Conclusion: Benden
2-24-2007:
Benden Wedding: Courtyard
The giant Benden courtyard has been swallowed up by merchants, colorful stalls and wares of every kind crushed into the cobbled space. Broad walkways have been left for the milling crowd, with larger spaces cleared out here and there for spectacles and rest stops.
A large spread of rich foods has been set up to the east, benches strewn along the paths so resting diners can watch the crowd and, more importantly, the jugglers, acrobats, and mimes harassing passers-by. A round stage at the center of the yard gives those with tired feet and full bellies a place to rest while the actors alternate short musicals and scenes from a Benden farce. On towards the west lies another stage, this one a platform for the harpers who keep the dance floor lively. Beyond these, along the main arterial walkway which runs north-south from the face of Benden proper to the front gate of the big stone wall, one finds games of chance mixed in with the merchant stalls, drawing customers near enough for sales pitches.
The whole thing has been overlaid with lines of dangling flags in Benden and Bitra colors. For all that there is an invitations-only gala within the hold proper, and runner races outside the walls, it's clear that the heart of the party is out here in the courtyard.
Despite a few clouds which made it shady in places, the day of the wedding has been blessed with beautiful, warm spring weather. Late afternoon settles gently over the courtyard as the day-long party progresses, lengthening the shadows and cooling the temperatures just as more guests begin swelling out into the courtyard. The wedding ceremony has been concluded indoors, the new couple circulating through their guest list to offer warm thanks and receive congratulations, and a fit of nationalism (or opportunistic salesmanship) has taken hold of the merchants out here, inducing them to drop their prices in honor of the marriage. Workers by the outdoors banquet are starting to switch lunch items for more luxurious dinner foods, entertainers swing into action, and suddenly the party has switched gears from a lazy afternoon to an energetic pre-dusk rush of celebration.
Inside, there are well-dressed people, elevated talk, fine wines, and elegant dancing. Inside, there is no chance Reyce is staying for very long. As soon as family etiquette allows him, and Issa relents from tormenting him, this Bendenite (one of so many present) follows the crowd of activity leaking out the hold doors and into the courtyard. Caught, yet, in a moment of formality, Issa's hand rests over his arm while they pick their way down the steps that elevate inside from outside, refinement from carnival. Reyce has planned no further than it takes him to get outside, however, and once they reach the bottom of the steps he simply shuffles aside, head raised and eyes scanning the by now familiar layout of the market court.
G'thon is not the eminence he once was. Nevertheless he's obliged - and therefore Miniyal, at his arm, is obliged with him - to stop several times in the process of exiting the immediate vicinity of the completed ceremony to say hello-how-do to holders, their relatives, dragonriders of Benden, and any number of other lesser dignitaries. Some small indulgence for his companion keeps G'thon from being too easily caught up in the receiving line just yet, however, so he avoids some of the men he'd be most likely to wind up in some lengthy conversation with - and slips alongside Miniyal out onto the cobbled paths. "Ah," he notes, immediately, eyes narrowing a little against the angle of the late afternoon sunlight. "And now the challenge is in deciding what to indulge in first."
Kenathan was here with a rider, although they have now become somewhat separated. Wistfully, the boy studies various items for sale, although he purchases nothing. His clothing is good, but not great, and the expression on his face is more thoughtful than anything else.
She suffers quite a bit for him. That she comes here at all is entirely for his benefit. There are enough people from High Reaches who are attending that Miniyal would have loved a little peace and quiet at home. However, she has grown accustomed enough to his desire to /be places/ that she has allowed herself to be convinced to be here. As G'thon greets people she remains quiet, smiling politely and biting back comments she might have made simply for the sake of getting this part over with. Pretending 'this part' won't be happening again and again throughout the night. However, his statement earns him a smile and a kiss to his cheek to show no hard feelings. "I need a drink." Of course she does and it will only be the first of many. A party needs to be enjoyed through a haze of alcohol for her to enjoy it at all.
Bellows and screams go up from beyond the hold's walls as the first runner race of the day kicks the action sharply into gear with a maiden race for two-turn-olds. A cry goes up when the winner comes pouring in, and while the hold walls block those within the courtyard from seeing anything, those with sharper ears might hear the crowd cheering the name (and the origin) of a Benden-bred colt.
The Reachian Weyrleader and Weyrwoman are a little delayed; though less important to greet in these proceedings than would be their counterparts Bendenite or the Lords and Ladies of either Hold honored in those flags flying in the courtyard today, there are no shortage of palms wanting crossed by either Roa's tiny fingers or R'vain's freckled paws. Finally they depart /that/ part of the party for /this/, a sight which brings a grin to the big man's face; he squints out over the stalls and stages and food and all of these hospitalities, then down (though less /down/ than he might if she weren't somehow a smidge taller than usual) at the Weyrwoman. "S'now what? Guess I'm at y'pleasure." He grins still, though it's a game sort of grin, and his shoulders ripple with a shrug big enough to shift and reset the fit of his suitcoat.
"Then let's get you a drink," replies Gans, a laugh threatened in the variant tones of this remark. He tips down his head and slips a glance toward the feast. Weddings have this talent for making people hungry, or else that's the skill reserved to free food - but whatever the cause there is, of course, some crowd to be contended with. "Shall I retrieve you something, or shall we just walk leisurely and look along the way?"
The weyrwoman walks along with her companion, smiles offered to those who nod or greet her, long skirt trailing a little ont he ground, even with her slightly improved height. "It sounds like there's racing," Roa offers. "or vendors, or food? I'm not sure. I don't much..." she smirks faintly, glancing down and away with a small shake of her head. "I suppose something to eat might not be amiss." Bare shoulders lift, as do black eyebrows as she looks back to R'vain. The question that was never exactly phrased properly is writ on her face, instead.
"I worry your ability to disappear when fetching me a drink might return. Or else some elderly woman might claim some of your time. . .or Faranth forbid my mother show up and claim a dozen dances. No. You are not slipping free of me tonight without some very convincing words." Her words make it sound as if they've a history of being parted at events such as this. Well, and so they do. However, Miniyal teases with the tone of her words and ends them with an enticement. "I will allow you be hauled off from my side only two times this evening so make them worthwhile. If you go more than that I shall not dance with you." Seeing as they never have gotten a dance she clearly expects this ploy to work. So tucking herself closer against him, simply for the sake of making it through the crowd and no other reason of course, she allows him to lead the way through the crowd towards the wine. Oh, and maybe food at some point.
Issa's proper composure melts as they cross those steps that serve as the demarcation between high society and low. Familiar warmth floods the smile she turns up to Reyce once they've reached the bottom and she slides out of that ceremonial position at his arm. Hands smooth the fabric that finds itself the subject of her first comment now that they've some time alone in the midst of all these people. "I like this color on you, by the way," she notes, a little familiarity they missed before when ushered into the hall for the wedding, her paler blue eyes roving quickly over the navy coat. "Is it new?" And while they're already roving, her eyes skip over to the Reachian Weyrleaders on the steps, flicking back to Reyce as soon as she notes their presence. She grips the edges of that jacket and drags him into a start, though she drops them and turns to lead him down the main aisle as soon as he begins to walk with her into the crowd.
Two merchant stalls sharing a prime position on the central walkway of the market complex send a shiller, one man's young son, out into the crowd to advertise their marketing ploy, a barrel of shelled Benden peanuts which supposedly hides a single gold-painted nut, the finder of which will receive a handsome wooden table with carvings made from bone. "Get the gold and get the gift!" the boy shrills, and when he adds, "No cost to try!" a sudden swarm of people mobs the stands. Naturally, a few find interesting purchases while waiting in the line.
The boy glances towards the runner races for a moment. A soft hrm comes from him, and then he begins to scan the crowd as if looking for somebody, standing on tiptoes to do so. His eyes linger on the weyrleaders for a moment, but then he is swept up amongs those mobbing the peanut barrel...and, swept up, apparently decides he might as well try for it, although the nut he pulls out is not the color of a queen dragon, although his face shows no real disappointment. [Kenathan]
"Don't much what," rumbles R'vain, clearly amused. "Shop? Dance? Gamble? Watch th'stones." He waves the paw not obliged to keep a certain spot just beneath her elbow at the path before them, a danger to unwary feet or spiffy shoes, then waves it again more toward the feasting tables-- "Happy t'get something t'eat myself, then." Roa's job, still, will be to affirm this course, and lead it. The Weyrleader's best used for that arm just below her fingers, really.
"I have no intention - " But Gans knows well enough his intentions are so easily foiled by social obligation, whether Miniyal sees it as obligation or not, and he gives up the sentiment about to be described for a lightweight little chortle instead. "Twice, then. I shall endeavour for less." He moves along through the crowd - more nods, smiles, but fewer of them out here where the trend of age of attendees means even he's less recognizable than he once might have been - toward the wine, where Miniyal will be obliged to make a choice from Benden's offerings. "We might look at the carts, if you like, before it gets too dark," he suggests, meanwhile.
Amid the party-goers, venders and performers, outrageously dressed persons mingle. Their attire boasts widely varied colors, their faces are painted or masked. Some seem to be harmlessly heckling passersby, others dole out rich and overwhelming compliments, some awkwardly attempt to make light conversation, others are simply flirting shamelessly. Among all of these strange creatures is a tall masked woman in a fantastic ensemble of red and green. She attracts looks of delight and curiousity as she moves leisurely through the crowd.
Reyce huffs a breath when Issa melts off his arm, clearly relieved that his show of propriety can finally end. His eyes return from their scan of the surrounding area and fix on her face, watching her eyes rove over his coat and then beyond him. He crooks a tiny smirk for her words of approval, but shrugs it off in the next instant with, "Not really." He leans against that tug on his jacket for a moment, eyeing the crowded main aisle she's guiding him towards, but eventually he follows - and just as he does, the crowd thickens around the barrel of nuts competition. He snorts and leans into Issa, pushing her steps away from that competition and eyeing the people, including Kenathan, who choose to participate with a mixture of distaste and simple not understanding.
Actors on the central stage announce the start of their first performance by having an incompetent lad blow jarring notes on a trumpet. Those close to the stage wince and start shouting at him, while another member of the troupe goes around providing them with more concrete ways to express their displeasure: soft, rotten fruit to be taken from a basket. He throws the first stone himself, thumping the poor lad with a gooey redfruit and chasing him off-stage to a thrill of cheers.
"Pick one. You'd be right," is the weyrwoman's quiet reply to R'vain's questions. "I see them," the stones, presumably, "thanks." Her step becomes a bit more careful as the upraised and slightly wobbly ground is walked over. "Something to eat it is, then." Her blue eyes move around the crowd, with its sudden cluster of nut-eaters, even as she turns to move towards the banquet table. "Reyce and Issa are over there," she notes with a quick glance in the couple's direction.
