In which boys are lamented and manicures are used as cures

[noleepackrat]

Nolee, Persie, Nalaieth, Secath, Jozell, Noemie, Naijath, Serela, Gerand, Caitlyn (via Morgan)

Ista Weyr Beach: North

Sunset at the beach: as the cool wind blows in from over the waters, the sallow sun slips below the wave-tossed sea that fades from green to black. The light of Rukbat washes the beach, the forests to your south, and the great black rock of the Weyr behind you in crimson light. The stars climb up over the Weyr and the plateau to your east, rising above the mist cast by the dancing waterfall that glows in a million firey rainbows. The black sands of the beach stretch for kilometres to the north and south, following the shoreline of the plateau. Below the pastel beauty of the blue-green sunset sky to the west, the dark smudges of the Ista Isles float on the sea, like the coils of some mythical monster.

The dry winter season relieves Ista Island of its humidity, replacing it with light, buoyant air. As the sun sets, clouds interrupt the sky and a turbulent wind gusts violently, howling around the peaks of the Weyr.
To the northwest, a bridge arches over the stream. To the south, the beaches continue to where long docks stretch far into the bay.

Sheltered in the sunset light against the bulk of a large dragon is Nolee, enjoying the tossing wind beneath the shelter of a rickety arrangement of a blanket and several palm-like fronds, a makeshift hideout of sorts. Once in a while, she peeks out from her hideout to resecure a branch before it is gusted off or to admire the colors of the Istan sunset.

As is sure to happen sometimes, a visiting pair wings down from the sky. It is a quick, plump green who settles down on the beach with a bright wuffle of greeting for the Istan queen. From her shoulders climbs a scrawny blonde girl of rather indeterminate age. She shucks off her flight jacket and leaves it tucked into the greens straps, then turns to see Nolee in her weird little hut. Her lips quirk to the side and she goes over there, bending down to peek around the fronds. "Hello?"

Secath
Dappled green touches the hide of this rotund little dragon with a forest of varying hues. A sense of sunlight filters through the canopy of her color, bleaching out her portly belly to pale leafy shades. Compact but light on her feet, Secath is a petite bundle with plump limbs, a stout tail and a sweet rounded face with heavy-lidded eyes. Her wings seem a touch small for her generous build, as do her feet, appearing dainty in comparison to her ample figure. Sturdy little spars in deep coniferous shades hold fine sails of mottled deciduous watercolor. A thin, soft brushstroke of fog runs from the nape of her neck to the end of her tail like a blue-tinted mist of distant tree line.
At 5 Turns, 7 months, and 12 days old, Secath is 20 meters in length.

Persie
Persie is a skinny, lanky girl, all bones and angles. Her build gives the impression of gawkiness, but instead, there is an ease to her movement, fluid, almost loose. She's a pale sort - fair skinned with smooth blonde hair and a heart-shaped face. Large blue-green eyes and fine bones would give her a doll-like look, but the effect is marred by a prominent, up-turned nose. She appears to be in her late-teens at most.
For summer, Persie wears a lime colored shirt made from a thin, billowy material that floats around her slim body and is held up with ribbons of lemon that tie at her sharp shoulders. Her shorts are indeed short, the dark dusty brown only accentuating the pallor of her long, thin legs. Pale, that is, when she isn't sporting a pink sunburn.

Nalaieth looks over the arriving pair, but pays particular attention to the rotund little green, eyes whirling against the wind with something akin to a warm shade of approval, as her low voice rumbles a husky welcome. Nolee, distracted from her makeshift hut's maintenance by the noises, pauses, and peeks her head out one side just about the time their visitor peeks her head in the other; ergo, she gets a good view of those short shorts. Her eyes widen, her mouth o-ing in wonder - where's the rest of her? Pulling her head back inside, she ohs. "Hallo!" she calls against the wind. "Need a shelter? It's nice enough in here." She assesses the pale girl judgementally, then adds, "Oh! And welcome to Ista."

Persie just sort of blinks at the woman in her shelter, a hand coming up to try to collect and hold the blonde hair that tosses around her head and gets all in her mouth when she tries to speak. "No? Well, yes, but, well... I was going to get a drink," she says, twisting from the hip to look over her shoulder at the Sandbar. "Do you... need a drink?" It seemed like the thing to do, make a counter offer, of sorts. "Oh, and greetings from Fort."

Nolee tosses her own hair back, though it doesn't remain put for long, even in the temporary shelter. Nalaieth shifts about, not exactly thinking much of this latest in Nolee's schemes, and the back wall of the 'enclosure' also shifts, since it is made largely of a large golden flank. "Drink?" she replies to their guest. "I suppose I could warm up a little. Not that it's very cold, but that wind is something. There's a bar here, you know? A sandy one. A sand bar." A futile gesture out and beyond the fronds. "Where they serve those. Drinks."

Jozell comes down the road from the Plateau, he just seems to be idly walking. His hands casped behind his back.

"Well, that's why I'm here," Persie says plainly enough, not at all perturbed by Nolee's manner of explanation. "To go to the bar for a drink." She reaches a hand toward the goldrider, offering to help her up. "And you are crazy because it is not cold here at all. You think I'm dressing like this back home?" Focused on Nolee as she is, and bent to the makeshift shelter, the greenrider does not notice Jozell.

