Turn's End Masked Ball
Who: Cloaked Brown, Fire, Green Dragon, Man in Black, Painfully White, Pregnant Tent, Winter
Where: Living cavern
When: Evening on day 28, month 13, turn 3 of the 7th Pass.
What: It's Turn's End and there is a party! The Weyr gathers for a masked ball. With some small amount of Doom.
Note: Many thanks to H'kon from whom I have stolen the parts of the party I was not there for.
7/6/2007
The Weyr is in a festive mood. The end of the turn is here and there is plenty that people are happy to see swept under the rug. There is wine flowing like wine at a party and plenty of food to enjoy. The tables are heavy with pastries of the sweet and savory variety as well as seafood brought in from Tillek today for the special occasion. Harpers play on the dais and the usual area has been cleared out for dancing of which there is plenty going on. All in all it is playing up to be a glorious night. Masks conceal the identities of everyone and it makes for all sorts of rowdy behavior. Although so far it's not rowdy enough that the guards on duty seem worried. But there are guards on duty. After all, last turn's end there was a brawl.
CloakedBrown slows his steps as he and the GreenDragon on his arm near the edge of the official area of festivities. "Anyway," is said in a slight mumble, the man behind the brown dragon's head clearly uncomfortable with the chinstrap of his outfit, and still well aware of it, "he thinks we have chosen a wonderful theme. You have chosen. And he is not certain of whose looks better." The dragon's head tilts upward as the man's head does the same, and for a moment the wearer is off-balance as he tries to scan the area for an appropriate spot.
And the one before that those guards had to kill somebody. Maybe they should be more worried, given their luck. One couple that's unlike to cause any of those worries, however, the brass clad Pregnant Tent and her attendant Man in Black enter a little bit late, both swathed in heavy jackets despite the fact that it's only windy out tonight, not snowing, and that the lack of redness in their cheeks suggests they didn't even have to go far to get here from the bowl. Man in Black takes both jackets, leaving them at the door on one of those iffy but serviceable tables set aside for that purpose, and quickly returns to the Tent's side, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and giving them a rub to make absolutely certain they are still warm. "Where you want to go," he asks her, his eyes scanning the room from behind the mask.
Winter has found herself a table although certainly not one she sits alone at. It would be impossible to be seated alone and so she sits surrounded by people in colors that make her look paler still. Before her is a glass that is filled with a deep red wine. Accompanying this is the requisite plate of treats. She has not picked over them just yet and instead she shares the occasional bit of conversation with one of her tablemates. Nothing she says can be heard beyond the person she speaks to as her voice is nothing but the whisper of a whisper as quiet as falling snow.
A soft, almost musical laugh erupts from the GreenDragon, and her head tilts slightly to one side. "Well, we all know how some browns feel about greens," she says softly, her taloned hand lightly squeezing the arm upon which it rests. "Anyway, I think the costumes are wonderful. I love your cloak. So much warmer than my flimsy wings," she says, her features completely hidden behind the veil, "but I'm sure I can find some way of staying warm." The lovely Green seems to be in a particularly good mood, and turns to glance around the room. Eyes fall on other costumed folk, and nods are given to those who look her way. "Shall we get something to eat? The veil parts so I can partake, thankfully."
CloakedBrown's non-Green'd arm is reached out so that he might give the edge of his cloak a careful tug, causing it to billow quite nicely. "I believe I like it as well. Unfortuante that it is slit. That will not serve as well after this event." That same hand that tugged the clock comes up to prod at the chin-strap. A nod again threatens to disrupt the man's balance. "Yes. Food." And so, the Brown is leading his green carefully toward the tables, making sure not to smack into anyone with his dragon snout.
Pale eyes skip over the cavern from behind a dark brown mask, but dart back up to the Man in Black as he sidles up to her once again. The Pregnant Tent leans into him, as much as to avoid being jostled by all the new arrivals as to respond to his warming touch. A finger is held up for him to see. "Food," she mutters to him, always a priority lately. Another finger follows the first. "Then a good place to sit and watch. Looks even more elaborate than the first one," she comments while curling her arm gently around his, signal enough for him to lead the way while she lugs her heavy belly along beside him.
Fashionably late is the young man in all white. He lingers at the threshold of the infirmary's tunnel for a few moments, executing a few last self-conscious checks of costume; mask, buttons, shoes, hair. All seems to be in order. As such, after a cursory scan of the disguised denizens of the living caverns, he enters the fete but sticks to the wall, circumnavigating its outer limits with a voyeur's dark eye for the goings-on in the central thick of things.
GreenDragon seems perfectly at ease in her costume, but, then, there's no hint on how her head-dress is held so securely in place. That veil hanging beneath the dragon's head hides everything from sight. With another slight nod, she follows her Brown toward the food tables, apparently able to see through the veil well enough to negotiate the room. There is a faint rustle of material that sounds a bit like dragon wings when they settle. "The music sounds wonderful, but I don't know how well we can dance in these costumes." She pauses. "Then again, mine's pretty sturdy -- or so I'm told. I don't think I want to try any toss-dances in it, though." Once at the food table, she releases the Brown's arm, reaching for a plate. If anything is bothering her, it's the leather gloves and talons. "These may have to go, though...."
The current song playing ends in a flourish. The crowd on the dance floor applause and some of them cheer and call out their approval to the harpers. Said harpers take a bow and launch into a new song. The last was a dance and this one is something meant to be listened to. Something to encourage people to listen as they eat.
"I do not believe that mine will fall apart - but the feel of it is... strange." That chinstrap is prodded again, and the CloakedBrown moves carefully as he, too, secures a plate. "If you need, I have pockets. I could take your gloves." And the hand with twisted fabric wrapped around its wrist is held out. "We could do something slow," is mused when the applause erupts, "so long as we minded the placement of our... heads." Now, turning his full torso rather than his neck, the Brown scans the area once more, trying to take note of any possible jostling spots around the food tables that ought to be avoided.
Winter's laugh is more seen than heard even by those at the table with her. But she does laugh as she takes up the glass before her for a small sip. Once the glass is set back down pale fingers seek out one of the small pastries on her plate. It may be frosted, but even her food is lacking in color. The wine seems to just be along to join the red of her lips. She leans forward causing a man across from her to lean forward as well. Whispers are exchanged, but she leans back a moment later and shakes her head.
The Man in Black listens and nods, taking the hand of his Pregnant Tent and crossing in front of her. He'll run interference with the crowd: damned if any of these masked crazies are going to get anywhere near her, with him walking in front and bulling them out of the way if they don't move on their own. Yet it's not the food table he goes to, although their path does take them near it - down a momentarily empty swath of floorspace between the table and the sitting area. These two arrived somewhat late, and the best seats are taken, but the Man in Black finds an acceptable bench, with a decent view of the dancing and an excellent view of the room at large for all one's people-watching needs. "You sit," he tells the woman with him, drawing her forward, "tell me what you want. Can get it for you."
The almost Painfully White fellow doesn't care for dancing, it seems. He skirts far from those that dare to sway to a song that's clearly meant only to be listened to. Food is, however, a reasonable attraction, and without sparing much interest for those celebrants around him, he makes a quick path to the buffet table. There, he picks through bits and bites, favoring greeny things and tidbits from the sea. He makes good use of one of the little plates, and equips himself with a napkin besides, of course. Not wishing to be obtrusive, he steps out of the way, back against a wall, holding his plate aloft to pick at bits here and there while entertained by the crowds swirling past.
Near the food table a couple of people jostle playfully. A few others grumble in the line, but everyone seems to be in a good mood thus far and so once order is restored there is joking about the situation. Of course, it did happen at the food tables and not the one with the wine.
Pregnant Tent slides heavily down to the seat that the Man in Black selects for her, expelling a sigh when she finally settles. He'll get no protests from her, just a grunted, "Okay," while she arranges her skirts with little twitches and smoothing motions of her hands. "Mmm," she hums while she thinks, raising her eyes to find his again only after she's decided. "A couple of those tiny meat pies? And anything sweet. Cupcakes. Just don't steal all of the frosting off of them before you get back." She sends him off with that slight tease and a stonger tilt of her smile, then lets him go unwatched as she turns her attention down the length of the table behind her, catching sight of a pale, pale woman among more brightly colored celebrators not too far down. Then it's back to watching the people surrounding the dance floor.
CloakedBrown takes those gloves from the GreenDragon, tucking them carefully inside his cloak, where presumably resides a pocket of some sort. Then, after a moment or two of waiting, it's to helping himself to food - right in behind that white creature. "This," he notes, with a careful movement meant to get the Green's attention, "is part of my favourite food." Even the Brown's in a good, and quasi-talkative mood, as he helps himself to some sort of cracker-topping type of salad, consisting mostly of cooked meaty fish and a creamy dressing. Two slices of bread are taken as well. For sandwich-making.
From the doorway, a figure swatched in reds and oranges appears, and trailing beside her is a large, broad man with red hair. He's not dressed up as much on anything, though he has donned a simple mask to comply wit the evening. His flashier companion whistles low. "Lookit all'v em. Y'wanna gets drinks an' I kin peek around?" It's hard to tell if the man obeys her words or just responds to some inner calling. Either way, the woman in red slips a few paces away to listen in on a conversation that seems to consist of the one trying to guess the identity of the other.