He has cut himself off before Miniyal can remark on her own about his intentions. So she instead just bestows a smile upon him and squeezes her fingers around his arm. "Do you think there might be a decent bookseller?" She has her priorities after all. All of that comes, of course, after more important tasks like finding the proper wine to start the evening off with. A bit of thoughtful searching finds what she wishes and soon enough she'll have at least the first drink out of the way. "I am thinking we might add to our collection. It is rather lonely by itself. One can hardly call a single volume a collection after all."
"Can't say I understand that th'least bit," rumbles R'vain, low-spoken for Roa (and any immediate passerby, because he is /so good/ at being quiet) alone. "Th'two of'em. Not sure they're goin' t'want t'be bothered." But the Weyrleader's path will follow Roa's and his strides are shortened to keep close to hers, in case she might wish to bother them instead of eat, anyway.
Benden's youngest weyrwoman was present at the ceremony, naturally, she and her brownrider date making up part of the weyr's contingent. They had to wait through the official greetings, as well, congratulating the new couple, greeting various dignitaries from farther off, conversing with Benden's own leadership, etc. The pair finally exit into the courtyard, later than some, Ginella just shaking the hand of one of the younger Bitran lords, her other arm looped through T'ral's.
Issa allows her path to be bent around the edges of that throng of hopeful gift-winners, but that doesn't distract from her forward progress as she leads him toward the lively strains of music that are beginning to pick up as the people flood from the Hold. Sneaking a hand back, she catches Reyce by the wrist and draws his hand to her waist, a convenient hold to keep the throngs from separating them. "Is it itchy?" she asks further, lifting her slightly concerned voice above the hubbub surrounding the stalls.
"Decent," echoes Gans, after the entirety of Miniyal's proposition has been made, reverting then to the first adjective to which she commited the topic. "I would expect so, somewhere. But this -is- a wedding's celebration; I imagine we might find some other sort." He, too, selects a glass of something, a rouge-pink blend of some inoffensive and uninteresting nature; it will look good, mostly, in his slender, pale hand. "Shall we go walking up the back aisle and see?"
Kenathan manages to escape from the gift-throng, and now tries to get closer to the stage. It is not the couple that has his attention, it's the performers, but for some reason...his look is almost, but not quite, angry. "Not...funny," he murmurs, whether it is heard by anyone in *this* noise would be the question. As yet, he avoids the wine.
With the trumpet lad chased away (and now huddled on the ground wiping redfruit off his cheeks), the actors take the stage for their opening, a trite, common musical short about a young Lord who falls in love with a seamstress. Only a woman plays the part of the Lord, her hair tied into a beardlike ponytail over her cheeks, and a skinny young man with a half-exposed hairy chest is the seamstress. Their lines are delivered with enthusiastic melodrama that makes the audience laugh over even solemn-meant soliloquys.
The masked woman passes by a man who has already consumed his evening's share of ale. He hollars something untelligible at her, but the meaning is clear. She hestitates a step, then pauses to turn to him. It's not just a turn, but a pose, letting him admire her for a moment. She smiles, but it is sly and twisted. His moment of attention ends and she moves on a bit before stopping again to lift her chin high and try to gaze across the sea of heads and shoulders.
T'ral is occupying that enjoyable territory that brings with it all the perks of the ranked guest, without any need to actually do more than smile politely at those who rate more highly than he. He sticks to Ginella's side, but while she's caught meeting and greeting, her much taller brownrider is taking a look over the heads of the crowd, his hand folded over hers on his arm while he watches the duo making their proclamations on stage.
A group of Caucus student girls make their way through the fringes of the merchant tents, fingering wares and talking overly loudly. Like a fair of the firelizards from children's fairytales they come together and drift apart in their gaily colored attire, mingling mostly with each other in the early stages of the evening's party. At the edge of the crowd, smiling hopefully whenever others catch her eye but seeming somehow unsure of the bizarre rites of young ladies at such an event hovers Fienne. Subconsciously she pulls her wrap closer around her upper arms, then lets her gaze slip from her companions to travel over the crowd.
Roa turns her gaze, once more, towards Benden's bastard and his greenriding gal, only waiting to see if one or the other's eye might be caught. If they look, they'll get a smile and a little nod, but her path doesn't swerve, and the leaders of High Reaches Weyr make it to the table of food after all. Her hand politely withdraws from R'vain's arm so that he might go about gathering up his meal without a weyrwoman attached to his elbow.
It is no sign of anything that as they talk and as he selects his wine, Miniyal has moved on from one glass of white to a second. Really. It means nothing. So when he suggests moving off she empties this glass as well and then will move off with a full glass. Because what's the point in leaving when one is half full. Besides, who knows when they will get back to here? "An excellent suggestion. This is why I allow you to escort me, of course. If you were not so useful I would find someone else to haul me out to places with too many people." One hand holds the wine then while her other claims his arm once more so they might go stalk the back aisle and look for that decent bookseller.
Ginella finishes with the Bitran, the one not attached to her arm, that is, politely detatching herself as he begins to get a bit too nosy. A half step and a squeeze on his arm should send a hint to T'ral that she wants to move away, and begin heading away from the lingering older/more important people back behind them and out towards the crowd. "I'm sorry," she tells him under her breath, "I couldn't get away from him. Apparently I have to speak to every single blooded person on the continent before we're allowed to get away."
Reyce, keeping a wary eye out for the milling crowd, is the one to catch Roa's gaze and receive that little nod, but it's wasted on him. He blinks, doesn't return it, and continues his survey. His arm settles comfortably over Issa's hips, keeping her close as he picks a path down the market aisles. The catcalls directed at one of those masked woman earn a low, derisive snort from him as once again he leans Issa away, making their path swerve again. And then, as he does so, he blinks at her. Itchy? "Not really," he answers again, uncertain.
Just as well Roa's busy trying to catch an eye of Issa or Reyce-- at just that moment a whirl of color catches R'vain's eye, and the pose that masked woman puts on for the man who spoke to her wins a moment's distant consideration. His gait is imperfect for a moment after that, his effort to match the shorter Weyrwoman's stride forgotten for a couple of steps, and by the time she releases his arm so she can gather up her share of the feast, R'vain's grin has acquired a more familiar bestiality. He snorts softly, head shaking, grunts "Benden" under his smirking breath, and picks up a plate.
Kenathan shakes his head at the stage. And now, finally, he will find himself a glass of something, backing away from the comedy through the crowd, nearly bumping into one of the maskers. "Too many people," he says, quietly. "Far too many people. Think I should have stayed at the Weyr." Now, his target would be the food tables, although he's finding it hard to maneuver.
"I have no doubt you would," replies Gans, jovially as (in)sincere as his lover, and puts his wineglass into the hand attached to the arm she's rested her own hand on so he can stroke her knuckles with cool fingertips. Away they go down the back aisle, into shopping mode.
Out of nowhere, a man taking a rest by the dinner benches leaps out of his seat and backflips his way into the arms of a strongman who's been entertaining diners by lifting people and benches. The random man turns out to be an acrobat who balances on the strongman's palms before being thrown into another flip over his back - much to the excitement of some watching children, who scream and giggle at their place. With a gracious bow, the acrobat soaks up their approval.
T'ral is obliging, and steers away from the Lordling with whom Ginella speaks with an alacrity that suggests he's well and truly ready to get a move on, despite his easygoing grin. "There's food over there," he observes hopefully, shifting his hand so he can rest it in the small of her back, allowing her to move in front of him, and squeeze through crowds more easily. "Can we eat while you do your talking?"
Fienne spots the grouping of feast tables - not that such is hard to do what with the mounds of food so uniquely displayed. She murmurs some excuse to the nearest girl, but receives barely a nod for it, and so she begins to wind her way through the crowd and toward the food. It's not much of a trek, made swifter yet by the fact that her attention is focused now that she has a target - the actors and vendors earn not even a glance. She ends up not too far from the visiting Weyrleader pair, and once she has a plate in hand her eyes fall on them. There's a teetering moment where she glances around, weighing escape versus greeting, but then she ends up sidling a bit closer and offering a soft, "Evening Weyrleader, Weyrwoman." Unfortunately, it is in that airy voice of hers that is too much breath and not enough volume, especially in such a crowd. She pauses at least a beat, a bright smile in place should they take notice of her.
Shopping it is and the places that hawk clothes and trinkets earn not even a second glance from Miniyal. She has no interest in such things. Not entirely hard to guess since even for a festive occasion she wears naught but the ring on her finger. This glass of wine she will nurse even if she has a second handy simply being carried for her by someone else. "Oh! Can we see about a new puzzle box? I am sure they'll have some here and I am tired of the one I have. I cannot find anything new to do with it." She asks plainly because there's no need to do other than that. She already knows he'll do what she wants. Not that she does not give him a hopeful smile and a kiss to his cheek.
"Faranth, yes," Ginella replies to T'ral's request, shooting him a smile over her shoulder as they navigate the crowd, "I'm starving! No eating three horses and making a mess, though," she warns, "That nice white shirt'll show every crumb." She does head in the direction of the food, though, unintentionally in line to intersect with R'vain and Roa. "I bet the food is good," she says, "The few times I've been before it's been wonderful. And plenty of wine, too," she promises him, stopping short as she runs into a solid mass of people around the food. "You want to get me a plate, Tiv, and I'll try to get us some drinks? You can make it through that crowd better than I could."
Roa was watching Issa and Reyce, but the way R'vain step changes causes her to look his way and then, as his neck is craned to stare at something his own self, she looks over just in time to get a tease of vibrant gown and mask before the crowd cuts her from view. Her attention returns to the weyrleader, and her expression is carefully blank. It is a struggle, the fight against the urge to roll one's eyes rather strenuously. "Mmm," is her reply to R'vain's lusty mutter. Then, thank goodness, table and a more decent conversation partner. Roa smiles over at Fienne and her greeting, faint though it is. "Hello, Fienne. You look lovely."
Not all the entertainers are putting in vast efforts to entertain. Of the small flock of people dressed in colorful masks and costumes and circulating through the crowd, one man has dressed in simple black mask and robes, and he circulates through the merchant stands causing - with his quiet, gloomy demeanor - guests to spook when they realize he's there.
T'ral laughs as he moves forward, causing a parting of people not unakin to a particular sea that was wont to part, long ago and far away. That happens, when you're twice the size of half the people around you. "Yes, mother," he murmurs in reply to Ginella's cautions regarding his shirt, falling into line near his 'leaders. "I'll find you when I'm done."
The airy voice indeed escapes R'vain's attention, but his nostrils flare and he turns a curious look down the length of the feast table, brows drawing, evidently indifferent to Roa's non-reply to his non-remark-- looking for something among the food. Until, that is, his Weyrwoman replies to the softspoken Caucus student and R'vain, hearing /that/ if not the greeting that required it, looks up. Freckled nostrils flare again and he draws in quite the breath, more air than necessary only to rumble out, "G'd'afternoon. Y'really do," through a grin of so many teeth for the vanilla-scented girl.