"It is?" Nolee blinks, confused for a moment, then she ahs in understanding. Or enough understanding, anyhow. "Thanks!" Nolee takes the offered hand, standing up inside the clumsy shelter of palm fronds and blankets that have been piled against Nalaieth's flank. "It's cold...for here?" She scoots past the fronds, offering, "I could show you there. It'd be only hospitable." Nalaieth shakes, further dislodging the 'shelter' and obscuring Nolee's view of approaching people beyond. "She's had about enough sunset-watching anyhow. The bar's that-a-way. I think." A vague point. "Is it cold back there, where you're from? Or colder than this?"

Jozell is walking along the beach by now. He seems lost in his own little world, his hands behind his back, just listening to the surf crash against the shore.

"It's winter, so, well, yeah, it's colder. Way colder. Snowy colder," Persie explains after she's heaved Nolee up. "I had a jacket, but I thought my legs might fall off before I got here. But I was at Boll, oh, a few days ago, and I was in a sweater and all and I was boiling and melting and I thought I'd try not to do that again when I came here." She turns toward the way Nolee's pointed and gestures her forward.

Nolee leads the way, playing her best at 'polite tour guide,' murmuring about the natural beauty of Ista's landscape even though it's unseeable in the near dark of the sunset. She offers polite waves and even soft hallos for those she passes, and only trips once or twice over the sand or her own feet before they arrive at the Sandbar. "Ta da! This is it: Our Sandbar." She looks around, face changing expressions as she attempts to decide whether she likes it, or disapproves of it.

Ista Weyr -- The Sandbar(#4182RJ)
This dockside tavern stretches over the water, accessible from beach, docks or harbour itself. The light sound of slapping waves can be heard beneath the floorboards, and there are no walls, allowing tropical breezes to waft through and indulging patrons in panoramic ocean views. The carved wooden bar takes up the north end of the room, covered with a wood and reed roof that protects it from impromptu showers. The rest of the booths rest along the outside of the floor, all situated to be oceanside and set with brightly coloured cushions. The thatched wood roof continues along those booths leaving the center of the area open-air, though a metal canopy rests along the outside of one wall, ready to be drawn atop for rain or Threadfall. Further to the north and south the beach continues on for kilometers, black sand tinged a ruddy red with the blazing light of a fading sunset. Waves wash upon the beach with a steady roar, sending spray flying into the air at the furthest end of the beach to the south where a collection of rocks litter the shoreline.

The dry winter season relieves Ista Island of its humidity, replacing it with light, buoyant air. As the sun sets, clouds interrupt the sky and a turbulent wind gusts violently, howling around the peaks of the Weyr.

Nalaieth> Naijath lands gracefully on the beach, giving a soft croon of welcome to her mother and the other unfamiliar green.

Nalaieth> Nalaieth watches her rider and the Fortian visitor head off toward the sandbar, and she whuffles a little, then scoots forward, dislodging the makeshift shelter Nolee'd set up against her sides, nudging the palm fronds and blankets until the 'fort' collapses. Only once she's rid of this inconvenience does she return Naijath's greeting.

Persie nods at the points of natural beauty, getting the gist and appearing generally interested but not enough to ask questions or anything. The Fortian doesn't trip, but her long and ridiculously pale legs are, well, probably a bit of a ridiculous sight on the tropical beach. She's not terribly used to walking in sand and it shows. They get to the Sandbar and Nolee makes her proclamation, to which Persie can only reply, "Hello, Sandbar!" She looks around too, but appears to like it well enough. "Now for a drink. Are you gonnna have one?"

Nalaieth> Naijath waits patiently as her rider dismounts and watches as she heads into the Sandbar, her eyes whirling softly. Noemie having made it safely, she then turns her head to find a nice spot of sand for her to curl in.

Noemie walks into the sandbar a bit after Nolee and Persie enter, looking for company and figuring that she can find it there without fail. She enters and heads straight for the bar, ordering herself a weyrling's delight with just a splash of alcohol. Only once she's taken a sip does she look about the place for someone she knows-- and sees Nolee. Heading towards her and the visitor, she calls out a happy, "Hello! I haven't seem to have run into you for a while. How are you, Nolee?" She smiles at Persie. "I don't think we've met, have we?"

Noemie
Noemie has fully become an Istan as she has fully become a rider; tanned skin and a display of freckles across the bridge of her nose and cheeks talk of much time spent in the sun. She is, in some respects, a study in contrasts; her girlish facial features (a heart-shaped face, a petite nose, soft blue eyes) and blonde hair are a contrast to her rather petite, boyish form and numerous scrapes, bruises and spots of dirt that speak of her always being on the go.
Mere moments in her presence, and a good deal of her personality comes to light, revealed in the glint in her eyes, her wide smile, and her carefree tone of voice. Here is a girl who lives life to the fullest, takes advantage of every day and regrets relatively little. In her voice, too, is still the mark of one who has had advanced vocal training, all of her words spoken with careful, practiced enunciation and chosen carefully.
Her wardrobe is chosen carefully to deal with the Istan heat, vacillating between light sundresses and loose-cut slacks and the breeziest possible blouses, all of which are fashioned from thin, brightly colored cottons. She wears little jewelry, which makes what she wears all the more special: the ring she received when graduating from weyrlinghood, and a pendant given to her on the same occasion. On her shoulder she sports a knot of orange and black, as well as a brand-new knot proclaiming her to be a part of the Dawnsflame wing, both with a thread of green running through to symbolize the rest of her being, the dragon Naijath.
A quick visual estimate would place Noemie at 19 Turns, 8 months, and 8 days.