Squeezing the shoulder of the Pregnant Tent, the Man in Black sets off to obey her directives without a word. The meat pies are easy enough to get at, as most of the other party-goers have chosen to go for more rare (and more fancy) fare, but the sweets are something of a battle. He piles the plate high with them anyway - cupcakes, as well as various frosty pastries and spicy cakes to keep the Tent occupied. That accomplished, he heads over to fill his own flate, crossing close to the Painfully White figure picking greeny things onto a little plate. He waits quietly for the figure to finish with the serving tongs, his own regular sized plate held at the ready.
Green is busy piling her own plate full of various foods. She's never been particular about what she eats, and so a little of everything goes on her plate. Beside seafood and shellfish, she chooses some vegetables, some of the same salad-like stuff her Brown escort chose, bread, and a couple of small cakes. "It all looks so good, and I deliberately didn't eat much today so I could stuff myself tonight. We didn't get a lot of seafood where I grew up, so it's quite a treat." A couple of skewers rest on top of all the other food, and she chuckles. "I think, with all the fish, I'll have white wine. You find us a table, she suggests, holding out her plate to CloakedBrown. "I'll fetch us drinks, napkins and the like. Someplace near the hearth would be nice. This dress isn't all that warm."
CloakedBrown adds a few vegetables to his plate, and the occasional bit of seafood, and then is free to take the Green's food. Head dips more downward than nods, for fear of disturbing that headdress. "Near the hearth." A slow, turning glance shows that it's crowded, but never doubt the tenacity of a Brown carrying out a Green's request. "If you need my cloak at any point tonight, you will tell me," is suggested more than asked. And then, he's picking his way around Black and White types, and avoiding dancers or people who are generally moving as best he can on his way to the desired seats.
Winter brushes a bit of confectioner's sugar from the fingers of her gloves. Once this task is done she rises to her feet and abandons her plate after selecting a final puff pastry. This and her glass of wine accompany her as she leaves the table and sets off for, nowhere in particular. She seems content to mingle and exchange a few barely heard whispered words to those she deigns to speak to. Cold and aloof seem to be the order for the night with only a few breaks so her scarlet lips might curve upwards into a taunting smile.
The 'white creature' takes to surreptitiously watching the green and brown dragons make their meals. A more charismatic creature would sweep in and make some remark about draconic dietary habits, but he hangs back, simply quizzical. Surely those outfits aren't more cumbersome than they're worth? Granted, they are concealing. He realizes then that he's still got the tongs, and that someone is waiting for them. "My apologies," the Painfully White-clad fellow murmurs, turning to offer the tongs towards the Man In Black, handle first. He hesitates, undoubtedly with a flash of recognition in the eyes behind the mask. That costume...familiar. The white-masked one inclines his head towards his darker associate. "I hope the evening has found you well, and that the Turn to follow will be fruitful for you."
Man in Black is focused on getting food, and for that reason doesn't notice the dragons bopping about. His eyes simply trace up, when he's spoken to, from the platter of greens. At the moment, it looks as though the two - opposites in costume - will have very similar plates, for the black masked man has also passed the seafood table at some point, but the green things get heaped onto the plate set up for the Pregnant Tent in what will later be passed off silently as a suggestion. He's less observant than the white fellow, however, and the costume doesn't evoke any hint of recognition from him; but the voice gets it right away, and he blinks. "Hey," he says, giving his chin a jerk towards the other man. His greeting's out of line with the white creature's well wishes, but those are tended to next. "It's fine, yeah. Sitting over there with-" but he's not supposed to give that away, however, obvious, so he catches himself with a quick wriggle of his lips. "Sitting over there, you're looking for a place." The invitation's offered, but it's in no way binding, for the black-clad man just turns his attention back to the tables as he goes on to fill his plate with fruit and an odd forkful of noodles before he'll bring the Pregnant Tent her plate.
Making a slow turn around the room, the woman meant to look like fire takes in each costume with dark eyes hidden behind her simple mask. If her escort is bringin drinks, he's pausing for a bit of food himself, picking up and swallowing down one of the skewered shrimp. She pauses by where a pair of men, one black and one white, stand near a couple others near the food. "Evenin'," she offers. "Like watching right n' wrong. Clever."
The white one swallows the bite of food in his mouth - one of those appealing shellfish things that seem so popular tonight - and dabs the corners of said mouth with a napkin before responding. "Thank you," he says to the man in black, accepting the invitation without affirmation or denial of it. Vague, but purposefully or unintentionally so? Fire's captured his attention now. She's given a stiff half-bow. "Good evening..." His eyes trail from her dress, to look between himself and the man in black. "This was not coordinated intentionally," he tells her. Just so one one gets the wrong idea, you see. Realizing that was a little too starchy, perhaps, he attempts to smooth it over with a murmur: "Though I thank you for noting an interesting, if unintentional, metaphor. I wonder if your analysis is correct, or if shades are deceiving." Behind the shadow of the mask's eyeholes, the man's dark eyes slide to the man in black to see his reaction to that.
CloakedBrown is, alas, quite unable to find a spot near the hearth. The next best area is a spot with a view, a certain bench near where a rather large Tent is seated. The man sits quite cautiously, the movements precise, and makes sure to give that tent plenty of room. Maybe he'd seen the black man with her. "Evening," is given in a gruff, and still somewhat mumbled, voice. The Green's plate is set beside him, saving her seat while freeing his hand to start organising his sandwich.
"Oh, I couldn't, sweetie," Green replies, lifting one shoulder as she hands over her plate. "I'm afraid it wouldn't work too well over these, and besides, it looks really good on you." It cannot be seen, but she's smiling behind that veil. Turning away and trusting Brown to find them a good seat, she waits her turn for the wine. She nods to both the ManInBlack and the PainfullyWhiteFellow, then concentrates on making her way to the drinks table. She manages to snag two large glasses of white wine, and accepts a compliment from the man behind the table. Of course, she declines the rather obvious invitation he issues; even if she /is/ a GreenDragon, she is /very/ choosy. With wine in hand, she turns around, and finally spots Brown over near the PregnantTent. Being careful not to spill the drinks, she heads toward the BrownDragon and the group near him.
The Pregnant Tent remains as one might guess she would, keeping her heavy self as comfortable as possible on that bench. This involves several shifts at odd intervals, a hand often bracing her belly as if she could rearrange it to a more favorable conformation too. The flicker of a frown that graces her brow during one such shift disappears when someone settles near her. She looks up with a smile for the newcomer, merely blinking her surprise when she finds a fake dragon head attached. "Evening," she returns his greeting with a friendly manner, nodding. "Quite elaborate," she comments, returning her gaze up to the man's disguise as an indication of what she refers to.
Metaphors are yet another thing about which the Man in Black cares less than his food. The fire red woman's comment does not parse for him, and for her trouble she gets a simple blink. At least his unintentional coordinate gets the idea and can keep the conversation lively. The Man in Black has a few more tidbits to add to the mix of plates, but while he's doing so he must have an ear tuned to the talk around him, because he doesn't miss his cue when the white knight looks at him. At least, he doesn't miss his cue to answer; he /does/ miss it where sensitivity's concerned. "They're just clothes," he informs the metaphorical ones plainly. "Getting back." And that is his farewell, for he turns back to the crowd. If he thought he was getting away from costume issues for the night, though, he's disappointed quickly, for his (and his Tent's) table has been invaded by the dragons that only he was oblivious enough not to note earlier. "What the fuck," he says sharply, and makes no secret of his immediate dislike for the dragons' heads. He's glaring at them narrowly behind his mask while his hand guides its own way down to put the Tent's plate in front of her.
The food tables are replenished with speed. Those who have to work in their plain outfits with a black or white mask carry out empty platters and bring in full ones to take their place. It moves with a clockwork precision. There is always something new for those who keep an eye on such things, but the staples are always there as well.
"It is a bit bulky," the Brown replies to the Tent, a frown finding its way to the exposed bit of face. "The rest is quite functional." And he's got the hang of moving with that cloak quite easily, it seems, even if the dragon head is a pain. "Well, mine is," is noted with what might almost be a smile as the Green joins him. And then there's swearing. And, surely if the back of the CloakedBrown's neck were exposed, hair would be seen to rise. Bristle. And he turns, ever so slightly, to make himself that much bigger in front of the one he's escorting. Protective. For now, no verbal response is thought up. He'll just scowl from within the getup.
"And masks," the fiery woman notes. "Black n' white? C'mon, gotta be blind t'think they don' match nice, even on accident." But the one portion of the monochromed pair drifts away and the red woman shrugs to drift off in the other dirction. Perhaps it's not an accident, then, that she ends up near the other all-white figure in the room. She has to lean forward a bit to note the pattern of snowflakes, and then she laughs. "Lookout. Melt'cha," she teases whoever-it-is.
PainfullyWhite is left no opportunity to probe his black-clad ex-conversation partner about whether or not he might have touched a nerve, let alone the opportunity to make amends. The lips below the white mask merely purse, dark eyes tracking his departure. He seems ambivalent towards the fiery one's departure, though he's kind enough to nod farewell to her absence. Left on his own once more, and quite contendedly so, it would seem, he takes his remaining hors d'oeuvres and seeks out an out-of-the-way seat somewhat near the harpers, to sit and listen while digesting.