"Always ride home with the one that brought you, aye, I'll remember," Ronan laughs as she parts ways with a brownrider wearing a High Reaches knot, winking at the man before diving into the crowds with relish. Complete strangers are treated - or subjected - to cheery greetings and excuses as she slips through the crush, apparently searching for someone or something.
Kenathan finally ends up...somewhat close to Miniyal. He hesitates, before approaching her and the former Weyrleader. "Hello, Miniyal...G'thon?" He isn't entirely sure, by the sound of it, of the second name. Although...at least he does not seem to be *too* nervous. A little awkward, perhaps, in the crowd.
Ginella shoots T'ral a grin and gives his elbow a squeeze before moving off towards the end of the table that holds the beverages. It takes her a bit to get there, ducking around people, avoiding getting her dress trod on, all that. She finally makes it up to the table and pours two glasses of wine, taking a sip of one as she steps away, jostling R'vain with an elbow as she does. "Ah, Weyrleader," she says with a polite smile as she recognizes him from the back of his head alone, "My apologies. Don't think I spilled anything?"
Miniyal's companion will look at clothes and trinkets - especially trinkets - but not for long, as he's sworn himself to his lover's side and, for the purpose of shopping, seems quite set on being good to his word. "We can look, of course. I would think a Telgari wedding better suited - " A pause, then, for they're being addressed. He turns from the stall that most recently held his attention and blinks twice at Kenathan, hazel eyes wryly lit. "Yes." Since it sounded like a question.
Issa hasn't the attention to spare for Weyrwomen or masked women, too busy weaving through the crowd and working her way up into a tease. "Good," she comments, tossing Reyce a roguish smile for the note of uncertainty. Now the initial rush from the doors has thinned, Issa's pace becomes more leisurely and they are required to dodge less and less people. She lets him wait in suspense only a few seconds longer before she reveals her reason for asking. "Because I mean to drag you into a quick dance before I let you find me some wine," she tells him casually, leaning up against him to make sure her words find his ear, "and I don't want you stripping down right in front of all these people." Skirt swishing, her hip slides sideways into a nudge and she settles into that comfortable step again. "Plenty of time for that later," she comments, grinning with amusement as she turns to look idly over the wares of an instrument stall they're passing.
A flush rises in Fienne's cheeks, a dusting of pink accompanied by a pleased but sheepish tilt to her lips. "Oh gosh, thank you ma'am. You look fabulous yourself." That with a nod to the Weyrwoman's dress as the girl plucks self-consciously at one fluttery bit of cloth on her own skirt. "Was the ceremony beautiful?" As she asks the question there is that rumble of a greeting from R'vain and her chin tips up, eyes that are suddenly a bit wide finding his. "You look nice, yourself, sir," she manages, though it is followed by a nervous gulp of a swallow and accompanied by a certain wherry beneath dragon talons sort of sheen in her eyes.
Miniyal's eyes widen in mock dismay after Kenathan speak with just the flicker of a wink to the poor, likely befuddled boy, she turns to Gans. "I swear I've no idea who this G'thon might be. I swear, darling. You're the only man for me." If she sounded at all serious it might seem like the boy had committed some social blunder. However, the laugh that escapes at the end of her words accompanies the light tone that spoke those words. "Gans, love. This is Kenathan. I've met him a time or two at the weyr. And, since I am not at a Telgari wedding we shall have to do the best we can. You don't want me getting bored." Still more teasing and the words end with a drink of the wine she holds in her hand. "I only cause trouble when bored. How are you finding the party, Ken?"
Oh for the love of...Roa pastes a serene smile on her lips and nods. "The ceremony was impressive. Seems like someone spent quite a while on the flowers alone." And that seems to consitute Roa's successful skills at smalltalking weddings. "Have you been settling into Caucus well? Do you find yourself homesick at all?"
R'vain grins (more) at Fienne. "All th'Weyrwoman's plan-- " -- Do not jostle the Weyrleader while he is leering. No, seriously, not a good idea. He turns on Ginella with a sharp look in his eyes, high contrast to the grin on his maw-- but she's Ginella, a fact that registers with him fast enough to spare her any other kind of sharpness he might offer. Instead he draws in another of those larger-than-necessary breaths, backs up a step, plate in flattened palm, and provides, "No harm 'tall, Weyrwoman." A slide of gaze, down and up her frame, then-- "Breathtaking. Y'need into line? Y'can have my spot, y'like." A jerk of his chin offers the Benden junior a place at the feast table where he just stood.
"Far, far too many people," Ken admits with a wry expression. "The Weyr was bad enough, but it seems as if half of Pern has come here. And half of Pern's dragons, judging by the fireheights." His grin, though, takes any sting out of that. "Oh, and seems I don't have to worry about a job." His fingers flick to the white knot at his shoulder. "At least not for a few sevendays."
Gans laughs, easily, for Miniyal's jest. "Ken, well met. The crowd, I fear, is justified: we have seen two of the Holds of Pern marry today, not just the one. So." He glances, as is required, at the knot Kenathan wears; and for that provides only a little nod, mild-smiling, taking this moment to indulge with a sip of his wine.
Mix puzzlement with a dash of alarm and you have Reyce at this moment, thrown off his game by Issa's tease. Trusting her to guide the way through the thinning crowd, he stares down at her face, as though there might be more of a hint written into her expression. Or rather, into the back of her head, as she's already turned to look at the instruments they're passing. "Not gonna strip down," he answers under his breath, his voice conveying all of his surprise, confusion, and growing displeasure in four simple words. But then they arrive at the dance floor, and he has an excuse to stop walking and turn her into him so he can actually see her face.
Competition strikes up between two harpers by the dance stage, one a visitor from the hall and the other posted to the hold. An argument about the lyrics of a song spirals into a public spectacle, and from there the dancers stop to cheer them on until they square off to sing against each other, taking turns to sing verses of a rustic favorite while the dancers spin each other on the floor. At the end, they all stomp their boots in favor of Benden's harper, most likely because he's more familiar than because he's any better.
T'ral has taken his queenrider's advice not to eat an entire horse under advisement, or at least has done some of his eating out of sight, for moments after R'vain's offer, he materialises at her side -- quite the feat, given the crowds and his size -- bearing plates. "Sir," he greets R'vain politely, although his grin is as so many of those around him -- the brownrider's relaxed, and enjoying the day.
"People are a bother. Wine helps." Miniyal offers this with a cheery enough smile, helped along by some wine already. She lifts her glass in a little toast and has a sip. "Are you shopping? Oh, so you're standing then? Well, if that doesn't work out do feel free to come see me about something to do. I know all sorts of people who might help. If you decide the guard is not for you. Have you eaten? The food looks wonderful." Not wonderful enough for them yet, but they do have shopping to do after all.
Ronan does not appear to be finding that which she seeks. A frown lines her brow as she weaves past stalls of liquors and gaming devices to peer over the dance floor. Again, she looks to be disappointed, and a rather suspicious glance is cast towards the entrance to the hold itself.
"Mmm? Well, it was a good plan," Fienne answers lamely. And when Ginella distracts the towering Weyrleader away she seems to wilt a bit, some unseen tension slipping from her shoulders as her attention slides back to Roa. "Oh, it's very nice. The Weyr still seems awfully large but... I guess it isn't /so/ different from High Reaches. Er, the hold I mean." In between words she adds a bit of this and that to her plate, a sample of nearly everything but nothing in quantities too large - there isn't all that much room to spare in this dress after all. "I miss some of my duties and some of the classes are a bit difficult -" she breaks off with another of those sheepish grins, shaking her head. Not the sort of thing to ramble on about in such a situation. Her free hand takes up a glass of Benden white, and she sidesteps slightly, out of the way of the pressing crowd.
Kenathan nods. "I am still thinking Guard, if it doesn't work out. One of the blueriders asked me if I wanted to, and the way I see it...I think I could handle being a rider. If not, then I've lost...what, a few sevendays, for which I'm being fed by the Weyr." That grin returns. "True, they're working me for it."
"The classes are exhausting," Roa agrees with a small nod. "And time consuming. And often headache-inducing. Are you taking G'thon's Ethics course or the Headmaster's Politics seminar? They make your eyes cross from time to time." She looks over to where the Benden pair now stand and shifts a little as R'vain moves, to better allow Ginny her spot. "Good evening, Ginella. T'ral."
"Asked you if you wanted to." Gans repeats this with no tone of incredulity, but there's a subtle arching of pale brow that Miniyal, at least, would know signals disapproval. "And how do you imagine you would handle it, then?" This is meant to be dryly smiling; it falls only a very small margin short, and the ethics instructor again indulges in drink for the moment's silence.
When almost every dignitary is a parent or guardian, the man who has charge of all their charges can have a difficult time making any sort of speed. Still, the Headmaster's lazy grin has not flickered even a fraction, and Sefton is busy plying the charm that renders student-sourced tales of torture so laughingly unbelievable to their elders. Dressed in his usual, expensively-cut black, he is in conference with a man who looks very like him, save for the colour in his clothing, as he comes into view, although dark eyes are busy running over the crowd.
Issa rolls in toward her chosen dance partner when he pulls her that way, easily distracted from the argument on stage, her dancing gaze thoroughly amused by the game she's started, whatever it might be, when she looks up to find his face. With her hands slipped up to the edges of Reyce's jacket again, she gives it a settling tug and grins broadly up at him. "I'm glad. I'd heard that you had a history of it, so I just wanted to check." Her eyebrows slide up when the arguing harpers finish their rustic tune and another begins, waiting with lightly tapping fingers for him to take the lead.
Ginella doesn't seem cowed by R'vain's initial sharpness, merely smiling politely again and glancing at his sleeve to make sure there actually was not any spillage. She takes a sip of her wine and smiles for the compliment, shaking her head. "No, thank you. My plate is on its way as we speak." And sure enough, T'ral appears at her side, and she shoots him a smile, trading him a wine glass for a plate. "You two have met, haven't you?" she checks, glancing between the two men, "Did you ever get a chance to have that chat that you were looking for?" she asks, one brow lifting in question.
The conversation between instructor and candidate earns most of her attention. However, Miniyal drinks her wine and allows her attention to look down the row of stalls they are near. Searching for what it is they have come this way to find. When she thinks she might spy it she stands on her toes to better see over the crowd. Sure, it does not really work, but still, peer she will. After all, they do have a purpose on this trek that pulled her away from the wine.
Ginella did not immediately notice Roa, but she does now, smiling at the Weyrwoman. "Roa, good evening," she says, "You look lovely."
Ronan's suspicious glance towards the doors to the hold soon finds the Headmaster, and the sailor's steps lead her towards him. She's a long time hovering there just a step away from him, watching the high-ranked parents and guardians make their polite hello's and waiting for a pause in the flow to clear her throat for attention.
Kenathan considers that, then, quietly. "I'm..." A pause. "Scared of the idea of fighting Thread. But more scared of not being able to protect what I care for, somehow." And then he shrugs a little bit. "I believe I can handle it. How? I'm not quite sure yet."