"Have one?" Nolee first takes a moment to giggle at Persie's clumsy sand-walking, particularly once she watches her companion's last few steps. "There isn't much sand at...er, where you're from, is there? You have to bow your knees out a little, like this," A demonstration follows, then at Persie's question, she looks doubtful, brows folding together as she contemplates. Would Gree-r think she were more rude to refuse a guest, or to get silly in front of one? By then, Noemie's ordered, and she waves an absent greeting. "I like the fruity ones. We have wonderful fresh fruits here. Even in the winter, like now. Oh, hallo, Naijath's--this is, er -- someone. From somewhere. She's visiting." As if her pale legs weren't a dead giveaway already.

"Er, uh..." That's Persie's oh so clever remark to everything that Nolee has said, and to Noemie's greeting as well. See, there was just too much said and not enough time for her to process it all, let alone come up with an answer. And so instead she just announces, "I'm Persie. And that's Secath outside. We're from Fort... for a drink?" Yep, it's a question, because by now she's uncertain it maybe she should, what with the hubbub and all. She looks to the bartender. "A drink, please." Only he cocks a brow at her because that isn't the sort of order he usually hears. He looks to Nolee and Noemie for what to do.

Noemie can't help but laugh at Nolee's example of walking in the sand. As Persie orders her drink-- seemingly, any drink-- she raises her glass towards Persie as an example. "This is a Weyrling's Delgiht-- very yummy, and not too potent. A good way to start here," she says, then turns to the barkeep. "I'd make that her order," she says wisely. Turning back to the Fortian, she says properly, "Noemie, green Naijath's. As Nolee may have mentioned." She gives Nolee a significant look, one of Are-You-Really-Going-To-Make-Me-The-Hostess?

Nolee steps up charitably and echoes Noemie's advice/order, "Two of what she had!" is her enthusiastic order, complete with a solid point toward Noemie just in case the tender is even more confused. "Welcome, Se--" a pause while she tries to remember what she's just heard, then a triumphant, "cath and Perise," close! "I'm Nolee, and the wind shelter outside was Nalaieth, and this is--what she said. And we're having drinks," is more decisive. Enough so that she claims a table, then looks at them both expectantly.

"Wait..." Persie says, her brows squishing together in daft confusion. "You guys have the same name?" Because that's what she heard. Lots of N's. "And no, I'm Persie." Though it doesn't really seem to bother her, since, well, she's not all that keen on names either. She does, however, lean in to the bar before joining at that chosen table, "Could you put some actual booze in mine?" She gets a bewildered nod from the bartender - what a crew he has in here tonight.

Noemie smiles broadly, her face shining with amusement. "No, no," she says, "Though it may sound that way. We both have N names, and dragons with N names. If it's easier, just remember she's the Goldrider and I'm the Greenrider- and her dragon clutched mine!" She follows Nolee eagerly to the table, settling into a seat and taking sips of her drink. "So, what brings you to Ista for a break? Our fabulous ocean views? Our wonderful fruity drinks?"

"It's my favorite, too," Nolee reassures, looking thirstily at Noemie's drink. Then she's puzzling over Persie's question, her gaze shifting to Noemie -- did her former mentee introduce herself with the same name? "You don't really have to remember all that," Nolee confides, not wanting to doom anyone to more names and figures. "And if you can't remember out names, you can say 'you' or 'you' and point and we'll figure it out." By this time, the befuddled bartender's done as asked, and is adding some booze to the usually sanitized drink. "She came to drink," the goldrider concisely explains. "I would too, if I'd sweated in front of a Holder." Cue obscure reference to earlier conversation here. "They always make me sweaty. Nervous, I think."

Serela wanders in from the beach.

Persie takes a drink and takes a seat and seems mildly soothed by the insistence that names aren't important, even if she gets sort of lost listening to it in the first place. "Okay," she says, she's forgotten what that one name was by now anyway. Nolee answers Noemie's questions for her, so Persie just replies to the bit about Holders. "Holder? Oh! No, I didn't see the Holder. I was there at the bar," she says. But thaaaaat... doesn't sound good. "I mean, well, I don't normally go to bars all the time. I'm having guy trouble. And the guy was there, so maybe that's worse than sweating in front of a Holder."

Noemie nods solemnly. "Guy trouble. Now to that, I can relate. And I think it may even deserve a toast. To guy trouble!" She raises her glass, then takes a drink, but doesn't elaborate any. Whatever sorts of trouble /shes/ having remains unsaid.

"Jays, he was -at- the bar? That's certainly a reason to go someplace else. Especially if you had a drink." Nolee, seated at a table with the other two, raises her own in toast, willing enough to join Noemie's suggestion. "Well, against it, but they're such lunkheads, it's unavoidable." Rather than taking a drink, she uses the umbrella-thing to fish out some soaking fruit, which is eaten with her fingers. "Just tell me the guy wasn't a Holder. Or," a scowl, "a beastcrafter. They're even worse."

Serela
Thick, auburn curls frame Serela's face. They are contained at her neck with a piece of plain wherhide then cascade down to the middle of her back. With her hair pulled back away from her face, the simple golden hoops piercing each ear are clearly visible. Her face is thin dominated by a pair of thickly lashed, dark brown eyes and a wide mouth. Her skin shows off a dark tan from her life under a tropical sun. This tall, lanky woman looks to be somewhere around 17 turns old.
Serela is dressed for warm weather in a pair of dark blue shorts that hang loosely on her lean frame covering her from waist to just above her knees. Matched with it is a blue shirt several shades lighter than her navy shorts that hugs to the light curves that the lanky woman has. A pair of sandals provide comfortable protection to her feet, the tan of them showing that she's often in such things.