Another dance tune is struck up and the dance floor is once more crowded. The wine has been flowing quite freely by now and plenty of people started before arriving. It creates a lively time of it for those who choose to dance.
Winter has just taken a sip from her glass when she is spoken to. Her head turns so she might take in the person 'threatening' her. "I doubt that would be possible," is her soft reply. She makes no effort to ensure they carry far enough to be heard. Instead she lets them float out into the crowd of noise to be picked up or not. "A heart of ice and snow. No chance of being melt even by someone as heated as you are."
"Y'think?" the red woman asks of her white-clad victi....companion. "I dunno 'bout that. Seen snow melt pretty fast, conditions weren't right. Seen ice turn t'water n a person's hand. En't s'hard. Like th'dress, though. Real pretty."
Once Green has found Brown, she maneuvers the glasses onto the table. And then she's maneuvering herself onto the bench beside her escort, the dragonhead managing to remain steady enough on her own head. "Evening," she offers to the Tent, a slight inclination of that head. "It's not so bad. Fits rather well, actually," is her only comment to the costume issue. The veil parts slightly, and a face can be seen in the shadows. The features aren't easily made out, despite this, but it does make eating and drinking simpler. The wine is on its way to her lips when the swearing begins. There is no reaction from the Green, although she does look away, perhaps to see if there is another place available to sit. Instead of responding, she sets her wine down and picks up a skewer of shrimp, pulling them off, one by one, and then making short work of them. "Such a nice welcome," is finally said, voice soft, but not so soft it cannot be heard over the music.
"A few drops in the right spot and the fire is history," Winter retorts with a slow smile. "I've seen plenty of that happen in all my many turns. After all, I keep the Weyr under wraps for most of every turn." Lifting her glass she takes a drink from it and then shakes her head. "It is a lovely debate to have. But I believe I see your companion seeking you." One hand gestures towards where the red-headed man Fire arrived with stands. "I should hate to keep you separate. Have a lovely night, dear. Do stay warm." Before she turns to leave she runs her free hand over her dress. "Nothing wrong with pretty. Even when you are made of ice." Her whisper vanishes with that and she leaves Fire. After leaving her glass on a nearby table she leaves everyone and seeks the bowl where she might blend in with the cold outside.
Near the food tables one couple have a quiet argument. She wants to leave and he wants to stay. Her gestures turn more and more wild before she finally turns and stalks off. Not towards the outside or the kitchen, but to the infirmary. Perhaps she imbibed too much.
"Stayin warm," the red woman murmurms, "ain't a problem." But since it's noted that her escort is looking for her, she allows Winter to slip away. "It's burnin' shit down when I didn't mean t'..." with a small drug the red dress joins the red-haired man who opts to sit down at one of the tables, rather than head out on the dance floor.
On the dance floor one man must be complained to when his partner is hauled off the floor by him. He has to leave and he seems unwilling to let her remain. He escorts her to a table in the corner where he sits down.
Muttered responses to the Man in Black's less than customary greeting are ignored, if heard at all, and the arrival of the plate draws the Pregnant Tent's eyes to his masked face. "Thanks, dear," she says to him, and the ploy to pull his attention to the knowing smile she has waiting for him continues as she snags his wrist and drags him down with it, placing his hand behind her back if he comes along. Then it's back to the dragon pair, much more cordial than her partner. "Wherever did you find the time to get all of that done?" she asks, letting mild surprise show past her mask that anyone would have such free time.
There's a moment of silence as the Green finishes her shellfish, and picks up something else from the plate. "My brother's a weaver," is murmured softly. "He and ... a friend of his ... love to make masks and costumes. He said this one was ... a mistake." A soft chuckle. "They made it for a lady but it was too small for her." A beat. "Oddly enough, it was exactly my size, and since I happened to mention the masked party in my last letter to him ..." A shoulder shrugs. "Your costume is lovely. That's a beautiful color, and the material is lovely." She cannot help but notice the woman's condition. "When are you due, if I may ask?"
Man in Black's upper lip curls up, but his lady knows him all too well, and that wrist-snag comes just in time. It has the dual effect of making him face the Tent, rather than the dragons, and of focusing his attention on the plate still held in his other hand, as he shifts his weight quickly to make sure none of it spills. When it does go down, it goes down on purpose, with a solid thunk as he drops it without a hint of grace - or even the attempt - and follows shortly after. He hasn't forgotten about the dragons' presence, as he digs into his food with a certain vengeful wrath, but he doesn't say a word more about the costumes. Leave the talking to the tent.
CloakedBrown offers, "It wasn't our doing. No such time," and otherwise is content to go along with the green's explanation. No nodding, though, not with that head on his shoulders. He, too, dives into his food, and leaves talking to the women. But his eating isn't so wrathful, especially once he's finally got that sandwich assembled. The Brown sets to eating it with a certain caution, biting off symmetrical bits to make different shapes as he goes.
"A mistake?" the Pregnant Tent repeats, laughing lightly and clearly amused by the story the woman beneath the Green Dragon shares, the corners of her smile sliding effortlessly higher. Her shoulder leans into the Man in Black beside her while she converses with the other two, a faint sound of discomfort sighing out before she answers the Green's question. "Soon, if I have any say in it." Which of course she doesn't. She lifts her hand and lets her fingers hover over the plate brought for her, blinking curiously at the greens that weren't on the menu she gave him before silently moving on to grab a tiny meat pie that was. "Less than a month now," she explains more seriously, though she doesn't seem to take any specific interest in discussing that topic, turning quickly to take a careful bite.
The Man in Black looks over at his Pregnant Tent when she leans into him, his vengeful eating put on pause for just a moment. Finally a whuffed breath pops out of him, and with a sound that's midway between a grumble and a growl, he lets her stay. His food suffers less for her presence, his actions noticeably checked while he accounts for her trusting weight against him, and eventually his mood seems to cool to a dull simmer. He lifts a narrowed glance to the Brown Dragon across from him, but finding him immersed in the sandwich eating experience, lets it go after another brief, inconsequential tug of his lip. His eating is almost tame now, but the plate itself is a warzone of shrimp tails and cracked oysters, evidence of furies past.
CloakedBrown's sandwich eating stays well-planned until the very last bite. And once that's eaten, he's licking his fingers, and peering over toward the Green beside him. And then holding very still, surely listening to something as the band starts up a new song. Nevermind if he's interrupting a conversation or not, it's here at, reaching to brush the Green's hand with his fingertips, he suggests, "We could dance the next slow song," rather quietly. Privately, almost. Pity he can't lean over to help with that.
Green seems intent on her food, though. Too look at her, it would seem almost as if she's determined to eat as much of the seafood and shellfish as she can. "Oh, well, maybe a bit later? I'm famished, and this is SO good," she begs off, a succulent shrimp halfway to her mouth. To the tent, she sort of nods. "Oh, yes, most /convenient/ mistakes, too." It might not be seen, but her tone implies a rolling of eyes. "He's quite talented, and has a wonderful fashion sense. He's determined to see I dress well." A short laugh. "Me? Clothes are clothes. As long as they're clean, fit reasonably well and are durable, that's good enough for me. I have the fashion sense of ..." She stops, trying to think of something. "...something not fashionable."
A figure in browns and silvery-grays slip in, but it would seem just to sneak out a plate of the goodies slaved over by the kitchen crew. A glance around is given, a faint smile offered, but nothing of words, as she slips back out as silently as she entered.
The Pregnant Tent nods for the Green Dragon's conversation, though she seems to be paying more attention to the costumes of those passing the table than the conversation about clothes. "Mmhmm, me too," she agrees, though, sending a smile toward them both before she takes another bite of her food. "You know, you two should get your dance," she urges, turning to Reyce to note, "My mother wanted me to find her at some point. Unless you want to stay and eat, dear," she adds considerately, patting his forearm lightly.
The Pregnant Tent got away with calling him 'dear' the first time - the Man in Black was a bit distracted, growling at dragons - but this time he shoots her a warning look that turns wary when it meets and she's patting his forearm. "'M finished." Toning down the level of the saccharine, he pins her patting hand down beneath his palm, holding it a second so it will look like something more affectionate than 'stop that, it's weird.' On its retreat, hopefully leaving a still hand in its place, that hand gives the Tent's plate a nudge, making it wobble slightly on the table and quietly drawing attention to itself and the still uneaten food (such as those greens) left on it.
CloakedBrown sits back on his chair, and sets to prodding at some of the vegetables on his plate, arranging them in little geometric shapes. The tent's encouragement, though, has him looking over to that Green (carefully). And then slowly scanning the room. "At least, if you do wish to eat, there seems to be some space by the hearths now... Are you cold?" This is all spoken in that same, soft tone.