R'vain got his look, then, at Ginella's gown-- or just at Ginella-- while the opportunity was best. He turns a completely appropriate grin-- it's a wedding, people are supposed to be happy, right?-- on T'ral and notes for his queenrider's questions, "Yes." Evidently that covers them all; he glances at Ginella to add, "Thank you f'telling him. Don't know I'd ever've had th'chance else." Jibe.
The masked woman extricates herself from a rambunctious seamstress who has been too busy fawning over the wild dress to notice any hint subtler than turning and walking away. That is what the masked woman does now, leaving the seamstress with a hand to her mouth as she gets a look at the back of the ensemble. The anonymous creature then makes her way towards along, nearing the Headmaster and his companion. She moves with snakelike twists through the crowd, ribbons trailing behind her. As she passes under the darkly-clad man's meandering gaze, she flashes him a wide, twisted, knowing grin.
Normally restless, now both of Fienne's hands are full but that doesn't stop fingertips from drumming lightly on the outside of her wineglass. "I want to join the Ethics class but I haven't spoken with G'thon yet. I'm..." a pause, as a hint of a frown flickers subtly over her brow. "I'm supposed to have dinner with him sometime soon and thought I would ask then. I want to see if I need to do any makeup work or anything." With the arrival of gold- and brownrider Fienne offers the pair a bright smile but no words, hiding instead behind a sip of wine.
"A common sentiment among the recently searched," observes Gans, neither excessively invitational nor an excuse offered for whatever might disappoint him in Kenathan's reply. Still his smile crooks up on the one side of his mouth and his eyes remain bright, even as Miniyal's attention wanders. "Might I ask after what rider - invited you?"
The Headmaster and his companion -- his brother, surely -- move out of the way of the Hold doors, to allow the flow of people to continue unabated. Both sets of dark eyes follow the masked woman, and both mouths twist to grins, appreciative each. Neither man's attention is held for long, though, and Sefton lifts a hand to greet Ronan in a vague imitation of a rider's salute. "Ronan," he drawls, his lazy voice drawing out the vowels in the instructor's name. "My brother, Kelar. Kelar, Ronan. She is one of our instructors."
A better trumpeter than works for the acting troupe steps out onto the hold steps, lifting his instrument and playing a string of loud, joyful notes to announce the coming of the bride and groom. Carlin and Garima walk into the fading sunshine hand in hand, the bride blushing and beautiful in her red gown, to take their bows and lift their hands in greeting to the people. The collective roar of approval ripples out to every corner of the courtyard, with boots and beer mugs stomped to emphasize the sound as it swells to fever pitch.
Behind the bride and groom, slipping off to the wings, come the bride's brother and the groom's parents. Lord Pindan holds a smile in place while he tamely applauds his sister, and Lady Tierna watches her son with prim but obvious approval, leaving only Benden's Lord to really rack it up with the crowd. Lord Carlin throws out a two-fingered whistle, then - like a conductor at a symphony - waves up the nearest crowd members into louder cheers and points their thrilled and laughing attention abruptly back to the young couple. Garima laughs, while the younger Carlin looks flustered, and the crowd goes wild again with cruder whistles and loud shouts.
It is not her fault that conversation does not hold her attention. Miniyal does have her wine at least although at the rate with which she drinks it will soon be empty. With a little sigh she gives up on trying to determine if the stall sells books like she thinks and turns back to the conversation. Polite smile in place she listens with apparent attentiveness for Ken's answer.
"M'eri," Ken supplies, and a wry expression crosses his face. "He's a little...odd." But there's no censure in his tone, he doesn't sound like he thinks being odd has anything that wrong with it.
T'ral has a reply ready for his Weyrleader, but he's forced to pause at the sound of the trumpeter, and through the cheering and applause that follows. He spends the time steadying his newly acquired drink, and working out how to hold it while managing to eat. "I'm a hard man to pin down, Weyrleader," he replies to R'vain, flashing the man an unphased -- even cheeky -- grin. "Working men of the weyr, no time for lazing about gossiping, you know."
The weyrwoman nods to Fienne, "I'm sure he'll be accomodating. I can't imagine he wouldn't wish to include another student in--" Trumpets! Roa looks over towards where the new couple enter, and in looking that way, her gaze finds another duo, though these are two olive-skinned brothers, one in black and one not. A tiny smile flickers and fades and Roa uses the ensuing commotion of the crowd to murmur to those gathered around, "Excuse me, please." Then she's ducking into the milling people and carefully weaving her way towards the Headmaster and his lookalike.
"Headmaster. Sir." Ronan nods briefly to both Sefton and his brother, then points. "Pleasure to meet you," she adds with a distracted flash of a smile towards Kelar. "Would you happen to know-" And then there's trumpeting, and roaring, and the rest of the question is lost in the noise as the sailor presses a hand ineffectually to one ear. Her mouth opens as though to shout over the gale - it's what sailors do, after all - before she thinks better of it and falls silent to wait out the storm of sound.
She'll have to wait a moment, because the harpers have only just struck up the tune of a new dance when that blaring trumpet breaks in, and for a few minutes they lay down their instruments to clap and stir their section of the crowd. Reyce, for all that it's his own brother (and now, technically, sister) up on the steps, does not join in the cheering; just squints his eyes and his expression as though that could tune out the noise and waits for it to pass. After it does, the harpers strike up a bouncy, joyful tune that he seems inclined to ignore.
"He was my flank's best guardian when I led the wings," replies Gans, approval rather severe, expression not the sweetest. But he smiles still, then turns to Miniyal and murmurs, "Shall we see about books?" Apparently they shall because he looks back at Kenathan then and says, "Excuse us, won't you? That noise, by the way - " He lifts a hand in a wave loosely indicating the gathering up by the Hold's steps. "Introduces the new couple, if you wish to have a look." And then he's turning away, to attend again to Miniyal and their shopping.
Ginella is admired just in time, and luckily not lasciviously enough to draw her notice, or at least a blush to give it away. She seems surprised for a beat at R'vain's reply, shooting T'ral a quick glance, but the jibe and the brownrider's retort draw a smile, as she shifts utensils into her other hand. She looks over her shoulder at all the trumpeting and frowns faintly at Lord Carlin's antics before looking back up at T'ral. "Perhaps we ought to sit and eat?"
When it seems they will depart, Miniyal gives Ken a little smile. "A pleasure to see you. Do enjoy yourself." Finishing her glass of wine she makes no apologies when she takes up Gans' for a drink as well. He'll allow it after all. Off they go to the bookseller she thinks they saw.
The masked woman seems disinclined to linger under any attention just yet. Instead she moves off toward the food tables to make a little mischief. Her focus finds a man reaching for a pot of green condiment, known to some to be extremely hot. "Have you had that?" she asks him, and when the man answers that he has not, she encourages him with enthusiasm, talking him into loading up a cracker and having a taste. She reaches to take some strangers drink and hands it to the man, blithe and carefree and gone before the tears come.
/That/ much racket even has R'vain casting a glance back-- oh, right, /them,/ the happy newlyweds. Back to T'ral, then, whose conversational gambit wins a broad grin of teeth from the Reachian Weyrleader. "No time. And all th'conversation over cards's strictly 'bout th'work. A man gets no rest 'round a Weyr." Points given for cheek, the big red man turns his gaze anew on Ginella, reaffirming a note of, "Y'look incredible t'day. Don't let 'im get you out've here without a dance," before a rumbled pardon and a gesture of his plate suggests he, too, intends to find a place to eat. But maybe a different place. Because he turns, and a scoping glare of green gaze and a flare of nostrils hunts for something particular.
"Ronan," Kelar drawls in polite greeting, his accent more pronounced even than his brother's. The cheering takes some time to die off, but once the music begins, speech becomes possible once more, and while Sefton is obliged to turn away and address one of Benden's large brood, his brother devotes his attention entirely to the Instructor. "What is it you're after?"
Ronan shrugs one shoulder, trying to keep the neckline of her dress from slipping off it again as she casts a wry smirk in Kelar's direction. "Was wondering if you or the Headmaster'd noticed the Masterfisher in there," she explains, rising fruitlessly to her toes to try to peer around shoulders at the flow of people out of the hold behind the new couple. "Was thinking I might like to have a..." The smirk slips further to one side, wickedly amused. "Talk with him."
"A man gets no rest at all," T'ral agrees, turning his head to join R'vain in admiring Ginella for a moment. "It's all right for some, sitting about all day with rosters, or in classes." He shifts his weight slightly, shielding her from incipient jostling, and agrees with his 'leader's prognosis with a grin. "She looks beautiful." The obligatory compliment is delivered with enough of a grin to render it more genuine, before he lifts his head -- bless his height -- to cast his gaze about. "Tables off thataway," he volunteers, nodding towards the left hand side of the dancing square.
Fienne lifts her glass as Roa departs, seeing as she has no free hand to wave. The flare of trumpets and cheering of course draws her attention and she lifts up on tiptoes for a beat to get a better glimpse of the happy couple. A smile touches her own lips as she nods, then as the others gathered around her turn to leave as well, her blue eyes skip to find a place for her to at least settle either glass or plate. Not really spotting anyone else she knows, she winds around a few people and finally settles at a table just to the side of the dancing. Plate and glass are set ont he tabletop, leaving her hands free to straighten her skirt out as she perches at the edge of the chair. Even as she picks up a tiny sliver of goose, one foot taps in time to the bouncy beat, eyes watching the whirling dancing.
Reyce's greenrider is much more polite. Issa's hands drop away from the half brother of the groom to give a spattering of applause that follows the fanfare welcoming the couple. Her voice never joins the many cheerers, but she twists up a smile and laughs lightly at the Lord's larking, eyes thinning in contradiction to the amusement. But don't think that even such a grand interruption could derail Issa's desire for a dance. She lets only a few beats of that song pass before raising her eyes sharply up to him again, a drawn, plaintive warning pressed into his name. "Reyce..."
Ginella smiles at the pair of them bantering, and again at the stream of compliments. "Oh, I'm sure I can convince him to oblige me," she tells R'vain with a smile for his remark about dancing. She seems ready to say something else, but then the man's moving off, and she turns back to T'ral with a smile. "Did I tell you yet how nice you look?" she checks, pressing against his side for a moment before nodding at the direction and the point and beginning to head that way.
Kenathan nods. "I like him, to be honest. Just..." And then the two are gone. "See you..." He drifts off into the crowd, looking around, eyes checking out faces one by one as he finally does make his way to the food table, retrieving a plate which he begins to pile with...a little bit of everything, or so it seems. Including too much of the green stuff.
Pageantry observed, the wedded pair turns gracefully to return to the calmer party being held inside the hold. Lord Pindan goes with them, and Lady Tierna, but not before she lifts onto her tiptoes to plant a kiss on her husband's smiling cheek. Lord Carlin will be staying, it seems, and the party will turn on his gravitational pull for a little while. His first act is to descend the stairs, wading into the crowd to pass out handshakes and lend an ear to those bold enough to approach him with their thoughts. A ring of guards goes out around him, keeping as far out of the way as possible without abandoning his security.