Serela strides in with her hands tucked down in the pockets of her shorts. She heads over for the bar to lean in and say something softly to the bartender. She straightens up with a mischevious grin and nods. "Just a glass of ale, please. Thanks." She notes in a normal tone of voice.

Persie nods, "He was at the bar. It wasn't tonight, it was a little while ago. It's been a really lousy seven, ya know?" She takes a big gulp of the her drink, extra booze and all. "Anyway, I was there because he'd tried to talk to me and I couldn't talk to him and so I thought I'd get out of the Weyr and have a drink. And he ends up there..." she sighs and shakes her head. "No, he's not a Holder or a beastguy. He's a rider." But she -will-, lift her glass with Noemie and suck down another mouthful.

Noemie nods knowingly. She seems content to sip her drink, not eat it, and takes small sips as she listens to Persie's story. "Just a string of bad luck, hm? Well, Ista's a good place to come, then. Like I said... good drinks! Good scenery! Attractive male riders!" She thinks on that one. " She's making conversation usually offered after several drinks, and looks slightly surprised at herself. "Anyway, welcome."

"That's one thing in his favor. Beastguys are the worst." Nolee casually takes up this nickname of sorts. "Lousy seven? It's been more than that, with these wherrybutted Hold--" She breaks off, looks around suspiciously, says quietly, "ers not acting very nice." Louder, she corrects the order, "Have a weyrling's delight--they're the best!" Her glass is raised, and she drinks, watching to see if Persie will drink again with her gesture and owling her eyes some at Noe. "They are?"

Serela laughs at that change in drink order. "Nah, ale is good. I don't want to start of too strong." She notes, turning to look over to the women with a grin for Noemie. "There is true. What could be better than a pretty place with good drinks and cute men?" Serela says with a laugh.

"Guys," Persie says, "I don't know if I should go getting involved with some hot guy... I'm..." She plants an elbow on the table with a knock and slumps, shoulders sagging and her cheek all pushed up by her fit. It's a visual for such words as 'bummed out' or 'all heartsick and stuff'. "I'm sorry the Holders aren't nice," she says aside to Nolee, but it doesn't change the glum expression. Sure, she just met these girls, but that doesn't seem to mean much.

Noemie looks at nolee. "Well, /mine/ is, anyway," she says pointedly. She smiles at Serela, then at Persie. "Well, that might be a good idea. But you can always /look/, can't you?" She shrugs at the mention of the Holders. "I don't really have any contact with them-- I'm sorry Nolee, I didn't know."

Nolee shrugs to Serela's correction, looking at her own cup curiously. "I don't think it has any, unless they get altered, like theirs," she loudly whispers. Back to her tablemates, she frowns at Persie's sad appearance. "She looks like she's melted," she tells Noemie, shrugging off talk of Holders. "Jays, I've been that sad before, even over a boy. Or when something I liked broke. It's not worth it, though. He'll just go have a baby with some other old lady, and leave you for her. You should cheer up-- would you like another drink? I can buy it. Or we could paint your nails. I even have paints!"

Serela gets her glass of ale and then heads over towards the table the three women are at. "Isn't looking the best part?" She asks towards Noemie. "You don't have to deal with them doing something stupid, you just get to enjoy the view." She takes a sip, still standing up before she laughs. "Painting nails will fix everything?"

Persie stays flumped, "Well, normally I like looking. Secath and I have plenty of fun looking. I mean, I'm looking at guys and she's looking dragons and all, but... I don't think it's any different. It's just that, well, this is a different sort of guy, I guess." She takes another drink, a rather difficult maneuver since she doesn't lift her cheek from her hand. A small sip is all she can manage. " He -is- having a baby with some old lady," she frowns into her glass. Then perks an eye at Nolee, "You have the paints?"

Noemie perks up at Nolee's idea. "Yes, paints! That would be loads of fun. Girl's night in in one of our weyrs? We can refil our drinks and bring them on up." She nods to Serela. "Looking /is/ the best part. Especially when the one you're committed too doesnt know you're doing it!" She notes Perise's mention of an "old lady" and bites her lip. Reminds her of something she doesn't want to think of. But that's okay, she's bubbly and happy tonight, and she has a drink in hand. "I also have some face paints in my weyr. We could do nails and faces, like we're planning for a gather!"

As the tall girl approaches, Nolee looks ashamedly at her ragged painted finger and toenails. "Well, no, but it makes for a good distraction? Like having control over something, even with all of the" she gestures a cloud of activity by waving her arms about, almost tipping drinks, then saves hers. "That going on." An utterly woeful and bonding glance at Persie, and a very slow nod. "See? It's awful." She rises quickly, and bounds for the beach, in her excitement not staying to answer Noe's comments. "In my pack! With Nala. I'll be back!" And zip, she's out.

Serela looks down to her plain short cut nails and shrugs before she blinks over to Persie. "Well, at least that old lady isn't my mother this time. I hope." She notes before she smiles. "I'm Serela, by the way." She looks after Nolee and then laughs. "Nails and face paints. Wow. That's so very, er, girlie."

"I'm up for that," Persie says to Noemie, lips low and brows high in consideration. She holds her glass up, but turns it so that she can eyeballs her nails, short and clean, but not exactly well-shaped. She blinks as Nolee dashes off but soothes the moment with another lazy sip. "I'm not normally so... soggy," she apologizes to the two companions left. She looks to Serala, "Shards, I hope not. Who's your mother?" As for the girliness, that doesn't seem to bother this girly-girl at all.