Never let it be said that Green cannot take a hint. "A little chilly, yes, but not overly so," she replies, glancing up from beneath the headdress. "However, I wouldn't mind sitting closer to the hearth. You know me, I freeze from the first sign of autumn until summer." She laughs softly, dropping her food back on her plate. "We'll leave you good folks to enjoy the party, then," she says, carefully rising. "Thank you for sharing your table with us." Gracious, yes. "And you take care," she adds to the Tent. "They had enough of a scare with the Weyrwoman." It's friendly admonishment, and said with a pleasant enough tone. "If you get uncomfortable, I can make you a tea which will ease back pains." As if the Tent knows exactly who she is. "Good even', then." And she's moving away, toward the warm hearth.
CloakedBrown gets up after his Green, nodding, unthinking, to the couple. A frown as the head moves slightly, not quite so custom-built for his general head movements, it seems. A muffled curse comes with the adjustment, and he tries a more dragon-head-friendly, "Have a good evening," before moving to catch up with the woman in the green costume. He'll even go so far as to reach a hand for the small of her back, guiding her with a degree of chivalry toward the vacant seats he'd spotted in that warmer area of the caverns.
The Pregnant Tent is friendly to the very end, smiling warmly at the pair as they prepare to leave, and nodding a silent thanks for the woman's offers. "Stay warm," she offers cheerfully, sending them off with a hand raised in a single wave. Then she turns back to the man in black and the plate he nudged a moment earlier. "I think I know what we're dressing as for the next masked ball, dear," she says, though this time the affectionate term takes on a decidedly impish, teasing tone. Perhaps as an attempt to placate him after that jibe, she selects a green daintily between two fingers and slips it into her mouth, chewing around her broad smile.
The Man in Black lacks such social graces, and his erstwhile tablemates are allowed to leave without a word or even glance from him. His eyes slide over to look at the Tent when she teases him, letting her feel the weight of his disapproval for a slim second before he bothers to move. "Don't think you do," he tells her gruffly, shoving his plate forward into the space just vacated by the Brown Dragon, on the one hand getting it out of the way and on the other hand subtly suggesting, to any other potential company, that the spot may be saved already. In fetching the plates, though, he forgot to get anything to drink, and it's a bother just now when there's nothing to occupy his hands - except eating one of the Tent's cupcakes, which he does without a word.
The seats are considerable closer to the hearth, which does seem to please GreenDragon. She sets plate and goblet down, then seats herself. She's almost managed to clear that plate, too. "I'm sorry," she apologizes to CloakedBrown, looking over at him. Therefore he, at least gets a look at her shadowy features. "I was really hungry, and those shrimp were delicious. You're used to seafood, but at Ruatha it's not all that common. It was a real treat for us kids, and I've always loved it." To prove that statement, Green helps herself to a piece of fried fish and some whitish sauce on a garlic-flavored cracker. This time she doesn't bother with a napkin, but licks her fingers. "I promise we'll dance, I just want to finish eating first."
CloakedBrown adjusts his cloak to fall mostly to his side as he sits down, in anticipation of that extra heat from those hearths. The dragon's head looks a bit more out of place without that cloak covering his shoulders. An older memory prompts him to prod once again at that chin strap. "As you wish," is allowed, the wine that surely was brought with them lifted up to his lips. "If things had not been so busy, I would have made a sort of sandwich for you... the ingredients were there. But it requires use of the kitchens. It must be fresh." Torso turns slowly, and the brown sets to watching those dancers already out on the floor.
Licking her fingers once more, GreenDragon pauses to smile across at her companion. "The shrimp had a very unusual flavor. I'm not certain what kind of spices they used on them, but they were good," she remarks, picking up, at last, one of the sweeter concoctions the kitchens created. She licks icing off the side, grinning. "Oh, this is good. Try one," she suggests, offering him the second of that particular dessert. "A sandwich, eh? Well, I liked the fish on crackers. That sauce is very tasty."
The Pregnant Tent blinks at him from behind her mask at the sound of the gruffness in her voice, but she slides her plate an inch back toward him when he takes that cupcake, permission to take more. She just stares at him though, head tilting to the side, smile persistent while she waits for him to look back at her. Eventually she grabs another bit of greens and pops it in her mouth, telling him after it's gone, "Don't pout at me." And if he still doesn't look at her, he has a sharp poke to the side coming his way.
"I did not try the shrimp," the Brown notes, peering as that last one is eaten by his Green. "I have always preferred proper fish to the shellfish. It is not a dislike, just..." And he shrugs. This, at least, doesn't disturb that dragon mask too much. The offered dessert is reached for with something of a sigh, and sniffed before it's bitten. "Very sweet," is decided.
There's a slight nod from the Green, since she's busily eating her own dessert and doesn't talk with her mouth full. Finally, after a couple pieces of fruit, it would seem the bottomless pit is replete. Something seems to amuse her, then, as she sits back a little, sipping her wine. "You know, when Rappa offered me the costume, I didn't think the appetite of a dragon came with it." There's a twinkle in her eyes that can be felt more than seen. "Just let me digest this a bit, and we'll dance something slow. Then I'm all for heading back to your weyr. Suddenly I've a hankering to look at a certain tapestry..." Oh, yes, there's a smirk on those hidden lips.
The plate makes a small noise when it moves towards him, and that gets the Man in Black's attention for a second. The woman who's moving it does not, though, because he would rather focus on his mask - he's been wearing it for a long time, it's cheap, and when he lifts it to rub a finger along his skin, there's a visible red line where it's been pressing in. Of course, he might have expected that, since it happened after he took of his mask at the last ball, too. "'M not," he tells her, but he's still distracted fiddling with his mask, and so indeed he doesn't look at her. The poke gets his attention back, as he twists away from the Pregnant Tent with a quick "Ow." A frown follows it, but hey, it's a look. He leaves his mask alone to put his palm over the spot she poked.
The flushing of cheeks can just barely be seen under the mask the CloakedBrown wears. "Of course." He sits back in his chair, enough to nudge the dragon head forward a little. "He still does not stop gloating," is added with a bit of a sniff. The mask gets a push with an index finger, the chin strap is adjusted once again. "Something slow. Should we leave our heads here, or wear them onto the floor?"
"I'd have to have help getting out of mine," the Green replies, twirling the stem of her wineglass between her fingers. "I had to get a couple of the laundry girls to help me get into it properly. So, maybe I'd better leave it on. If it's too cumbersome, well, I'll just offer you a rain-check and we can head on out." Another sip of her wine, and she grins at a couple dressed as fish. "So, he's still gloating, hm?"
CloakedBrown sits forward again, and the dragon head settles back around his shoulders, as it's supposed to be. "I am certain we can deal with these heads if need be. If you would like to dance... even briefly, and then we will head out to the bowl." And now, the rider rolls his eyes (not that it can really be seen), and turns himself toward the exit of the caverns. "And he can gloat us all the way back to the weyr. You, at least, do not have to listen."
"You're supposed to pay attention to me," the Tent tells him in her defense, waiting for him with that same smile. "I'm very pregnant and very erratic," and her hand slips up to the spot she poked seconds earlier, finding his hand already there and soothing that instead of the actual hurt. "These mood swings come over me, and I just don't know what I'm doing," she excuses herself, only half jokingly. She grabs the hand hers covers instead and drags it to her, wrapping her fingers around it. "Come on," she implores, "my mother really does want me to find her. Come walk me around." She slips the rest of the meatpie into her mouth with her other hand, though the requested sweets remain untouched on the plate.
GreenDragon chuckles again and then takes a breath. "Give me a couple more minutes, please?" There's just a hint of uncertainty in her voice, now. A hand moves to her stomach and rests there for a couple of moments. A visible shiver plays over her body, and she sits back a little in her chair. The wine is finished, and the empty glass set on the table. "I think the wine's gone to my head a bit. Teach me to drink on an empty stomach, I guess." Empty? Stomach? Hers? After she gorged herself on shrimp and seafood? It's more likely she ate too much too fast.
CloakedBrown brings his hands out before him, and sets to tapping his fingertips together in a steady and symmetrical pattern. "Take whatever time you wish. I am not rushed." Even if people are dropping off, the band's still playing, there are still dancers... He winds up inspecting the Green though, and does have to query, "Are you all right?"
The Masked Man's hand is pulled away, giving up on its efforts to soothe his poked side and letting the Tent do as she pleases with it. "Should have - found you then." The pause comes with a silent little belch, whiffed out at the corner of his lips so it won't interfere with his words for more than an instant. In the next instant he's getting up, bringing his hand back into play as he draws it up to her shoulder, ensuring with a light pressure that she's going to stay put and eat her meatpie till he helps her up. He even gives her time to chew before he'll take her arm to guide and support her off the bench.
"Oh, sure, I'm fine," is the quick response, a hand lifting to wave away concern. "I drank on an empty stomach, and gorged myself on seafood. It's just going to take a few minutes to settle, is all." She certainly sounds all right, but her hand goes back to her stomach, and stays there. "Besides, I'm a healer. If anyone should know when they're all right, it's me." A weak chuckle. And then there's silence. A slight pressure of her hand. "Actually, some fresh air ... sounds good. Might clear my head a bit. I don't want to get out on the dance floor and pass out or anything."
CloakedBrown frowns a concerned frown at the mention of passing out, and is on his feet quite immediately. "We will go get some air, then." He waits for the GreenDragon to stand, and then escorts her out, limiting his touch to a brush of fingertips against her back. As the leave the shelter of the caverns, he even undoes that cloak, ready to drape it over the woman in case she has need of it.