(Next part.)
Benden Wedding: Courtyard
The giant Benden courtyard has been swallowed up by merchants, colorful stalls and wares of every kind crushed into the cobbled space. Broad walkways have been left for the milling crowd, with larger spaces cleared out here and there for spectacles and rest stops.
A large spread of rich foods has been set up to the east, benches strewn along the paths so resting diners can watch the crowd and, more importantly, the jugglers, acrobats, and mimes harassing passers-by. A round stage at the center of the yard gives those with tired feet and full bellies a place to rest while the actors alternate short musicals and scenes from a Benden farce. On towards the west lies another stage, this one a platform for the harpers who keep the dance floor lively. Beyond these, along the main arterial walkway which runs north-south from the face of Benden proper to the front gate of the big stone wall, one finds games of chance mixed in with the merchant stalls, drawing customers near enough for sales pitches.
The whole thing has been overlaid with lines of dangling flags in Benden and Bitra colors. For all that there is an invitations-only gala within the hold proper, and runner races outside the walls, it's clear that the heart of the party is out here in the courtyard.
Despite a few clouds which made it shady in places, the day of the wedding has been blessed with beautiful, warm spring weather. Late afternoon settles gently over the courtyard as the day-long party progresses, lengthening the shadows and cooling the temperatures just as more guests begin swelling out into the courtyard. The wedding ceremony has been concluded indoors, the new couple circulating through their guest list to offer warm thanks and receive congratulations, and a fit of nationalism (or opportunistic salesmanship) has taken hold of the merchants out here, inducing them to drop their prices in honor of the marriage. Workers by the outdoors banquet are starting to switch lunch items for more luxurious dinner foods, entertainers swing into action, and suddenly the party has switched gears from a lazy afternoon to an energetic pre-dusk rush of celebration.
Inside, there are well-dressed people, elevated talk, fine wines, and elegant dancing. Inside, there is no chance Reyce is staying for very long. As soon as family etiquette allows him, and Issa relents from tormenting him, this Bendenite (one of so many present) follows the crowd of activity leaking out the hold doors and into the courtyard. Caught, yet, in a moment of formality, Issa's hand rests over his arm while they pick their way down the steps that elevate inside from outside, refinement from carnival. Reyce has planned no further than it takes him to get outside, however, and once they reach the bottom of the steps he simply shuffles aside, head raised and eyes scanning the by now familiar layout of the market court.
G'thon is not the eminence he once was. Nevertheless he's obliged - and therefore Miniyal, at his arm, is obliged with him - to stop several times in the process of exiting the immediate vicinity of the completed ceremony to say hello-how-do to holders, their relatives, dragonriders of Benden, and any number of other lesser dignitaries. Some small indulgence for his companion keeps G'thon from being too easily caught up in the receiving line just yet, however, so he avoids some of the men he'd be most likely to wind up in some lengthy conversation with - and slips alongside Miniyal out onto the cobbled paths. "Ah," he notes, immediately, eyes narrowing a little against the angle of the late afternoon sunlight. "And now the challenge is in deciding what to indulge in first."
Kenathan was here with a rider, although they have now become somewhat separated. Wistfully, the boy studies various items for sale, although he purchases nothing. His clothing is good, but not great, and the expression on his face is more thoughtful than anything else.
She suffers quite a bit for him. That she comes here at all is entirely for his benefit. There are enough people from High Reaches who are attending that Miniyal would have loved a little peace and quiet at home. However, she has grown accustomed enough to his desire to /be places/ that she has allowed herself to be convinced to be here. As G'thon greets people she remains quiet, smiling politely and biting back comments she might have made simply for the sake of getting this part over with. Pretending 'this part' won't be happening again and again throughout the night. However, his statement earns him a smile and a kiss to his cheek to show no hard feelings. "I need a drink." Of course she does and it will only be the first of many. A party needs to be enjoyed through a haze of alcohol for her to enjoy it at all.
Bellows and screams go up from beyond the hold's walls as the first runner race of the day kicks the action sharply into gear with a maiden race for two-turn-olds. A cry goes up when the winner comes pouring in, and while the hold walls block those within the courtyard from seeing anything, those with sharper ears might hear the crowd cheering the name (and the origin) of a Benden-bred colt.
The Reachian Weyrleader and Weyrwoman are a little delayed; though less important to greet in these proceedings than would be their counterparts Bendenite or the Lords and Ladies of either Hold honored in those flags flying in the courtyard today, there are no shortage of palms wanting crossed by either Roa's tiny fingers or R'vain's freckled paws. Finally they depart /that/ part of the party for /this/, a sight which brings a grin to the big man's face; he squints out over the stalls and stages and food and all of these hospitalities, then down (though less /down/ than he might if she weren't somehow a smidge taller than usual) at the Weyrwoman. "S'now what? Guess I'm at y'pleasure." He grins still, though it's a game sort of grin, and his shoulders ripple with a shrug big enough to shift and reset the fit of his suitcoat.
"Then let's get you a drink," replies Gans, a laugh threatened in the variant tones of this remark. He tips down his head and slips a glance toward the feast. Weddings have this talent for making people hungry, or else that's the skill reserved to free food - but whatever the cause there is, of course, some crowd to be contended with. "Shall I retrieve you something, or shall we just walk leisurely and look along the way?"
The weyrwoman walks along with her companion, smiles offered to those who nod or greet her, long skirt trailing a little ont he ground, even with her slightly improved height. "It sounds like there's racing," Roa offers. "or vendors, or food? I'm not sure. I don't much..." she smirks faintly, glancing down and away with a small shake of her head. "I suppose something to eat might not be amiss." Bare shoulders lift, as do black eyebrows as she looks back to R'vain. The question that was never exactly phrased properly is writ on her face, instead.
"I worry your ability to disappear when fetching me a drink might return. Or else some elderly woman might claim some of your time. . .or Faranth forbid my mother show up and claim a dozen dances. No. You are not slipping free of me tonight without some very convincing words." Her words make it sound as if they've a history of being parted at events such as this. Well, and so they do. However, Miniyal teases with the tone of her words and ends them with an enticement. "I will allow you be hauled off from my side only two times this evening so make them worthwhile. If you go more than that I shall not dance with you." Seeing as they never have gotten a dance she clearly expects this ploy to work. So tucking herself closer against him, simply for the sake of making it through the crowd and no other reason of course, she allows him to lead the way through the crowd towards the wine. Oh, and maybe food at some point.
Issa's proper composure melts as they cross those steps that serve as the demarcation between high society and low. Familiar warmth floods the smile she turns up to Reyce once they've reached the bottom and she slides out of that ceremonial position at his arm. Hands smooth the fabric that finds itself the subject of her first comment now that they've some time alone in the midst of all these people. "I like this color on you, by the way," she notes, a little familiarity they missed before when ushered into the hall for the wedding, her paler blue eyes roving quickly over the navy coat. "Is it new?" And while they're already roving, her eyes skip over to the Reachian Weyrleaders on the steps, flicking back to Reyce as soon as she notes their presence. She grips the edges of that jacket and drags him into a start, though she drops them and turns to lead him down the main aisle as soon as he begins to walk with her into the crowd.
Two merchant stalls sharing a prime position on the central walkway of the market complex send a shiller, one man's young son, out into the crowd to advertise their marketing ploy, a barrel of shelled Benden peanuts which supposedly hides a single gold-painted nut, the finder of which will receive a handsome wooden table with carvings made from bone. "Get the gold and get the gift!" the boy shrills, and when he adds, "No cost to try!" a sudden swarm of people mobs the stands. Naturally, a few find interesting purchases while waiting in the line.
The boy glances towards the runner races for a moment. A soft hrm comes from him, and then he begins to scan the crowd as if looking for somebody, standing on tiptoes to do so. His eyes linger on the weyrleaders for a moment, but then he is swept up amongs those mobbing the peanut barrel...and, swept up, apparently decides he might as well try for it, although the nut he pulls out is not the color of a queen dragon, although his face shows no real disappointment. [Kenathan]
"Don't much what," rumbles R'vain, clearly amused. "Shop? Dance? Gamble? Watch th'stones." He waves the paw not obliged to keep a certain spot just beneath her elbow at the path before them, a danger to unwary feet or spiffy shoes, then waves it again more toward the feasting tables-- "Happy t'get something t'eat myself, then." Roa's job, still, will be to affirm this course, and lead it. The Weyrleader's best used for that arm just below her fingers, really.
"I have no intention - " But Gans knows well enough his intentions are so easily foiled by social obligation, whether Miniyal sees it as obligation or not, and he gives up the sentiment about to be described for a lightweight little chortle instead. "Twice, then. I shall endeavour for less." He moves along through the crowd - more nods, smiles, but fewer of them out here where the trend of age of attendees means even he's less recognizable than he once might have been - toward the wine, where Miniyal will be obliged to make a choice from Benden's offerings. "We might look at the carts, if you like, before it gets too dark," he suggests, meanwhile.
Amid the party-goers, venders and performers, outrageously dressed persons mingle. Their attire boasts widely varied colors, their faces are painted or masked. Some seem to be harmlessly heckling passersby, others dole out rich and overwhelming compliments, some awkwardly attempt to make light conversation, others are simply flirting shamelessly. Among all of these strange creatures is a tall masked woman in a fantastic ensemble of red and green. She attracts looks of delight and curiousity as she moves leisurely through the crowd.
Reyce huffs a breath when Issa melts off his arm, clearly relieved that his show of propriety can finally end. His eyes return from their scan of the surrounding area and fix on her face, watching her eyes rove over his coat and then beyond him. He crooks a tiny smirk for her words of approval, but shrugs it off in the next instant with, "Not really." He leans against that tug on his jacket for a moment, eyeing the crowded main aisle she's guiding him towards, but eventually he follows - and just as he does, the crowd thickens around the barrel of nuts competition. He snorts and leans into Issa, pushing her steps away from that competition and eyeing the people, including Kenathan, who choose to participate with a mixture of distaste and simple not understanding.
Actors on the central stage announce the start of their first performance by having an incompetent lad blow jarring notes on a trumpet. Those close to the stage wince and start shouting at him, while another member of the troupe goes around providing them with more concrete ways to express their displeasure: soft, rotten fruit to be taken from a basket. He throws the first stone himself, thumping the poor lad with a gooey redfruit and chasing him off-stage to a thrill of cheers.
"Pick one. You'd be right," is the weyrwoman's quiet reply to R'vain's questions. "I see them," the stones, presumably, "thanks." Her step becomes a bit more careful as the upraised and slightly wobbly ground is walked over. "Something to eat it is, then." Her blue eyes move around the crowd, with its sudden cluster of nut-eaters, even as she turns to move towards the banquet table. "Reyce and Issa are over there," she notes with a quick glance in the couple's direction.