Noemie shrugs. "We all need to be girly, now and then, don't we?" She laughs at Serela. "Have you been in such a situation before? Glad my Ma and Da are quite committed to each other. I think." She looks down at her own nails, holding up her hands to admire them. Short, but fairly well shaped, and not too broken. "Definitely will look better with some paint on them," she decides.

Before too long, Nolee has returned, hair mussed by the heavy winds outside, pack in hand. Returning to her spot at the table, she first takes a sip of her fruity drink, and catches her breath while she doles out a few vials, inventorying paint in varying shades of red, pink, and orange, shaping sticks with pumice stone ends, and a few admittedly smushed small runner-hair bristle brushes. "Here, where there's drinks, or someplace else?"

Serela shrugs over to Noemie. "My mothers love each other, but well, I wouldn't even be here if they were open and such. Let alone have a horde of siblings." She states before smiling to Persie. "Jascela. Well, she's the one of them that's most likely to be pregnant, it seems." Serela says before she laughs to Noemie. "I guess so. I'm just not so much the girly type. Not the painted nails and spending time worrying about how I look kind, at least. Isn't it enough to be clean?"

Noemie looks worried. "If she's pregnant again, then I'd better ask Naijath to double check that I'm /not/. We seem to be having kids at about the same time." She nods. "Of course, that's true. Have you really run into a male and found out he's one of your mothers' new child's father? I'm not sure I could take /that/." She hopes this doesn't come out rude, and says something to the fact, adding "Jascela and I are good friends, you know." At the last, she says, "Well, sometimes. But sometimes being pretty is /fun/."

Persie rolls a shoulder, "I like dressing up, making up and stuff," she says to Serela. The bit about mothers and fathers and pregnancies and, well, all of that stuff, she just drops her head down and turns her attention to Nolee's paints. "Ooh, I like all of these colors." She lifts her cheek off her hand so that she can splay her fingers toward the colors and consider which might look best.

"Being clean is good!" Nolee is quick to agree, not minding a whit about Serela's multiple moms, though her brows do flick in a vague recognition of the named one. "Jays, I forgot you'd had a baby, too, Naijath's," Nolee observes, considering. "But you're far too young to be an old lady. Not like M'yr's what's-her-name, anyway." She thinks, then selects one of the colors and holds it against Persie's cheeck, considering, then tries another. "Maybe one of the pinks or reds? You're a little pale for an orange."

Serela smiles over to Noemie. "Well, at least you haven't been pregnant at the same time for all of them. Otherwise you would have had to start /really/ young." She jokes before she pauses to think. "She's mentioned that, I'm sure." Serela takes a seat finally and sips at her ale.

Morgan flits into The Sandbar, cirling the small knot of humans as he lazily eyes the going's-on. Sniffing the air a little, the bronze decides to land in the middle of the womens' table - arching his neck haughtily.

Noemie giggles at Serela before correcting the goldrider politely. "/Two/," she says, "Both Ril's." She leaves it at that and then realizes she should add, "Talirith's rider, of the same clutch as Naijath's." She smiles at the little bronze as he flies into the sandbar, then, realizing her drink has been emptied, goes up to the bar and gets another drink-- a stronger one this time. Only after a few sips does she consider the colors Nolee's brought. "Hmm. Which do you think?"

Persie pauses a second, brows tight as she look at Nolee. Then her memory pops into function. "That's right, M'yr was from here. Yeah, him and Jenna had a kid. I don't know that I've ever scene it, actually, but I don't pay much attention to people having kids. I think I'm too young for that stuff. And, well..." she just frowns again. "Pink," she tells Nolee. "I'll take pink."

Nolee, absorbed in the nail paints, nods at Persie's choice, and she shakes, then opens a pink's vial, daubing a brush in and holding it up for Persie's approval and giving the saucy firelizard a warning look not to interfere. Without even looking at Noemie, she suggests "Orange," for her. "You can carry it off; you've bronzed enough in the sun. Jays, two already?" She casts a surprised glance at Serela: did she know that? "Oh, but you all might want to shape your nails a little first. That's what the rough stick is for."

Serela looks over at the sticks. "You use all of this stuff, just on your nails? Don't they just get back to the way they were?" She asks with a shake of her head. "It doesn't just all come off the minute you stick your hands in water?" She asks before she looks to the bronze. "Think you're going to get some attention here, huh? Good luck."

Morgan paces around his inner portion of the tabletop, looking from one face to the next, as if sizing up his tablemates. The firelizard peers at Nolee's 'look,' his sensitive nose taking in some of the fumes from that nail paint. *PHEW!* Snorting in disgust, the bronze backs off from the stuff, his head and neck bending to bring Serela into view. *snort*

Noemie giggles at the little bronze, then nods to Nolee. "Yes, two. They're both with my parents at Harper Hall. Miss them, but at the same time, thank Faranth." She takes her suggestion eagerly and reaches for the orange paint, testing it on one nail. "This will suit well," she says, beginning to paint them all-- they don't really need any shaping, she figures.

"Watch out of we'll do you next," Persie says to the firelizard, swinging her glass toward him to keep him away from the paints. "I think I need mine, like... well, shaped. I normally just cut them. After oiling I feel like it's all gummed up under there and I so I chop 'em down and scrub 'em out. I know that the oil is good for skin and all but I feel like it just sits under my nails and feels dirty." She offers her fingers to Nolee. "What do you think. Do I need to shape them?"