Where: Living cavern
When: Evening on day 28, month 13, turn 3 of the 7th Pass.
What: It's Turn's End and there is a party! The Weyr gathers for a masked ball. With some small amount of Doom.
Note: Many thanks to H'kon from whom I have stolen the parts of the party I was not there for.
7/6/2007
The Weyr is in a festive mood. The end of the turn is here and there is plenty that people are happy to see swept under the rug. There is wine flowing like wine at a party and plenty of food to enjoy. The tables are heavy with pastries of the sweet and savory variety as well as seafood brought in from Tillek today for the special occasion. Harpers play on the dais and the usual area has been cleared out for dancing of which there is plenty going on. All in all it is playing up to be a glorious night. Masks conceal the identities of everyone and it makes for all sorts of rowdy behavior. Although so far it's not rowdy enough that the guards on duty seem worried. But there are guards on duty. After all, last turn's end there was a brawl.
CloakedBrown slows his steps as he and the GreenDragon on his arm near the edge of the official area of festivities. "Anyway," is said in a slight mumble, the man behind the brown dragon's head clearly uncomfortable with the chinstrap of his outfit, and still well aware of it, "he thinks we have chosen a wonderful theme. You have chosen. And he is not certain of whose looks better." The dragon's head tilts upward as the man's head does the same, and for a moment the wearer is off-balance as he tries to scan the area for an appropriate spot.
And the one before that those guards had to kill somebody. Maybe they should be more worried, given their luck. One couple that's unlike to cause any of those worries, however, the brass clad Pregnant Tent and her attendant Man in Black enter a little bit late, both swathed in heavy jackets despite the fact that it's only windy out tonight, not snowing, and that the lack of redness in their cheeks suggests they didn't even have to go far to get here from the bowl. Man in Black takes both jackets, leaving them at the door on one of those iffy but serviceable tables set aside for that purpose, and quickly returns to the Tent's side, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and giving them a rub to make absolutely certain they are still warm. "Where you want to go," he asks her, his eyes scanning the room from behind the mask.
Winter has found herself a table although certainly not one she sits alone at. It would be impossible to be seated alone and so she sits surrounded by people in colors that make her look paler still. Before her is a glass that is filled with a deep red wine. Accompanying this is the requisite plate of treats. She has not picked over them just yet and instead she shares the occasional bit of conversation with one of her tablemates. Nothing she says can be heard beyond the person she speaks to as her voice is nothing but the whisper of a whisper as quiet as falling snow.
A soft, almost musical laugh erupts from the GreenDragon, and her head tilts slightly to one side. "Well, we all know how some browns feel about greens," she says softly, her taloned hand lightly squeezing the arm upon which it rests. "Anyway, I think the costumes are wonderful. I love your cloak. So much warmer than my flimsy wings," she says, her features completely hidden behind the veil, "but I'm sure I can find some way of staying warm." The lovely Green seems to be in a particularly good mood, and turns to glance around the room. Eyes fall on other costumed folk, and nods are given to those who look her way. "Shall we get something to eat? The veil parts so I can partake, thankfully."
CloakedBrown's non-Green'd arm is reached out so that he might give the edge of his cloak a careful tug, causing it to billow quite nicely. "I believe I like it as well. Unfortuante that it is slit. That will not serve as well after this event." That same hand that tugged the clock comes up to prod at the chin-strap. A nod again threatens to disrupt the man's balance. "Yes. Food." And so, the Brown is leading his green carefully toward the tables, making sure not to smack into anyone with his dragon snout.
Pale eyes skip over the cavern from behind a dark brown mask, but dart back up to the Man in Black as he sidles up to her once again. The Pregnant Tent leans into him, as much as to avoid being jostled by all the new arrivals as to respond to his warming touch. A finger is held up for him to see. "Food," she mutters to him, always a priority lately. Another finger follows the first. "Then a good place to sit and watch. Looks even more elaborate than the first one," she comments while curling her arm gently around his, signal enough for him to lead the way while she lugs her heavy belly along beside him.
Fashionably late is the young man in all white. He lingers at the threshold of the infirmary's tunnel for a few moments, executing a few last self-conscious checks of costume; mask, buttons, shoes, hair. All seems to be in order. As such, after a cursory scan of the disguised denizens of the living caverns, he enters the fete but sticks to the wall, circumnavigating its outer limits with a voyeur's dark eye for the goings-on in the central thick of things.
GreenDragon seems perfectly at ease in her costume, but, then, there's no hint on how her head-dress is held so securely in place. That veil hanging beneath the dragon's head hides everything from sight. With another slight nod, she follows her Brown toward the food tables, apparently able to see through the veil well enough to negotiate the room. There is a faint rustle of material that sounds a bit like dragon wings when they settle. "The music sounds wonderful, but I don't know how well we can dance in these costumes." She pauses. "Then again, mine's pretty sturdy -- or so I'm told. I don't think I want to try any toss-dances in it, though." Once at the food table, she releases the Brown's arm, reaching for a plate. If anything is bothering her, it's the leather gloves and talons. "These may have to go, though...."
The current song playing ends in a flourish. The crowd on the dance floor applause and some of them cheer and call out their approval to the harpers. Said harpers take a bow and launch into a new song. The last was a dance and this one is something meant to be listened to. Something to encourage people to listen as they eat.
"I do not believe that mine will fall apart - but the feel of it is... strange." That chinstrap is prodded again, and the CloakedBrown moves carefully as he, too, secures a plate. "If you need, I have pockets. I could take your gloves." And the hand with twisted fabric wrapped around its wrist is held out. "We could do something slow," is mused when the applause erupts, "so long as we minded the placement of our... heads." Now, turning his full torso rather than his neck, the Brown scans the area once more, trying to take note of any possible jostling spots around the food tables that ought to be avoided.
Winter's laugh is more seen than heard even by those at the table with her. But she does laugh as she takes up the glass before her for a small sip. Once the glass is set back down pale fingers seek out one of the small pastries on her plate. It may be frosted, but even her food is lacking in color. The wine seems to just be along to join the red of her lips. She leans forward causing a man across from her to lean forward as well. Whispers are exchanged, but she leans back a moment later and shakes her head.
The Man in Black listens and nods, taking the hand of his Pregnant Tent and crossing in front of her. He'll run interference with the crowd: damned if any of these masked crazies are going to get anywhere near her, with him walking in front and bulling them out of the way if they don't move on their own. Yet it's not the food table he goes to, although their path does take them near it - down a momentarily empty swath of floorspace between the table and the sitting area. These two arrived somewhat late, and the best seats are taken, but the Man in Black finds an acceptable bench, with a decent view of the dancing and an excellent view of the room at large for all one's people-watching needs. "You sit," he tells the woman with him, drawing her forward, "tell me what you want. Can get it for you."
The almost Painfully White fellow doesn't care for dancing, it seems. He skirts far from those that dare to sway to a song that's clearly meant only to be listened to. Food is, however, a reasonable attraction, and without sparing much interest for those celebrants around him, he makes a quick path to the buffet table. There, he picks through bits and bites, favoring greeny things and tidbits from the sea. He makes good use of one of the little plates, and equips himself with a napkin besides, of course. Not wishing to be obtrusive, he steps out of the way, back against a wall, holding his plate aloft to pick at bits here and there while entertained by the crowds swirling past.
Near the food table a couple of people jostle playfully. A few others grumble in the line, but everyone seems to be in a good mood thus far and so once order is restored there is joking about the situation. Of course, it did happen at the food tables and not the one with the wine.
Pregnant Tent slides heavily down to the seat that the Man in Black selects for her, expelling a sigh when she finally settles. He'll get no protests from her, just a grunted, "Okay," while she arranges her skirts with little twitches and smoothing motions of her hands. "Mmm," she hums while she thinks, raising her eyes to find his again only after she's decided. "A couple of those tiny meat pies? And anything sweet. Cupcakes. Just don't steal all of the frosting off of them before you get back." She sends him off with that slight tease and a stonger tilt of her smile, then lets him go unwatched as she turns her attention down the length of the table behind her, catching sight of a pale, pale woman among more brightly colored celebrators not too far down. Then it's back to watching the people surrounding the dance floor.
CloakedBrown takes those gloves from the GreenDragon, tucking them carefully inside his cloak, where presumably resides a pocket of some sort. Then, after a moment or two of waiting, it's to helping himself to food - right in behind that white creature. "This," he notes, with a careful movement meant to get the Green's attention, "is part of my favourite food." Even the Brown's in a good, and quasi-talkative mood, as he helps himself to some sort of cracker-topping type of salad, consisting mostly of cooked meaty fish and a creamy dressing. Two slices of bread are taken as well. For sandwich-making.
From the doorway, a figure swatched in reds and oranges appears, and trailing beside her is a large, broad man with red hair. He's not dressed up as much on anything, though he has donned a simple mask to comply wit the evening. His flashier companion whistles low. "Lookit all'v em. Y'wanna gets drinks an' I kin peek around?" It's hard to tell if the man obeys her words or just responds to some inner calling. Either way, the woman in red slips a few paces away to listen in on a conversation that seems to consist of the one trying to guess the identity of the other.