He has cut himself off before Miniyal can remark on her own about his intentions. So she instead just bestows a smile upon him and squeezes her fingers around his arm. "Do you think there might be a decent bookseller?" She has her priorities after all. All of that comes, of course, after more important tasks like finding the proper wine to start the evening off with. A bit of thoughtful searching finds what she wishes and soon enough she'll have at least the first drink out of the way. "I am thinking we might add to our collection. It is rather lonely by itself. One can hardly call a single volume a collection after all."
"Can't say I understand that th'least bit," rumbles R'vain, low-spoken for Roa (and any immediate passerby, because he is /so good/ at being quiet) alone. "Th'two of'em. Not sure they're goin' t'want t'be bothered." But the Weyrleader's path will follow Roa's and his strides are shortened to keep close to hers, in case she might wish to bother them instead of eat, anyway.
Benden's youngest weyrwoman was present at the ceremony, naturally, she and her brownrider date making up part of the weyr's contingent. They had to wait through the official greetings, as well, congratulating the new couple, greeting various dignitaries from farther off, conversing with Benden's own leadership, etc. The pair finally exit into the courtyard, later than some, Ginella just shaking the hand of one of the younger Bitran lords, her other arm looped through T'ral's.
Issa allows her path to be bent around the edges of that throng of hopeful gift-winners, but that doesn't distract from her forward progress as she leads him toward the lively strains of music that are beginning to pick up as the people flood from the Hold. Sneaking a hand back, she catches Reyce by the wrist and draws his hand to her waist, a convenient hold to keep the throngs from separating them. "Is it itchy?" she asks further, lifting her slightly concerned voice above the hubbub surrounding the stalls.
"Decent," echoes Gans, after the entirety of Miniyal's proposition has been made, reverting then to the first adjective to which she commited the topic. "I would expect so, somewhere. But this -is- a wedding's celebration; I imagine we might find some other sort." He, too, selects a glass of something, a rouge-pink blend of some inoffensive and uninteresting nature; it will look good, mostly, in his slender, pale hand. "Shall we go walking up the back aisle and see?"
Kenathan manages to escape from the gift-throng, and now tries to get closer to the stage. It is not the couple that has his attention, it's the performers, but for some reason...his look is almost, but not quite, angry. "Not...funny," he murmurs, whether it is heard by anyone in *this* noise would be the question. As yet, he avoids the wine.
With the trumpet lad chased away (and now huddled on the ground wiping redfruit off his cheeks), the actors take the stage for their opening, a trite, common musical short about a young Lord who falls in love with a seamstress. Only a woman plays the part of the Lord, her hair tied into a beardlike ponytail over her cheeks, and a skinny young man with a half-exposed hairy chest is the seamstress. Their lines are delivered with enthusiastic melodrama that makes the audience laugh over even solemn-meant soliloquys.
The masked woman passes by a man who has already consumed his evening's share of ale. He hollars something untelligible at her, but the meaning is clear. She hestitates a step, then pauses to turn to him. It's not just a turn, but a pose, letting him admire her for a moment. She smiles, but it is sly and twisted. His moment of attention ends and she moves on a bit before stopping again to lift her chin high and try to gaze across the sea of heads and shoulders.
T'ral is occupying that enjoyable territory that brings with it all the perks of the ranked guest, without any need to actually do more than smile politely at those who rate more highly than he. He sticks to Ginella's side, but while she's caught meeting and greeting, her much taller brownrider is taking a look over the heads of the crowd, his hand folded over hers on his arm while he watches the duo making their proclamations on stage.
A group of Caucus student girls make their way through the fringes of the merchant tents, fingering wares and talking overly loudly. Like a fair of the firelizards from children's fairytales they come together and drift apart in their gaily colored attire, mingling mostly with each other in the early stages of the evening's party. At the edge of the crowd, smiling hopefully whenever others catch her eye but seeming somehow unsure of the bizarre rites of young ladies at such an event hovers Fienne. Subconsciously she pulls her wrap closer around her upper arms, then lets her gaze slip from her companions to travel over the crowd.
Roa turns her gaze, once more, towards Benden's bastard and his greenriding gal, only waiting to see if one or the other's eye might be caught. If they look, they'll get a smile and a little nod, but her path doesn't swerve, and the leaders of High Reaches Weyr make it to the table of food after all. Her hand politely withdraws from R'vain's arm so that he might go about gathering up his meal without a weyrwoman attached to his elbow.
It is no sign of anything that as they talk and as he selects his wine, Miniyal has moved on from one glass of white to a second. Really. It means nothing. So when he suggests moving off she empties this glass as well and then will move off with a full glass. Because what's the point in leaving when one is half full. Besides, who knows when they will get back to here? "An excellent suggestion. This is why I allow you to escort me, of course. If you were not so useful I would find someone else to haul me out to places with too many people." One hand holds the wine then while her other claims his arm once more so they might go stalk the back aisle and look for that decent bookseller.
Ginella finishes with the Bitran, the one not attached to her arm, that is, politely detatching herself as he begins to get a bit too nosy. A half step and a squeeze on his arm should send a hint to T'ral that she wants to move away, and begin heading away from the lingering older/more important people back behind them and out towards the crowd. "I'm sorry," she tells him under her breath, "I couldn't get away from him. Apparently I have to speak to every single blooded person on the continent before we're allowed to get away."
Reyce, keeping a wary eye out for the milling crowd, is the one to catch Roa's gaze and receive that little nod, but it's wasted on him. He blinks, doesn't return it, and continues his survey. His arm settles comfortably over Issa's hips, keeping her close as he picks a path down the market aisles. The catcalls directed at one of those masked woman earn a low, derisive snort from him as once again he leans Issa away, making their path swerve again. And then, as he does so, he blinks at her. Itchy? "Not really," he answers again, uncertain.
Just as well Roa's busy trying to catch an eye of Issa or Reyce-- at just that moment a whirl of color catches R'vain's eye, and the pose that masked woman puts on for the man who spoke to her wins a moment's distant consideration. His gait is imperfect for a moment after that, his effort to match the shorter Weyrwoman's stride forgotten for a couple of steps, and by the time she releases his arm so she can gather up her share of the feast, R'vain's grin has acquired a more familiar bestiality. He snorts softly, head shaking, grunts "Benden" under his smirking breath, and picks up a plate.
Kenathan shakes his head at the stage. And now, finally, he will find himself a glass of something, backing away from the comedy through the crowd, nearly bumping into one of the maskers. "Too many people," he says, quietly. "Far too many people. Think I should have stayed at the Weyr." Now, his target would be the food tables, although he's finding it hard to maneuver.
"I have no doubt you would," replies Gans, jovially as (in)sincere as his lover, and puts his wineglass into the hand attached to the arm she's rested her own hand on so he can stroke her knuckles with cool fingertips. Away they go down the back aisle, into shopping mode.
Out of nowhere, a man taking a rest by the dinner benches leaps out of his seat and backflips his way into the arms of a strongman who's been entertaining diners by lifting people and benches. The random man turns out to be an acrobat who balances on the strongman's palms before being thrown into another flip over his back - much to the excitement of some watching children, who scream and giggle at their place. With a gracious bow, the acrobat soaks up their approval.
T'ral is obliging, and steers away from the Lordling with whom Ginella speaks with an alacrity that suggests he's well and truly ready to get a move on, despite his easygoing grin. "There's food over there," he observes hopefully, shifting his hand so he can rest it in the small of her back, allowing her to move in front of him, and squeeze through crowds more easily. "Can we eat while you do your talking?"
Fienne spots the grouping of feast tables - not that such is hard to do what with the mounds of food so uniquely displayed. She murmurs some excuse to the nearest girl, but receives barely a nod for it, and so she begins to wind her way through the crowd and toward the food. It's not much of a trek, made swifter yet by the fact that her attention is focused now that she has a target - the actors and vendors earn not even a glance. She ends up not too far from the visiting Weyrleader pair, and once she has a plate in hand her eyes fall on them. There's a teetering moment where she glances around, weighing escape versus greeting, but then she ends up sidling a bit closer and offering a soft, "Evening Weyrleader, Weyrwoman." Unfortunately, it is in that airy voice of hers that is too much breath and not enough volume, especially in such a crowd. She pauses at least a beat, a bright smile in place should they take notice of her.
Shopping it is and the places that hawk clothes and trinkets earn not even a second glance from Miniyal. She has no interest in such things. Not entirely hard to guess since even for a festive occasion she wears naught but the ring on her finger. This glass of wine she will nurse even if she has a second handy simply being carried for her by someone else. "Oh! Can we see about a new puzzle box? I am sure they'll have some here and I am tired of the one I have. I cannot find anything new to do with it." She asks plainly because there's no need to do other than that. She already knows he'll do what she wants. Not that she does not give him a hopeful smile and a kiss to his cheek.
"Faranth, yes," Ginella replies to T'ral's request, shooting him a smile over her shoulder as they navigate the crowd, "I'm starving! No eating three horses and making a mess, though," she warns, "That nice white shirt'll show every crumb." She does head in the direction of the food, though, unintentionally in line to intersect with R'vain and Roa. "I bet the food is good," she says, "The few times I've been before it's been wonderful. And plenty of wine, too," she promises him, stopping short as she runs into a solid mass of people around the food. "You want to get me a plate, Tiv, and I'll try to get us some drinks? You can make it through that crowd better than I could."
Roa was watching Issa and Reyce, but the way R'vain step changes causes her to look his way and then, as his neck is craned to stare at something his own self, she looks over just in time to get a tease of vibrant gown and mask before the crowd cuts her from view. Her attention returns to the weyrleader, and her expression is carefully blank. It is a struggle, the fight against the urge to roll one's eyes rather strenuously. "Mmm," is her reply to R'vain's lusty mutter. Then, thank goodness, table and a more decent conversation partner. Roa smiles over at Fienne and her greeting, faint though it is. "Hello, Fienne. You look lovely."
Not all the entertainers are putting in vast efforts to entertain. Of the small flock of people dressed in colorful masks and costumes and circulating through the crowd, one man has dressed in simple black mask and robes, and he circulates through the merchant stands causing - with his quiet, gloomy demeanor - guests to spook when they realize he's there.
T'ral laughs as he moves forward, causing a parting of people not unakin to a particular sea that was wont to part, long ago and far away. That happens, when you're twice the size of half the people around you. "Yes, mother," he murmurs in reply to Ginella's cautions regarding his shirt, falling into line near his 'leaders. "I'll find you when I'm done."
The airy voice indeed escapes R'vain's attention, but his nostrils flare and he turns a curious look down the length of the feast table, brows drawing, evidently indifferent to Roa's non-reply to his non-remark-- looking for something among the food. Until, that is, his Weyrwoman replies to the softspoken Caucus student and R'vain, hearing /that/ if not the greeting that required it, looks up. Freckled nostrils flare again and he draws in quite the breath, more air than necessary only to rumble out, "G'd'afternoon. Y'really do," through a grin of so many teeth for the vanilla-scented girl.