Nolee shrugs, taking up the rough stick and demonstrating how she shapes her nails. "It doesn't last long, especially with drills and strapmaking, or if I get ink on my hands? But I feel better if I keep them up. Like making your cot, or putting clothes in a press instead of on the floor." She shows the other two the shaping, then offers to manicure Persie's hand, agreeing at a glance that Noemie's are in better shape. "Hmm, I think they do. I'll do it, if you want; I'm quick with practice." If Persie doesn't move her hand, Nolee'll start in on it. "Ooh, that's why I didn't remember--you don't have them here!"

Morgan hears the one woman laughing, and struts over in her direction - his wings slightly open, demeanor puffed-up. A small snort again, this time for Persie, as he passes by her - the bronze seemingly disgusted at that attempt to fend him off. Soon enough he reaches Noemie, the little one's eyes whirling up at her in tones of azure. Look at *me. I am studly, aren't I? *preen*

Serela shrugs over to Nolee and Persie. "Well, I don't have oil, drills, or strapmaking, or that stuff, but my hands are wet a lot and such. I cook in the kitchen so I'm constantly washing them besides the other stuff. I figure short and plain works. At least it's clean." She leans back in her chair tucking her feet up. "I don't know how my Mamas manage to keep up with the horde of us with everything else. Probably helps that four of us are old enough to be out and into the resident dorms, but still..."

Noemie giggles at Nolee. "Well, Eavie was here till just recently, but she's only nine months old, so." She carefully applies the paint to her own nails, liking the way it works. "I think I can do this myself, Nolee, but thank you for the offer. And I agree. It's good to keep your nails up. Little details help add to your overall appearance." She nods at Serela. "Plus, there's two of them!"

Persie is happy to leave her hand in Nolee's care, particularly since the other one is free for drinking. "It tickles a bit," she observes with a giggle. See, having your nails done really does fix anything. Not particularly given to talking of children and hordes and such, considering recent happenings in her life, she attempts to strike up a different thread of conversation with her manicurist. "You knew M'yr when he was here?" she asks.

Nolee nods, frowning at the unappealing idea of hands constantly in dishwater. "When I tried to work in the kitchen, I kept dropping things," she explains. "So they asked me to leave. You have to be very coordinated to do that." Nodnod. Despite her clumsiness, she's very deft with her hands, and she manages not to even accidentally gash Persie's finger when she brings up M'yr. "I did," she carefully replies. "We were even kinda close. He helped me heaps. Other hand, please. What's he like as a Weyrleader? That's where you live, right, where he is?"

Morgan continues to strut and preen at Noemie, giving the woman a small coo. Growing bolder, he slinks his large form closer towards her - tail-tips ticklishly grazing her hand. You know you like me, baby.

Noemie perceptively notices Nolee's tiny reaction at M'yrs name. "And he Searched me!" She adds, proudly. "Sol teased me quite a bit before letting him know, though. I was extremely embarassed until he then said he'd like me to stand for Nala's clutch!" She finishes painting one hand and carefully lets it dry in the air, waving it slightly back and forth as she uses her other hand to drink-- a Proddy Greenrider. How fitting.

Noemie looks down with a smile to the flirting, tiny bronze, setting her drink down and reaching her unpainted hand towards him, scritching his eyeridges. "Now, do you look to who I think you look to?" she asks him, giving him the attention he's demanding.

Serela laughs over to Nolee. "Especially when you're using a knife. It's not good to drop those. Ouch." She says as she finishes off her mug of ale then shrugs over to Noemie. "Two of them, but they never had just one of us. Well, not for more than the couple of days between Breyla and I in age."

"I don't really know him," Persie tells Nolee, shifting her glass to the other hand and giving the goldrider the one that is still cool and damp from the glass. "He and I don't spend time together or anything. He's just, you know, the Weyrleader." That should confirm that the place M'yr went and the place Persie is from is one and the same. "Have you been to Fort? To visit? Oh, well, I'm sure you have at some point, huh. Visiting is probably sort of one of your duties. - I'd like that. I'd like to go visiting as a job." She asks Noemie, "What were you embarassed about?"

Noemie gets misty-eyed for a breif moment as she recalls her Searching. "Well, Sol offered to let me use him to play ball, bounce if off of him. And then he /moved/ and made me go running off across the bowl to fetch it. I'd only been at Ista for a few days, then!" She smiles, unpainted hand still scritching the little bronze, finishing her painting can wait for now, she supposes. Deciding that the first hand is dry enough, she uses it to pick up her glass and drink a large gulp.

Morgan gives a throaty hum of pleasure, prodding Noemie's fingers for more rubs, more scritches. More attention. His wings droop at his sides, head tossing back so as to expose more of himself to that luvin' touch. Oh yeah, it's good to be king. A look up at the woman taking a drink from her glass, and the critter gives a loud creel.

"He did?" Nolee tries to remain casual as she continues the manicure, trying to relax into the activity. "He's a really great person, but we don't see each other much since he... became a Weyrleader." Subtext: got a new woman. She studies Serela for a moment, puzzled at her references, but goes back to the nail-shaping, pleased at last with the 'canvas-prep.' "All ready." She dips the pink brush again, looks to Persie for approval, and daubs on color expertly. "It is, sorta. I have been! Though I get lost easy when I go there; it's huge, and the holds and halls are so close."

Serela grins over to Noemie. "Well, at least you've got a good search tale to tell. It could have been something boring and then you wouldn't have a story to share now." She notes before she looks down to her empty glass, contemplating it for a moment.