Squeezing the shoulder of the Pregnant Tent, the Man in Black sets off to obey her directives without a word. The meat pies are easy enough to get at, as most of the other party-goers have chosen to go for more rare (and more fancy) fare, but the sweets are something of a battle. He piles the plate high with them anyway - cupcakes, as well as various frosty pastries and spicy cakes to keep the Tent occupied. That accomplished, he heads over to fill his own flate, crossing close to the Painfully White figure picking greeny things onto a little plate. He waits quietly for the figure to finish with the serving tongs, his own regular sized plate held at the ready.
Green is busy piling her own plate full of various foods. She's never been particular about what she eats, and so a little of everything goes on her plate. Beside seafood and shellfish, she chooses some vegetables, some of the same salad-like stuff her Brown escort chose, bread, and a couple of small cakes. "It all looks so good, and I deliberately didn't eat much today so I could stuff myself tonight. We didn't get a lot of seafood where I grew up, so it's quite a treat." A couple of skewers rest on top of all the other food, and she chuckles. "I think, with all the fish, I'll have white wine. You find us a table, she suggests, holding out her plate to CloakedBrown. "I'll fetch us drinks, napkins and the like. Someplace near the hearth would be nice. This dress isn't all that warm."
CloakedBrown adds a few vegetables to his plate, and the occasional bit of seafood, and then is free to take the Green's food. Head dips more downward than nods, for fear of disturbing that headdress. "Near the hearth." A slow, turning glance shows that it's crowded, but never doubt the tenacity of a Brown carrying out a Green's request. "If you need my cloak at any point tonight, you will tell me," is suggested more than asked. And then, he's picking his way around Black and White types, and avoiding dancers or people who are generally moving as best he can on his way to the desired seats.
Winter brushes a bit of confectioner's sugar from the fingers of her gloves. Once this task is done she rises to her feet and abandons her plate after selecting a final puff pastry. This and her glass of wine accompany her as she leaves the table and sets off for, nowhere in particular. She seems content to mingle and exchange a few barely heard whispered words to those she deigns to speak to. Cold and aloof seem to be the order for the night with only a few breaks so her scarlet lips might curve upwards into a taunting smile.
The 'white creature' takes to surreptitiously watching the green and brown dragons make their meals. A more charismatic creature would sweep in and make some remark about draconic dietary habits, but he hangs back, simply quizzical. Surely those outfits aren't more cumbersome than they're worth? Granted, they are concealing. He realizes then that he's still got the tongs, and that someone is waiting for them. "My apologies," the Painfully White-clad fellow murmurs, turning to offer the tongs towards the Man In Black, handle first. He hesitates, undoubtedly with a flash of recognition in the eyes behind the mask. That costume...familiar. The white-masked one inclines his head towards his darker associate. "I hope the evening has found you well, and that the Turn to follow will be fruitful for you."
Man in Black is focused on getting food, and for that reason doesn't notice the dragons bopping about. His eyes simply trace up, when he's spoken to, from the platter of greens. At the moment, it looks as though the two - opposites in costume - will have very similar plates, for the black masked man has also passed the seafood table at some point, but the green things get heaped onto the plate set up for the Pregnant Tent in what will later be passed off silently as a suggestion. He's less observant than the white fellow, however, and the costume doesn't evoke any hint of recognition from him; but the voice gets it right away, and he blinks. "Hey," he says, giving his chin a jerk towards the other man. His greeting's out of line with the white creature's well wishes, but those are tended to next. "It's fine, yeah. Sitting over there with-" but he's not supposed to give that away, however, obvious, so he catches himself with a quick wriggle of his lips. "Sitting over there, you're looking for a place." The invitation's offered, but it's in no way binding, for the black-clad man just turns his attention back to the tables as he goes on to fill his plate with fruit and an odd forkful of noodles before he'll bring the Pregnant Tent her plate.
Making a slow turn around the room, the woman meant to look like fire takes in each costume with dark eyes hidden behind her simple mask. If her escort is bringin drinks, he's pausing for a bit of food himself, picking up and swallowing down one of the skewered shrimp. She pauses by where a pair of men, one black and one white, stand near a couple others near the food. "Evenin'," she offers. "Like watching right n' wrong. Clever."
The white one swallows the bite of food in his mouth - one of those appealing shellfish things that seem so popular tonight - and dabs the corners of said mouth with a napkin before responding. "Thank you," he says to the man in black, accepting the invitation without affirmation or denial of it. Vague, but purposefully or unintentionally so? Fire's captured his attention now. She's given a stiff half-bow. "Good evening..." His eyes trail from her dress, to look between himself and the man in black. "This was not coordinated intentionally," he tells her. Just so one one gets the wrong idea, you see. Realizing that was a little too starchy, perhaps, he attempts to smooth it over with a murmur: "Though I thank you for noting an interesting, if unintentional, metaphor. I wonder if your analysis is correct, or if shades are deceiving." Behind the shadow of the mask's eyeholes, the man's dark eyes slide to the man in black to see his reaction to that.
CloakedBrown is, alas, quite unable to find a spot near the hearth. The next best area is a spot with a view, a certain bench near where a rather large Tent is seated. The man sits quite cautiously, the movements precise, and makes sure to give that tent plenty of room. Maybe he'd seen the black man with her. "Evening," is given in a gruff, and still somewhat mumbled, voice. The Green's plate is set beside him, saving her seat while freeing his hand to start organising his sandwich.
"Oh, I couldn't, sweetie," Green replies, lifting one shoulder as she hands over her plate. "I'm afraid it wouldn't work too well over these, and besides, it looks really good on you." It cannot be seen, but she's smiling behind that veil. Turning away and trusting Brown to find them a good seat, she waits her turn for the wine. She nods to both the ManInBlack and the PainfullyWhiteFellow, then concentrates on making her way to the drinks table. She manages to snag two large glasses of white wine, and accepts a compliment from the man behind the table. Of course, she declines the rather obvious invitation he issues; even if she /is/ a GreenDragon, she is /very/ choosy. With wine in hand, she turns around, and finally spots Brown over near the PregnantTent. Being careful not to spill the drinks, she heads toward the BrownDragon and the group near him.
The Pregnant Tent remains as one might guess she would, keeping her heavy self as comfortable as possible on that bench. This involves several shifts at odd intervals, a hand often bracing her belly as if she could rearrange it to a more favorable conformation too. The flicker of a frown that graces her brow during one such shift disappears when someone settles near her. She looks up with a smile for the newcomer, merely blinking her surprise when she finds a fake dragon head attached. "Evening," she returns his greeting with a friendly manner, nodding. "Quite elaborate," she comments, returning her gaze up to the man's disguise as an indication of what she refers to.
Metaphors are yet another thing about which the Man in Black cares less than his food. The fire red woman's comment does not parse for him, and for her trouble she gets a simple blink. At least his unintentional coordinate gets the idea and can keep the conversation lively. The Man in Black has a few more tidbits to add to the mix of plates, but while he's doing so he must have an ear tuned to the talk around him, because he doesn't miss his cue when the white knight looks at him. At least, he doesn't miss his cue to answer; he /does/ miss it where sensitivity's concerned. "They're just clothes," he informs the metaphorical ones plainly. "Getting back." And that is his farewell, for he turns back to the crowd. If he thought he was getting away from costume issues for the night, though, he's disappointed quickly, for his (and his Tent's) table has been invaded by the dragons that only he was oblivious enough not to note earlier. "What the fuck," he says sharply, and makes no secret of his immediate dislike for the dragons' heads. He's glaring at them narrowly behind his mask while his hand guides its own way down to put the Tent's plate in front of her.
The food tables are replenished with speed. Those who have to work in their plain outfits with a black or white mask carry out empty platters and bring in full ones to take their place. It moves with a clockwork precision. There is always something new for those who keep an eye on such things, but the staples are always there as well.
"It is a bit bulky," the Brown replies to the Tent, a frown finding its way to the exposed bit of face. "The rest is quite functional." And he's got the hang of moving with that cloak quite easily, it seems, even if the dragon head is a pain. "Well, mine is," is noted with what might almost be a smile as the Green joins him. And then there's swearing. And, surely if the back of the CloakedBrown's neck were exposed, hair would be seen to rise. Bristle. And he turns, ever so slightly, to make himself that much bigger in front of the one he's escorting. Protective. For now, no verbal response is thought up. He'll just scowl from within the getup.
"And masks," the fiery woman notes. "Black n' white? C'mon, gotta be blind t'think they don' match nice, even on accident." But the one portion of the monochromed pair drifts away and the red woman shrugs to drift off in the other dirction. Perhaps it's not an accident, then, that she ends up near the other all-white figure in the room. She has to lean forward a bit to note the pattern of snowflakes, and then she laughs. "Lookout. Melt'cha," she teases whoever-it-is.
PainfullyWhite is left no opportunity to probe his black-clad ex-conversation partner about whether or not he might have touched a nerve, let alone the opportunity to make amends. The lips below the white mask merely purse, dark eyes tracking his departure. He seems ambivalent towards the fiery one's departure, though he's kind enough to nod farewell to her absence. Left on his own once more, and quite contendedly so, it would seem, he takes his remaining hors d'oeuvres and seeks out an out-of-the-way seat somewhat near the harpers, to sit and listen while digesting.