"Always ride home with the one that brought you, aye, I'll remember," Ronan laughs as she parts ways with a brownrider wearing a High Reaches knot, winking at the man before diving into the crowds with relish. Complete strangers are treated - or subjected - to cheery greetings and excuses as she slips through the crush, apparently searching for someone or something.
Kenathan finally ends up...somewhat close to Miniyal. He hesitates, before approaching her and the former Weyrleader. "Hello, Miniyal...G'thon?" He isn't entirely sure, by the sound of it, of the second name. Although...at least he does not seem to be *too* nervous. A little awkward, perhaps, in the crowd.
Ginella shoots T'ral a grin and gives his elbow a squeeze before moving off towards the end of the table that holds the beverages. It takes her a bit to get there, ducking around people, avoiding getting her dress trod on, all that. She finally makes it up to the table and pours two glasses of wine, taking a sip of one as she steps away, jostling R'vain with an elbow as she does. "Ah, Weyrleader," she says with a polite smile as she recognizes him from the back of his head alone, "My apologies. Don't think I spilled anything?"
Miniyal's companion will look at clothes and trinkets - especially trinkets - but not for long, as he's sworn himself to his lover's side and, for the purpose of shopping, seems quite set on being good to his word. "We can look, of course. I would think a Telgari wedding better suited - " A pause, then, for they're being addressed. He turns from the stall that most recently held his attention and blinks twice at Kenathan, hazel eyes wryly lit. "Yes." Since it sounded like a question.
Issa hasn't the attention to spare for Weyrwomen or masked women, too busy weaving through the crowd and working her way up into a tease. "Good," she comments, tossing Reyce a roguish smile for the note of uncertainty. Now the initial rush from the doors has thinned, Issa's pace becomes more leisurely and they are required to dodge less and less people. She lets him wait in suspense only a few seconds longer before she reveals her reason for asking. "Because I mean to drag you into a quick dance before I let you find me some wine," she tells him casually, leaning up against him to make sure her words find his ear, "and I don't want you stripping down right in front of all these people." Skirt swishing, her hip slides sideways into a nudge and she settles into that comfortable step again. "Plenty of time for that later," she comments, grinning with amusement as she turns to look idly over the wares of an instrument stall they're passing.
A flush rises in Fienne's cheeks, a dusting of pink accompanied by a pleased but sheepish tilt to her lips. "Oh gosh, thank you ma'am. You look fabulous yourself." That with a nod to the Weyrwoman's dress as the girl plucks self-consciously at one fluttery bit of cloth on her own skirt. "Was the ceremony beautiful?" As she asks the question there is that rumble of a greeting from R'vain and her chin tips up, eyes that are suddenly a bit wide finding his. "You look nice, yourself, sir," she manages, though it is followed by a nervous gulp of a swallow and accompanied by a certain wherry beneath dragon talons sort of sheen in her eyes.
Miniyal's eyes widen in mock dismay after Kenathan speak with just the flicker of a wink to the poor, likely befuddled boy, she turns to Gans. "I swear I've no idea who this G'thon might be. I swear, darling. You're the only man for me." If she sounded at all serious it might seem like the boy had committed some social blunder. However, the laugh that escapes at the end of her words accompanies the light tone that spoke those words. "Gans, love. This is Kenathan. I've met him a time or two at the weyr. And, since I am not at a Telgari wedding we shall have to do the best we can. You don't want me getting bored." Still more teasing and the words end with a drink of the wine she holds in her hand. "I only cause trouble when bored. How are you finding the party, Ken?"
Oh for the love of...Roa pastes a serene smile on her lips and nods. "The ceremony was impressive. Seems like someone spent quite a while on the flowers alone." And that seems to consitute Roa's successful skills at smalltalking weddings. "Have you been settling into Caucus well? Do you find yourself homesick at all?"
R'vain grins (more) at Fienne. "All th'Weyrwoman's plan-- " -- Do not jostle the Weyrleader while he is leering. No, seriously, not a good idea. He turns on Ginella with a sharp look in his eyes, high contrast to the grin on his maw-- but she's Ginella, a fact that registers with him fast enough to spare her any other kind of sharpness he might offer. Instead he draws in another of those larger-than-necessary breaths, backs up a step, plate in flattened palm, and provides, "No harm 'tall, Weyrwoman." A slide of gaze, down and up her frame, then-- "Breathtaking. Y'need into line? Y'can have my spot, y'like." A jerk of his chin offers the Benden junior a place at the feast table where he just stood.
"Far, far too many people," Ken admits with a wry expression. "The Weyr was bad enough, but it seems as if half of Pern has come here. And half of Pern's dragons, judging by the fireheights." His grin, though, takes any sting out of that. "Oh, and seems I don't have to worry about a job." His fingers flick to the white knot at his shoulder. "At least not for a few sevendays."
Gans laughs, easily, for Miniyal's jest. "Ken, well met. The crowd, I fear, is justified: we have seen two of the Holds of Pern marry today, not just the one. So." He glances, as is required, at the knot Kenathan wears; and for that provides only a little nod, mild-smiling, taking this moment to indulge with a sip of his wine.
Mix puzzlement with a dash of alarm and you have Reyce at this moment, thrown off his game by Issa's tease. Trusting her to guide the way through the thinning crowd, he stares down at her face, as though there might be more of a hint written into her expression. Or rather, into the back of her head, as she's already turned to look at the instruments they're passing. "Not gonna strip down," he answers under his breath, his voice conveying all of his surprise, confusion, and growing displeasure in four simple words. But then they arrive at the dance floor, and he has an excuse to stop walking and turn her into him so he can actually see her face.
Competition strikes up between two harpers by the dance stage, one a visitor from the hall and the other posted to the hold. An argument about the lyrics of a song spirals into a public spectacle, and from there the dancers stop to cheer them on until they square off to sing against each other, taking turns to sing verses of a rustic favorite while the dancers spin each other on the floor. At the end, they all stomp their boots in favor of Benden's harper, most likely because he's more familiar than because he's any better.
T'ral has taken his queenrider's advice not to eat an entire horse under advisement, or at least has done some of his eating out of sight, for moments after R'vain's offer, he materialises at her side -- quite the feat, given the crowds and his size -- bearing plates. "Sir," he greets R'vain politely, although his grin is as so many of those around him -- the brownrider's relaxed, and enjoying the day.
"People are a bother. Wine helps." Miniyal offers this with a cheery enough smile, helped along by some wine already. She lifts her glass in a little toast and has a sip. "Are you shopping? Oh, so you're standing then? Well, if that doesn't work out do feel free to come see me about something to do. I know all sorts of people who might help. If you decide the guard is not for you. Have you eaten? The food looks wonderful." Not wonderful enough for them yet, but they do have shopping to do after all.
Ronan does not appear to be finding that which she seeks. A frown lines her brow as she weaves past stalls of liquors and gaming devices to peer over the dance floor. Again, she looks to be disappointed, and a rather suspicious glance is cast towards the entrance to the hold itself.
"Mmm? Well, it was a good plan," Fienne answers lamely. And when Ginella distracts the towering Weyrleader away she seems to wilt a bit, some unseen tension slipping from her shoulders as her attention slides back to Roa. "Oh, it's very nice. The Weyr still seems awfully large but... I guess it isn't /so/ different from High Reaches. Er, the hold I mean." In between words she adds a bit of this and that to her plate, a sample of nearly everything but nothing in quantities too large - there isn't all that much room to spare in this dress after all. "I miss some of my duties and some of the classes are a bit difficult -" she breaks off with another of those sheepish grins, shaking her head. Not the sort of thing to ramble on about in such a situation. Her free hand takes up a glass of Benden white, and she sidesteps slightly, out of the way of the pressing crowd.
Kenathan nods. "I am still thinking Guard, if it doesn't work out. One of the blueriders asked me if I wanted to, and the way I see it...I think I could handle being a rider. If not, then I've lost...what, a few sevendays, for which I'm being fed by the Weyr." That grin returns. "True, they're working me for it."
"The classes are exhausting," Roa agrees with a small nod. "And time consuming. And often headache-inducing. Are you taking G'thon's Ethics course or the Headmaster's Politics seminar? They make your eyes cross from time to time." She looks over to where the Benden pair now stand and shifts a little as R'vain moves, to better allow Ginny her spot. "Good evening, Ginella. T'ral."
"Asked you if you wanted to." Gans repeats this with no tone of incredulity, but there's a subtle arching of pale brow that Miniyal, at least, would know signals disapproval. "And how do you imagine you would handle it, then?" This is meant to be dryly smiling; it falls only a very small margin short, and the ethics instructor again indulges in drink for the moment's silence.
When almost every dignitary is a parent or guardian, the man who has charge of all their charges can have a difficult time making any sort of speed. Still, the Headmaster's lazy grin has not flickered even a fraction, and Sefton is busy plying the charm that renders student-sourced tales of torture so laughingly unbelievable to their elders. Dressed in his usual, expensively-cut black, he is in conference with a man who looks very like him, save for the colour in his clothing, as he comes into view, although dark eyes are busy running over the crowd.
Issa rolls in toward her chosen dance partner when he pulls her that way, easily distracted from the argument on stage, her dancing gaze thoroughly amused by the game she's started, whatever it might be, when she looks up to find his face. With her hands slipped up to the edges of Reyce's jacket again, she gives it a settling tug and grins broadly up at him. "I'm glad. I'd heard that you had a history of it, so I just wanted to check." Her eyebrows slide up when the arguing harpers finish their rustic tune and another begins, waiting with lightly tapping fingers for him to take the lead.
Ginella doesn't seem cowed by R'vain's initial sharpness, merely smiling politely again and glancing at his sleeve to make sure there actually was not any spillage. She takes a sip of her wine and smiles for the compliment, shaking her head. "No, thank you. My plate is on its way as we speak." And sure enough, T'ral appears at her side, and she shoots him a smile, trading him a wine glass for a plate. "You two have met, haven't you?" she checks, glancing between the two men, "Did you ever get a chance to have that chat that you were looking for?" she asks, one brow lifting in question.
The conversation between instructor and candidate earns most of her attention. However, Miniyal drinks her wine and allows her attention to look down the row of stalls they are near. Searching for what it is they have come this way to find. When she thinks she might spy it she stands on her toes to better see over the crowd. Sure, it does not really work, but still, peer she will. After all, they do have a purpose on this trek that pulled her away from the wine.
Ginella did not immediately notice Roa, but she does now, smiling at the Weyrwoman. "Roa, good evening," she says, "You look lovely."
Ronan's suspicious glance towards the doors to the hold soon finds the Headmaster, and the sailor's steps lead her towards him. She's a long time hovering there just a step away from him, watching the high-ranked parents and guardians make their polite hello's and waiting for a pause in the flow to clear her throat for attention.
Kenathan considers that, then, quietly. "I'm..." A pause. "Scared of the idea of fighting Thread. But more scared of not being able to protect what I care for, somehow." And then he shrugs a little bit. "I believe I can handle it. How? I'm not quite sure yet."