Noemie's is all eyes on the little bronze, charmed to have his full attention, giving him scritches all over as she responds to Serela. "That's true. I think the dragons enjoy it more that way, also. They get a big kick out of it." Turning to Nolee, she says, "I suppose it's safe to tell you this now. I had a huge crush on M'yr when I was a weyrling! I was so upset to find out that, well, he was taken." She doesn't go into to more of that, not wanting to upset the goldrider. Another long drink, and her glass is emptied. She debates a moment whether or not to get another one, and decides to wait at least a little bit for her next.

Morgan :warbles when Noemie empties her glass, the little one stretching up his neck and head to their limits to investigate the rim of the glass. Flick-flick goes his tongue for any remaining droplets - and then he stares up into the greenrider's eyes.

"Well, next time you come to Fort, you'll have to find me and I'll make sure you don't get lost," Persie offers. "Though, well, I'm guessing that you'd probably just get M'yr and he'd show you around properly and all." She watches as Nolee gets the paint on and grins a little bit to see her fingers transforming. "Taken, he had a girl here? I didn't know that."

Nolee pauses after painting one hand to finish her fruity drink, and once it's gone, she gestures to Persie to gently wave her fingers about to air them. "Not too hard, or it'll leave streaks." She blinks wide eyes toward Noemie, then giggles, quietly at first, then more loudly. "You did?" Her tone sounds that it's an adorable admission, though her lips twist and her eyes flash, a quick and covered weakness. "Well," she smoothly replies, "We saw each other. But I didn't believe he could be faithful to me, so I wouldn't weyrmate with him. And look, I was right. Other hand, please."

Noemie is utterly charmed by the little flit, and has a hard time tearing her attention away. She finally does, wanting to finish painting her nails, and says to him, "Now don't leave, I'll get back to you in a moment." As she starts to paint her other hand, she notes Nolee's reaction, and barrels on into more information Nolee's less likely to find adorable. "I didn't think so, either," she admits. "I was all ready to try and see if I was right, but then Ril got to me first." She isn't looking up at Nolee, but down at the hand she's painting.

Serela shrugs over to Nolee. "Weyrmating means whatever you want it to mean. Faithfulness is all a matter of what the two people are going to agree on, and feelings and all that stuff." She notes as she relaxes back in her chair, slouching down a bit.

Morgan creels a little more loudly when not only does Noemie start painting her nails, but also *dares* to not refill hisHER! drink. His small frame bobs up and down like a raft on a stormy sea, the little monster trying to crawl up her glass and shove his head down inside of it.

Well this is all a lot for Persie to process and processing isn't something she's particularly good at. Obediently she waves her fingers around, gently, but her brows are lifting with every added bit of opinion on this topic. "See, now I just didn't persue anything for... for turns! Not with M'yr, with, ya know..." Her guy trouble. "He likes to get around and... I never thought that he thought about me like that. But then we..." the wave of her fingers chances to indicate something otherwise. "I don't know if I could be that kind of weyrmate. And, well, it's not like he offered anyway."

Nolee accidentally paints a little of Persie's hand while she's staring bovinishly at Noemie. "You were? You would've?" There's a little 'hmph' and the greenrider might as well be invisible for at least a few long minutes. Instead, Nolee considers Serela's words, almost sadly. "I thought I wanted to be that kind of weyrmate with him, but by the time he was willing to try to promise it to me, I wasn't ready anymore." Mischievous smile. "Yeah, M'yr gets around, too." Snicker. "Hm, I think maybe, that firelizard likes to drink. Tender! Another round, please!"

Noemie shrugs. "I didn't, did I?" She nods in agreement with Nolee, calling after her, "Another Proddy Greenrider for me- and him--, please!" She completely misses the irony of her order, once again. When the tender brings the drinks, she lets the little bronze have a gulp first, before taking her own. "Yes, dear, of course I'll Impress one just as adorable. Just for you." She says out loud to her dragon, forgetting in her fairly tipsy state that the words don't have to be audible. She doesn't mind Nolee is igrnoring her- in fact, she barely notices-- as she watches the little bronze and finishes painting her second hand.

Morgan :chirrups brightly when the tipsy greenrider orders up another...greenrider, quickly settling his paws up on the rim of the glass, lowering his bronzen head to the minty contents to lap and slurp loudly. If firelizards could guzzle, this man would be doing it.

Serela laughs over at the firelizard. "I wonder what one of these would look like drunk. Would he fly all wobly and such?" She questions leaning forward a bit to watch the bronze curiously, just waiting for that to happen.

In her usual oblivion, though 'usual' might not necessarily be recognized by present company, Persie doesn't realize that Nolee just painted her hand. She's looking between the two Istan riders and starting to wonder what she's just tripped over. "You..." she starts, uncertain for a moment if she should continue, "You don't regret not weyrmating him, then? But you were still seeing him, right? And then he got with Jenna..." She frowns then, sharply, sympathy in her eyes. "I'm sorry." She turns to Noemie, watching as she lets the firelizard have her drink. "Is that any good?" Her own beverage is getting low after all.

Noemie laughs, grinning broadly at Serela. "I think we may see what they look like soon enough," she says, as the bronze continues to take sips from her drink between her own. She nods to Persie. "Yes, it's delightful. Minty. Want to try? THat is, if you don't mind a firelizard's been at it, too," She says, thinking this very funny. She finishes her paint job, and blows on her hands to dry them, missing her fingers slightly. Surprisingly, the paint job itself is done well.

"As long as he doesn't try to *between* that way," Nolee observes, returning most of her focus to Persie's nails, finishing them with a little flourish of the brush, and leaving the smear on her finger behind. Once the Fortian's are finished, Nolee starts on her own, switching to a darker pink. "I don't...think I regret it," Nolee slowly says, the realization perhaps just then dawning on her. "I miss him, sometimes, but he's awfully busy, and now he even has a" disgusted face, "baby. Toddler, by now. Ugh."