Another dance tune is struck up and the dance floor is once more crowded. The wine has been flowing quite freely by now and plenty of people started before arriving. It creates a lively time of it for those who choose to dance.
Winter has just taken a sip from her glass when she is spoken to. Her head turns so she might take in the person 'threatening' her. "I doubt that would be possible," is her soft reply. She makes no effort to ensure they carry far enough to be heard. Instead she lets them float out into the crowd of noise to be picked up or not. "A heart of ice and snow. No chance of being melt even by someone as heated as you are."
"Y'think?" the red woman asks of her white-clad victi....companion. "I dunno 'bout that. Seen snow melt pretty fast, conditions weren't right. Seen ice turn t'water n a person's hand. En't s'hard. Like th'dress, though. Real pretty."
Once Green has found Brown, she maneuvers the glasses onto the table. And then she's maneuvering herself onto the bench beside her escort, the dragonhead managing to remain steady enough on her own head. "Evening," she offers to the Tent, a slight inclination of that head. "It's not so bad. Fits rather well, actually," is her only comment to the costume issue. The veil parts slightly, and a face can be seen in the shadows. The features aren't easily made out, despite this, but it does make eating and drinking simpler. The wine is on its way to her lips when the swearing begins. There is no reaction from the Green, although she does look away, perhaps to see if there is another place available to sit. Instead of responding, she sets her wine down and picks up a skewer of shrimp, pulling them off, one by one, and then making short work of them. "Such a nice welcome," is finally said, voice soft, but not so soft it cannot be heard over the music.
"A few drops in the right spot and the fire is history," Winter retorts with a slow smile. "I've seen plenty of that happen in all my many turns. After all, I keep the Weyr under wraps for most of every turn." Lifting her glass she takes a drink from it and then shakes her head. "It is a lovely debate to have. But I believe I see your companion seeking you." One hand gestures towards where the red-headed man Fire arrived with stands. "I should hate to keep you separate. Have a lovely night, dear. Do stay warm." Before she turns to leave she runs her free hand over her dress. "Nothing wrong with pretty. Even when you are made of ice." Her whisper vanishes with that and she leaves Fire. After leaving her glass on a nearby table she leaves everyone and seeks the bowl where she might blend in with the cold outside.
Near the food tables one couple have a quiet argument. She wants to leave and he wants to stay. Her gestures turn more and more wild before she finally turns and stalks off. Not towards the outside or the kitchen, but to the infirmary. Perhaps she imbibed too much.
"Stayin warm," the red woman murmurms, "ain't a problem." But since it's noted that her escort is looking for her, she allows Winter to slip away. "It's burnin' shit down when I didn't mean t'..." with a small drug the red dress joins the red-haired man who opts to sit down at one of the tables, rather than head out on the dance floor.
On the dance floor one man must be complained to when his partner is hauled off the floor by him. He has to leave and he seems unwilling to let her remain. He escorts her to a table in the corner where he sits down.
Muttered responses to the Man in Black's less than customary greeting are ignored, if heard at all, and the arrival of the plate draws the Pregnant Tent's eyes to his masked face. "Thanks, dear," she says to him, and the ploy to pull his attention to the knowing smile she has waiting for him continues as she snags his wrist and drags him down with it, placing his hand behind her back if he comes along. Then it's back to the dragon pair, much more cordial than her partner. "Wherever did you find the time to get all of that done?" she asks, letting mild surprise show past her mask that anyone would have such free time.
There's a moment of silence as the Green finishes her shellfish, and picks up something else from the plate. "My brother's a weaver," is murmured softly. "He and ... a friend of his ... love to make masks and costumes. He said this one was ... a mistake." A soft chuckle. "They made it for a lady but it was too small for her." A beat. "Oddly enough, it was exactly my size, and since I happened to mention the masked party in my last letter to him ..." A shoulder shrugs. "Your costume is lovely. That's a beautiful color, and the material is lovely." She cannot help but notice the woman's condition. "When are you due, if I may ask?"
Man in Black's upper lip curls up, but his lady knows him all too well, and that wrist-snag comes just in time. It has the dual effect of making him face the Tent, rather than the dragons, and of focusing his attention on the plate still held in his other hand, as he shifts his weight quickly to make sure none of it spills. When it does go down, it goes down on purpose, with a solid thunk as he drops it without a hint of grace - or even the attempt - and follows shortly after. He hasn't forgotten about the dragons' presence, as he digs into his food with a certain vengeful wrath, but he doesn't say a word more about the costumes. Leave the talking to the tent.
CloakedBrown offers, "It wasn't our doing. No such time," and otherwise is content to go along with the green's explanation. No nodding, though, not with that head on his shoulders. He, too, dives into his food, and leaves talking to the women. But his eating isn't so wrathful, especially once he's finally got that sandwich assembled. The Brown sets to eating it with a certain caution, biting off symmetrical bits to make different shapes as he goes.
"A mistake?" the Pregnant Tent repeats, laughing lightly and clearly amused by the story the woman beneath the Green Dragon shares, the corners of her smile sliding effortlessly higher. Her shoulder leans into the Man in Black beside her while she converses with the other two, a faint sound of discomfort sighing out before she answers the Green's question. "Soon, if I have any say in it." Which of course she doesn't. She lifts her hand and lets her fingers hover over the plate brought for her, blinking curiously at the greens that weren't on the menu she gave him before silently moving on to grab a tiny meat pie that was. "Less than a month now," she explains more seriously, though she doesn't seem to take any specific interest in discussing that topic, turning quickly to take a careful bite.
The Man in Black looks over at his Pregnant Tent when she leans into him, his vengeful eating put on pause for just a moment. Finally a whuffed breath pops out of him, and with a sound that's midway between a grumble and a growl, he lets her stay. His food suffers less for her presence, his actions noticeably checked while he accounts for her trusting weight against him, and eventually his mood seems to cool to a dull simmer. He lifts a narrowed glance to the Brown Dragon across from him, but finding him immersed in the sandwich eating experience, lets it go after another brief, inconsequential tug of his lip. His eating is almost tame now, but the plate itself is a warzone of shrimp tails and cracked oysters, evidence of furies past.
CloakedBrown's sandwich eating stays well-planned until the very last bite. And once that's eaten, he's licking his fingers, and peering over toward the Green beside him. And then holding very still, surely listening to something as the band starts up a new song. Nevermind if he's interrupting a conversation or not, it's here at, reaching to brush the Green's hand with his fingertips, he suggests, "We could dance the next slow song," rather quietly. Privately, almost. Pity he can't lean over to help with that.
Green seems intent on her food, though. Too look at her, it would seem almost as if she's determined to eat as much of the seafood and shellfish as she can. "Oh, well, maybe a bit later? I'm famished, and this is SO good," she begs off, a succulent shrimp halfway to her mouth. To the tent, she sort of nods. "Oh, yes, most /convenient/ mistakes, too." It might not be seen, but her tone implies a rolling of eyes. "He's quite talented, and has a wonderful fashion sense. He's determined to see I dress well." A short laugh. "Me? Clothes are clothes. As long as they're clean, fit reasonably well and are durable, that's good enough for me. I have the fashion sense of ..." She stops, trying to think of something. "...something not fashionable."
A figure in browns and silvery-grays slip in, but it would seem just to sneak out a plate of the goodies slaved over by the kitchen crew. A glance around is given, a faint smile offered, but nothing of words, as she slips back out as silently as she entered.
The Pregnant Tent nods for the Green Dragon's conversation, though she seems to be paying more attention to the costumes of those passing the table than the conversation about clothes. "Mmhmm, me too," she agrees, though, sending a smile toward them both before she takes another bite of her food. "You know, you two should get your dance," she urges, turning to Reyce to note, "My mother wanted me to find her at some point. Unless you want to stay and eat, dear," she adds considerately, patting his forearm lightly.
The Pregnant Tent got away with calling him 'dear' the first time - the Man in Black was a bit distracted, growling at dragons - but this time he shoots her a warning look that turns wary when it meets and she's patting his forearm. "'M finished." Toning down the level of the saccharine, he pins her patting hand down beneath his palm, holding it a second so it will look like something more affectionate than 'stop that, it's weird.' On its retreat, hopefully leaving a still hand in its place, that hand gives the Tent's plate a nudge, making it wobble slightly on the table and quietly drawing attention to itself and the still uneaten food (such as those greens) left on it.
CloakedBrown sits back on his chair, and sets to prodding at some of the vegetables on his plate, arranging them in little geometric shapes. The tent's encouragement, though, has him looking over to that Green (carefully). And then slowly scanning the room. "At least, if you do wish to eat, there seems to be some space by the hearths now... Are you cold?" This is all spoken in that same, soft tone.
Never let it be said that Green cannot take a hint. "A little chilly, yes, but not overly so," she replies, glancing up from beneath the headdress. "However, I wouldn't mind sitting closer to the hearth. You know me, I freeze from the first sign of autumn until summer." She laughs softly, dropping her food back on her plate. "We'll leave you good folks to enjoy the party, then," she says, carefully rising. "Thank you for sharing your table with us." Gracious, yes. "And you take care," she adds to the Tent. "They had enough of a scare with the Weyrwoman." It's friendly admonishment, and said with a pleasant enough tone. "If you get uncomfortable, I can make you a tea which will ease back pains." As if the Tent knows exactly who she is. "Good even', then." And she's moving away, toward the warm hearth.
