish looks over to the dancefloor again, thinning her lips in thought before she looks back to Driftwood with a smile, 'Oh thank you. It actually turned out very good." She takes another sip of her wine, putting it down on the table she stands abruptly to stand in front of Driftwood. "I don't think that your companion would mind too much, but my dance card is empty. I would really appreciate it if you would join me in one." She holds her hand out to him, sending a wink at ExoticSeaBird.
"Apparently you aren't missing much," the Lady in Pink tells Silver Scales with a laugh for the Man in Black's shining assessment of his drink. "Are you enjoying yourself?" she asks the man.
RedMaskedMan sketches another elaborate bow as he wraps an arm around GoldDragonMask's waist for a most improper squeeze, winking through his mask as he releases her. "I've a duty to dance with the whole weyr tonight," he informs the dragonwing masked woman, extending a hand to her. "And you look like a good half a wing or so, so that'd get that checked off my list nice and quickly, so I can get back to work. May I have the honour?"
"Here I thought you might have wanted to ask me to dance," Laelle says straight-faced even though humor lilts in her voice. "And really you just wanted to keep an eye on things." She cants her head in the direction of the wine. If they're to get some for him, they should head that way.
Patchwork Woman nods slowly, dragging her attention up from the wine-heavy glass in her hand to the dancefloor as they come to its edge. "Probably best," she comments quietly, alluding to the other instances when the guards had to be brought in to handle such an event. Her hand peels away from the other woman's arm as they find a comfortable spot in which to stand and observe. "Oh look, there's the Weyrleader," she mutters, feigning an faintly awestruck and fluttery air, "and the Weyrwoman. Coming our way, oh dear." A quick adjustment is made to her mask before the hand lowers to clasp her wineglass again, holding it low at her waist. "I am," she assures the woman in gold, dipping into a shallow, modest curtsy, though her eyes flick up mischievously to focus on the mask of the woman addressing them, "thank you."
If one were to pay extremely close attention to the skin beneath the stubble that shows under the Driftwood mask, one would see a slight paling. "Dance," is repeated. "I do not dance very well." His hands have come to hold tight to the arms of the chair. Eyes close briefly, and when they come back open, it's only the confirmation from the sea bird that has him getting, grudgingly, to his feet. Once he can no longer stall by claiming deliberation. He remains hesitant to take the offered hand.
R'en's face changes. It's a bemused frown he wears now while sliding a step in the direction she indicated. "D'you... /want/ me t'ask you t'dance? I know how," he adds, quick and terribly innocent. Pausing before he continues any further, he offers his arm to the girl from Nerat and tries to look like he does this sort of thing all the time.
The be-dragoned woman's lips curve into a smile as the golden-gowned lady offers her compliments. "Yours as well. I loved the wings, Weyrwoman, although I do suspect that dancing with the Weyrleader first was a bit of a giveaway as to your identity. Oh!" She looks over at said Weyrleader, gaze widening behind her mask. "Far be it from me to impede the duty of the weyr, sir. You may." Lightly her small fingers are settled into the large man's much broader paw.
"Well, perhaps if you be givin' him a bit of time - the question was a bit out of no-where.." Silver Scales protests, before reaching over to pat the Man in Black on the arm in response to the shrug, before adding, "I'd be tryin' to help you out, but sleepin' the rest of the party away's no way to spend the evening, or so I'm told."
"If you want," Laelle returns, slipping her arm easily through R'en's. "I know how as well, though I can't say I have any true affinity for it. Of course, if you are busy dancing, you might not be able to maintain your ready watch for 'something' to happen." Her lips take a twist again, rather sly and teasing.
"Of course I don't object," ExoticSeaBird replies, smiling at Shipfish. "Please, go enjoy yourselves." She really doesn't seem to mind, and even goes so far as to make a "shooing" motion with one hand. "I'll be right here, I promise," she adds. Once Driftwood has stood, and nods with encouragement. "You'll do fine, it's a slow dance -- but if he does step on your foot, I'm a healer," she quips with an exaggerated wink to them both.
GoldDragonMask shoots RedMaskedMan a grin for the squeeze, and then turns to the pair they've approached. She smiles at the curtsey, waving a few fingers dismissively, "Oh, there's no need for such formalities tonight," she assures Patchwork, "Unless you were just attempting to be more on my eyelevel!" she laughs lightly, making clear it was a joke about the Weyrwoman's typically diminutive stature, and then smiles and shrugs, "Well, duty called," she replies, "I would not have danced with him first, had I had my druthers, but when we must, we must. And apparently you must," she grins, "Enjoy the dance." She takes a step back, eyes the wineglass in the black-and-white woman's hand. "Would you recommend the red or the white, tonight?"
For that she wins one of R'en's pulled grimaces. Of course he doesn't /want/ to, woman. "Hey, I'm just goin' by past experience. I'll take no guff from you, girl. 'Sides, I'm wearin' a mask. You're just beatin' a dead dog now." They reach the wine and he gets them both a glass, passing hers over before claiming his own.
The mask shifts over his nose as the Man in Black draws in a deep breath, his nostrils flared widely, and he shifts a small, somewhat uncomfortable step to the side, opening up their three-person circle on the side of the dance floor. "Probably not," he tells Silver Scales, his mouth twisted up wryly to the right. "It's a good party," he continues, eyes flicking to the Pink Lady. His mouth twists up an inch higher, then drops entirely down. "Wine's good."
Shipfish chuckles softly and takes his hand, squeezing it to encourage him as she leads out to the dancefloor. She turns to look at him with a smile, waiting for him to put his hands out so she can clasp one to begin their dance. She leans in a little, "Don't worry. I'll try not to step on your toes much, but its good that we have a friend who is a healer hmmm?"
"Excellent," roars RedMaskedMan, claiming the hand of his half a wing of dragons, and forging a path through the crowd towards the dancefloor like an icebreaker, towing her in his wake. "Now, you're doing the duty of a dozen men, wingrider, let's see you put your back into it," he instructs her, wrapping both hands around her, and tilting his head to catch the beat before he plunges into the next dance.
Driftwood gives a cautious frown when the woman squeezes his hand - but does allow himself to be led out to the floor. There's a final backward glance to the ExoticSeaBird, but whatever expression was included with it is mostly obscured by the mask. And then he's closing his eyes, adjusting his hands appropriately to take the Shipfish's, posture quite rigid as he counts out a few beats, and continuing to be so when he starts to move them over the floor. There's no particular style to it, but the steps, at least, are correct.
"Very generous," the Lady in Pink tells the Man in Black, her smile wide and teasing, all good-naturedly of course. "And no, my friend," this to Silver Scales, "It would be such a shame if you slept and missed the party. Have either of you tried any of the food? One of those cheese, I can't place it, but it's perfectly delicious." Meanwhile, she'll sip her wine again.
SilverScaleMask lets her hand drop to the side, offering a bit of a wry grin, before shaking her head at the Lady in Pink, "Not as of yet. Only just arrived before bein' drawn into conversation. Any recommendations to be tryin', 'sides the cheese?"