Morgan decides this Proddy Greenrider (make that both of them) is to his liking, and the bronze proceeds to crawl further up the glass, since his head has to sink lower inside to slurp the contents down. In just a few minutes, he's down to mid-glass, and doesn't appear to be pausing much, except for breathing - and to mantle his wings over the alcohol. MY drink. MINE.

Noemie nods at Nolee, watching the bronze take over her drink. "Ah, barkeep, another Proddy Greenrider over here, please," she calls, hoping that he doesn't think she's finished both of them on her own. She listens to Nolee's explanation of her feelings for M'yr, and wisely keeps her mouth shut. The things coming to her mind, she realizes, are much more graphic then sentemental.

Serela shakes her head down at the firelizard. "I don't think I've ever seen one do this. I wonder whose he is. He better not try to between this way." She says, tilting her head a bit to watch him curiously.

Noemie grins. "A firelizard like this? I /definitely/ know who this one looks to. I'll see to it that he gets back home safe." ... if she's capable by the end of the night.

Morgan creels softly after another minute or two of slurping and licking, tottering up from the edge of the glass - his slowly whirling, green eyes fastened on Noemie, his forked tongue flicking out to lick his muzzle clean. His plump midsection swirls with his full liquid dessert, and the bronze gives a sudden belch - promptly teetering, and falling onto his back upon the table. Where he simply lays - peering up at the human faces. *creeeeel*

Persie looks like she considers trying the drink, but that was when there was only a bit sipped by the firelizard. If his whole body is going to try to get in the glass, well, she'll shake her head and hold up her freshly painted nails and pass. Of course, in holding up her hand she takes some note and then fans all ten fingers out to admire them. "You did great!" she tells Nolee, still not noticing, or maybe just not caring, the bit where her hand got painted. "How long until it's dry? -- Jays, this is a nice place, huh? If it weren't so windy, I'd try to talk Secath into letting us stay on the beach all night. I know it's not the grownup thing to do, but I just want to... I don't know, hide away. I don't want to see them at drills in the morning, you know?"

Gerand meanders into the bar with a curious glance around, hesitating at the entrance with a large satchel over one shoulder and a gitar over the other. He seems to scan the gathered crowd for a few moments before making his way to the bar and setting down his satchel before seating himself and ordering himself a drink.

Nolee casts another glance at Noemie, and her lips thin at the thought of the confessions from the tipsy greenrider, so she looks elsewhere, like...at that intoxicated firelizard. Not wanting that sight either, she looks back to Persie, concentrating on her words, and not noticing that the tender hasn't refilled her drink as she'd called for. "You like it? It looks really nice. We could do your toes, too, but they should soak first, to soften the nail." She considers, then leans toward Persie to whisper to her, then sits back to await her reply.

Serela breaks out laughing as the firelizard falls onto his back. "Ah, so that's what a drunk firelizard looks like. Learn something new every day, don't you?" She asks brightly before she looks over to Persie's nails. "Those look good, I guess."

You whisper "It's not childish at all. I can show you a good place that's more sheltered, if you'd like? Or we could paint your toenails. I've a soaking pool in my weyr, if you want to complain more about stupid boys, or there's a pool by the falls if you don't mind the wind." to Persie.

Noemie laughs as the little brozne colapses-- a mean thing to do, but she can't help herself. The barkeep brings over her new drink, she drinking from it eagerly. "Well, you're welcome at Ista," she says brightly, even more accomodating than usual. "If you'd like, you could stay in my weyr. Sleepover!" From the look of Noemie, Persie would be smart to decline this offer. As she finshes her exclamation, she notices Gerand enter the Sandbar and waves at him. "Harper!" she calls, knowing him by sight but not able to place his name.

Morgan is feeling gooooooood. *burp* Very mellow, rather happy. Waveringly, his head cants left, then right - the oddly new sight of his 'drunk vision' making all the humans suddenly much more interesting than they were before. His rather large body makes no move, besides breathing, the occasional belch - and all four legs twitching softly at their own pace, now-and-again.

Gerand holds up a hand and waves back to Noemie, "That would be me." he concedes with a wry little smile before glancing toward the sound of a tiny belch and realizing the source of it, "Well, isn't that -something-.." he remarks with a curious peering and a quirk of one eyebrow as a pair of drinks arrive for him - both shots, and both doubles.

Hider is summoned by something...could it be his fair-mate's bizarre images? The large blue quietly swirls about the human's heads, peering down at the bronze, and the people ringing him, suddenly offering a timid creel.

As Nolee leans in, Persie's glance flicks from her nails and around this strange table she's found herself at. Whatever the goldrider has said, Persie nods quickly. With delicate fingers, she takes up her drink and slurps down the last two mouthful, sets it down with a clunk and tips her head to follow Nolee's lead.

Nolee ughs at the rudely belching firelizard, regathering her nail painting supplies, connecting lids to vials, and retucking them into her pack, figuring Noemie's had enough paint, finished or not. Rising, she waves cheerily to Gerand, nods politely to Serela, and offers a thin-lipped hmph to Noemie, a mixture of mirth and disapproval, perhaps exaggerated, perhaps not. "Evening!" she calls, then laughs and just about runs out, waving Persie to follow.

Nolee, still laughing, runs out into the turbulent wind, and clambers clumsily up Nalaieth's damp side to her neck. "Faster if we fly," she hollers over the wind. "Follow us."

Logfile continued in next entry.