CloakedBrown gets up after his Green, nodding, unthinking, to the couple. A frown as the head moves slightly, not quite so custom-built for his general head movements, it seems. A muffled curse comes with the adjustment, and he tries a more dragon-head-friendly, "Have a good evening," before moving to catch up with the woman in the green costume. He'll even go so far as to reach a hand for the small of her back, guiding her with a degree of chivalry toward the vacant seats he'd spotted in that warmer area of the caverns.
The Pregnant Tent is friendly to the very end, smiling warmly at the pair as they prepare to leave, and nodding a silent thanks for the woman's offers. "Stay warm," she offers cheerfully, sending them off with a hand raised in a single wave. Then she turns back to the man in black and the plate he nudged a moment earlier. "I think I know what we're dressing as for the next masked ball, dear," she says, though this time the affectionate term takes on a decidedly impish, teasing tone. Perhaps as an attempt to placate him after that jibe, she selects a green daintily between two fingers and slips it into her mouth, chewing around her broad smile.
The Man in Black lacks such social graces, and his erstwhile tablemates are allowed to leave without a word or even glance from him. His eyes slide over to look at the Tent when she teases him, letting her feel the weight of his disapproval for a slim second before he bothers to move. "Don't think you do," he tells her gruffly, shoving his plate forward into the space just vacated by the Brown Dragon, on the one hand getting it out of the way and on the other hand subtly suggesting, to any other potential company, that the spot may be saved already. In fetching the plates, though, he forgot to get anything to drink, and it's a bother just now when there's nothing to occupy his hands - except eating one of the Tent's cupcakes, which he does without a word.
The seats are considerable closer to the hearth, which does seem to please GreenDragon. She sets plate and goblet down, then seats herself. She's almost managed to clear that plate, too. "I'm sorry," she apologizes to CloakedBrown, looking over at him. Therefore he, at least gets a look at her shadowy features. "I was really hungry, and those shrimp were delicious. You're used to seafood, but at Ruatha it's not all that common. It was a real treat for us kids, and I've always loved it." To prove that statement, Green helps herself to a piece of fried fish and some whitish sauce on a garlic-flavored cracker. This time she doesn't bother with a napkin, but licks her fingers. "I promise we'll dance, I just want to finish eating first."
CloakedBrown adjusts his cloak to fall mostly to his side as he sits down, in anticipation of that extra heat from those hearths. The dragon's head looks a bit more out of place without that cloak covering his shoulders. An older memory prompts him to prod once again at that chin strap. "As you wish," is allowed, the wine that surely was brought with them lifted up to his lips. "If things had not been so busy, I would have made a sort of sandwich for you... the ingredients were there. But it requires use of the kitchens. It must be fresh." Torso turns slowly, and the brown sets to watching those dancers already out on the floor.
Licking her fingers once more, GreenDragon pauses to smile across at her companion. "The shrimp had a very unusual flavor. I'm not certain what kind of spices they used on them, but they were good," she remarks, picking up, at last, one of the sweeter concoctions the kitchens created. She licks icing off the side, grinning. "Oh, this is good. Try one," she suggests, offering him the second of that particular dessert. "A sandwich, eh? Well, I liked the fish on crackers. That sauce is very tasty."
The Pregnant Tent blinks at him from behind her mask at the sound of the gruffness in her voice, but she slides her plate an inch back toward him when he takes that cupcake, permission to take more. She just stares at him though, head tilting to the side, smile persistent while she waits for him to look back at her. Eventually she grabs another bit of greens and pops it in her mouth, telling him after it's gone, "Don't pout at me." And if he still doesn't look at her, he has a sharp poke to the side coming his way.
"I did not try the shrimp," the Brown notes, peering as that last one is eaten by his Green. "I have always preferred proper fish to the shellfish. It is not a dislike, just..." And he shrugs. This, at least, doesn't disturb that dragon mask too much. The offered dessert is reached for with something of a sigh, and sniffed before it's bitten. "Very sweet," is decided.
There's a slight nod from the Green, since she's busily eating her own dessert and doesn't talk with her mouth full. Finally, after a couple pieces of fruit, it would seem the bottomless pit is replete. Something seems to amuse her, then, as she sits back a little, sipping her wine. "You know, when Rappa offered me the costume, I didn't think the appetite of a dragon came with it." There's a twinkle in her eyes that can be felt more than seen. "Just let me digest this a bit, and we'll dance something slow. Then I'm all for heading back to your weyr. Suddenly I've a hankering to look at a certain tapestry..." Oh, yes, there's a smirk on those hidden lips.
The plate makes a small noise when it moves towards him, and that gets the Man in Black's attention for a second. The woman who's moving it does not, though, because he would rather focus on his mask - he's been wearing it for a long time, it's cheap, and when he lifts it to rub a finger along his skin, there's a visible red line where it's been pressing in. Of course, he might have expected that, since it happened after he took of his mask at the last ball, too. "'M not," he tells her, but he's still distracted fiddling with his mask, and so indeed he doesn't look at her. The poke gets his attention back, as he twists away from the Pregnant Tent with a quick "Ow." A frown follows it, but hey, it's a look. He leaves his mask alone to put his palm over the spot she poked.
The flushing of cheeks can just barely be seen under the mask the CloakedBrown wears. "Of course." He sits back in his chair, enough to nudge the dragon head forward a little. "He still does not stop gloating," is added with a bit of a sniff. The mask gets a push with an index finger, the chin strap is adjusted once again. "Something slow. Should we leave our heads here, or wear them onto the floor?"
"I'd have to have help getting out of mine," the Green replies, twirling the stem of her wineglass between her fingers. "I had to get a couple of the laundry girls to help me get into it properly. So, maybe I'd better leave it on. If it's too cumbersome, well, I'll just offer you a rain-check and we can head on out." Another sip of her wine, and she grins at a couple dressed as fish. "So, he's still gloating, hm?"
CloakedBrown sits forward again, and the dragon head settles back around his shoulders, as it's supposed to be. "I am certain we can deal with these heads if need be. If you would like to dance... even briefly, and then we will head out to the bowl." And now, the rider rolls his eyes (not that it can really be seen), and turns himself toward the exit of the caverns. "And he can gloat us all the way back to the weyr. You, at least, do not have to listen."
"You're supposed to pay attention to me," the Tent tells him in her defense, waiting for him with that same smile. "I'm very pregnant and very erratic," and her hand slips up to the spot she poked seconds earlier, finding his hand already there and soothing that instead of the actual hurt. "These mood swings come over me, and I just don't know what I'm doing," she excuses herself, only half jokingly. She grabs the hand hers covers instead and drags it to her, wrapping her fingers around it. "Come on," she implores, "my mother really does want me to find her. Come walk me around." She slips the rest of the meatpie into her mouth with her other hand, though the requested sweets remain untouched on the plate.
GreenDragon chuckles again and then takes a breath. "Give me a couple more minutes, please?" There's just a hint of uncertainty in her voice, now. A hand moves to her stomach and rests there for a couple of moments. A visible shiver plays over her body, and she sits back a little in her chair. The wine is finished, and the empty glass set on the table. "I think the wine's gone to my head a bit. Teach me to drink on an empty stomach, I guess." Empty? Stomach? Hers? After she gorged herself on shrimp and seafood? It's more likely she ate too much too fast.
CloakedBrown brings his hands out before him, and sets to tapping his fingertips together in a steady and symmetrical pattern. "Take whatever time you wish. I am not rushed." Even if people are dropping off, the band's still playing, there are still dancers... He winds up inspecting the Green though, and does have to query, "Are you all right?"
The Masked Man's hand is pulled away, giving up on its efforts to soothe his poked side and letting the Tent do as she pleases with it. "Should have - found you then." The pause comes with a silent little belch, whiffed out at the corner of his lips so it won't interfere with his words for more than an instant. In the next instant he's getting up, bringing his hand back into play as he draws it up to her shoulder, ensuring with a light pressure that she's going to stay put and eat her meatpie till he helps her up. He even gives her time to chew before he'll take her arm to guide and support her off the bench.
"Oh, sure, I'm fine," is the quick response, a hand lifting to wave away concern. "I drank on an empty stomach, and gorged myself on seafood. It's just going to take a few minutes to settle, is all." She certainly sounds all right, but her hand goes back to her stomach, and stays there. "Besides, I'm a healer. If anyone should know when they're all right, it's me." A weak chuckle. And then there's silence. A slight pressure of her hand. "Actually, some fresh air ... sounds good. Might clear my head a bit. I don't want to get out on the dance floor and pass out or anything."
CloakedBrown frowns a concerned frown at the mention of passing out, and is on his feet quite immediately. "We will go get some air, then." He waits for the GreenDragon to stand, and then escorts her out, limiting his touch to a brush of fingertips against her back. As the leave the shelter of the caverns, he even undoes that cloak, ready to drape it over the woman in case she has need of it.