R'vain got his look, then, at Ginella's gown-- or just at Ginella-- while the opportunity was best. He turns a completely appropriate grin-- it's a wedding, people are supposed to be happy, right?-- on T'ral and notes for his queenrider's questions, "Yes." Evidently that covers them all; he glances at Ginella to add, "Thank you f'telling him. Don't know I'd ever've had th'chance else." Jibe.
The masked woman extricates herself from a rambunctious seamstress who has been too busy fawning over the wild dress to notice any hint subtler than turning and walking away. That is what the masked woman does now, leaving the seamstress with a hand to her mouth as she gets a look at the back of the ensemble. The anonymous creature then makes her way towards along, nearing the Headmaster and his companion. She moves with snakelike twists through the crowd, ribbons trailing behind her. As she passes under the darkly-clad man's meandering gaze, she flashes him a wide, twisted, knowing grin.
Normally restless, now both of Fienne's hands are full but that doesn't stop fingertips from drumming lightly on the outside of her wineglass. "I want to join the Ethics class but I haven't spoken with G'thon yet. I'm..." a pause, as a hint of a frown flickers subtly over her brow. "I'm supposed to have dinner with him sometime soon and thought I would ask then. I want to see if I need to do any makeup work or anything." With the arrival of gold- and brownrider Fienne offers the pair a bright smile but no words, hiding instead behind a sip of wine.
"A common sentiment among the recently searched," observes Gans, neither excessively invitational nor an excuse offered for whatever might disappoint him in Kenathan's reply. Still his smile crooks up on the one side of his mouth and his eyes remain bright, even as Miniyal's attention wanders. "Might I ask after what rider - invited you?"
The Headmaster and his companion -- his brother, surely -- move out of the way of the Hold doors, to allow the flow of people to continue unabated. Both sets of dark eyes follow the masked woman, and both mouths twist to grins, appreciative each. Neither man's attention is held for long, though, and Sefton lifts a hand to greet Ronan in a vague imitation of a rider's salute. "Ronan," he drawls, his lazy voice drawing out the vowels in the instructor's name. "My brother, Kelar. Kelar, Ronan. She is one of our instructors."
A better trumpeter than works for the acting troupe steps out onto the hold steps, lifting his instrument and playing a string of loud, joyful notes to announce the coming of the bride and groom. Carlin and Garima walk into the fading sunshine hand in hand, the bride blushing and beautiful in her red gown, to take their bows and lift their hands in greeting to the people. The collective roar of approval ripples out to every corner of the courtyard, with boots and beer mugs stomped to emphasize the sound as it swells to fever pitch.
Behind the bride and groom, slipping off to the wings, come the bride's brother and the groom's parents. Lord Pindan holds a smile in place while he tamely applauds his sister, and Lady Tierna watches her son with prim but obvious approval, leaving only Benden's Lord to really rack it up with the crowd. Lord Carlin throws out a two-fingered whistle, then - like a conductor at a symphony - waves up the nearest crowd members into louder cheers and points their thrilled and laughing attention abruptly back to the young couple. Garima laughs, while the younger Carlin looks flustered, and the crowd goes wild again with cruder whistles and loud shouts.
It is not her fault that conversation does not hold her attention. Miniyal does have her wine at least although at the rate with which she drinks it will soon be empty. With a little sigh she gives up on trying to determine if the stall sells books like she thinks and turns back to the conversation. Polite smile in place she listens with apparent attentiveness for Ken's answer.
"M'eri," Ken supplies, and a wry expression crosses his face. "He's a little...odd." But there's no censure in his tone, he doesn't sound like he thinks being odd has anything that wrong with it.
T'ral has a reply ready for his Weyrleader, but he's forced to pause at the sound of the trumpeter, and through the cheering and applause that follows. He spends the time steadying his newly acquired drink, and working out how to hold it while managing to eat. "I'm a hard man to pin down, Weyrleader," he replies to R'vain, flashing the man an unphased -- even cheeky -- grin. "Working men of the weyr, no time for lazing about gossiping, you know."
The weyrwoman nods to Fienne, "I'm sure he'll be accomodating. I can't imagine he wouldn't wish to include another student in--" Trumpets! Roa looks over towards where the new couple enter, and in looking that way, her gaze finds another duo, though these are two olive-skinned brothers, one in black and one not. A tiny smile flickers and fades and Roa uses the ensuing commotion of the crowd to murmur to those gathered around, "Excuse me, please." Then she's ducking into the milling people and carefully weaving her way towards the Headmaster and his lookalike.
"Headmaster. Sir." Ronan nods briefly to both Sefton and his brother, then points. "Pleasure to meet you," she adds with a distracted flash of a smile towards Kelar. "Would you happen to know-" And then there's trumpeting, and roaring, and the rest of the question is lost in the noise as the sailor presses a hand ineffectually to one ear. Her mouth opens as though to shout over the gale - it's what sailors do, after all - before she thinks better of it and falls silent to wait out the storm of sound.
She'll have to wait a moment, because the harpers have only just struck up the tune of a new dance when that blaring trumpet breaks in, and for a few minutes they lay down their instruments to clap and stir their section of the crowd. Reyce, for all that it's his own brother (and now, technically, sister) up on the steps, does not join in the cheering; just squints his eyes and his expression as though that could tune out the noise and waits for it to pass. After it does, the harpers strike up a bouncy, joyful tune that he seems inclined to ignore.
"He was my flank's best guardian when I led the wings," replies Gans, approval rather severe, expression not the sweetest. But he smiles still, then turns to Miniyal and murmurs, "Shall we see about books?" Apparently they shall because he looks back at Kenathan then and says, "Excuse us, won't you? That noise, by the way - " He lifts a hand in a wave loosely indicating the gathering up by the Hold's steps. "Introduces the new couple, if you wish to have a look." And then he's turning away, to attend again to Miniyal and their shopping.
Ginella is admired just in time, and luckily not lasciviously enough to draw her notice, or at least a blush to give it away. She seems surprised for a beat at R'vain's reply, shooting T'ral a quick glance, but the jibe and the brownrider's retort draw a smile, as she shifts utensils into her other hand. She looks over her shoulder at all the trumpeting and frowns faintly at Lord Carlin's antics before looking back up at T'ral. "Perhaps we ought to sit and eat?"
When it seems they will depart, Miniyal gives Ken a little smile. "A pleasure to see you. Do enjoy yourself." Finishing her glass of wine she makes no apologies when she takes up Gans' for a drink as well. He'll allow it after all. Off they go to the bookseller she thinks they saw.
The masked woman seems disinclined to linger under any attention just yet. Instead she moves off toward the food tables to make a little mischief. Her focus finds a man reaching for a pot of green condiment, known to some to be extremely hot. "Have you had that?" she asks him, and when the man answers that he has not, she encourages him with enthusiasm, talking him into loading up a cracker and having a taste. She reaches to take some strangers drink and hands it to the man, blithe and carefree and gone before the tears come.
/That/ much racket even has R'vain casting a glance back-- oh, right, /them,/ the happy newlyweds. Back to T'ral, then, whose conversational gambit wins a broad grin of teeth from the Reachian Weyrleader. "No time. And all th'conversation over cards's strictly 'bout th'work. A man gets no rest 'round a Weyr." Points given for cheek, the big red man turns his gaze anew on Ginella, reaffirming a note of, "Y'look incredible t'day. Don't let 'im get you out've here without a dance," before a rumbled pardon and a gesture of his plate suggests he, too, intends to find a place to eat. But maybe a different place. Because he turns, and a scoping glare of green gaze and a flare of nostrils hunts for something particular.
"Ronan," Kelar drawls in polite greeting, his accent more pronounced even than his brother's. The cheering takes some time to die off, but once the music begins, speech becomes possible once more, and while Sefton is obliged to turn away and address one of Benden's large brood, his brother devotes his attention entirely to the Instructor. "What is it you're after?"
Ronan shrugs one shoulder, trying to keep the neckline of her dress from slipping off it again as she casts a wry smirk in Kelar's direction. "Was wondering if you or the Headmaster'd noticed the Masterfisher in there," she explains, rising fruitlessly to her toes to try to peer around shoulders at the flow of people out of the hold behind the new couple. "Was thinking I might like to have a..." The smirk slips further to one side, wickedly amused. "Talk with him."
"A man gets no rest at all," T'ral agrees, turning his head to join R'vain in admiring Ginella for a moment. "It's all right for some, sitting about all day with rosters, or in classes." He shifts his weight slightly, shielding her from incipient jostling, and agrees with his 'leader's prognosis with a grin. "She looks beautiful." The obligatory compliment is delivered with enough of a grin to render it more genuine, before he lifts his head -- bless his height -- to cast his gaze about. "Tables off thataway," he volunteers, nodding towards the left hand side of the dancing square.
Fienne lifts her glass as Roa departs, seeing as she has no free hand to wave. The flare of trumpets and cheering of course draws her attention and she lifts up on tiptoes for a beat to get a better glimpse of the happy couple. A smile touches her own lips as she nods, then as the others gathered around her turn to leave as well, her blue eyes skip to find a place for her to at least settle either glass or plate. Not really spotting anyone else she knows, she winds around a few people and finally settles at a table just to the side of the dancing. Plate and glass are set ont he tabletop, leaving her hands free to straighten her skirt out as she perches at the edge of the chair. Even as she picks up a tiny sliver of goose, one foot taps in time to the bouncy beat, eyes watching the whirling dancing.
Reyce's greenrider is much more polite. Issa's hands drop away from the half brother of the groom to give a spattering of applause that follows the fanfare welcoming the couple. Her voice never joins the many cheerers, but she twists up a smile and laughs lightly at the Lord's larking, eyes thinning in contradiction to the amusement. But don't think that even such a grand interruption could derail Issa's desire for a dance. She lets only a few beats of that song pass before raising her eyes sharply up to him again, a drawn, plaintive warning pressed into his name. "Reyce..."
Ginella smiles at the pair of them bantering, and again at the stream of compliments. "Oh, I'm sure I can convince him to oblige me," she tells R'vain with a smile for his remark about dancing. She seems ready to say something else, but then the man's moving off, and she turns back to T'ral with a smile. "Did I tell you yet how nice you look?" she checks, pressing against his side for a moment before nodding at the direction and the point and beginning to head that way.
Kenathan nods. "I like him, to be honest. Just..." And then the two are gone. "See you..." He drifts off into the crowd, looking around, eyes checking out faces one by one as he finally does make his way to the food table, retrieving a plate which he begins to pile with...a little bit of everything, or so it seems. Including too much of the green stuff.
Pageantry observed, the wedded pair turns gracefully to return to the calmer party being held inside the hold. Lord Pindan goes with them, and Lady Tierna, but not before she lifts onto her tiptoes to plant a kiss on her husband's smiling cheek. Lord Carlin will be staying, it seems, and the party will turn on his gravitational pull for a little while. His first act is to descend the stairs, wading into the crowd to pass out handshakes and lend an ear to those bold enough to approach him with their thoughts. A ring of guards goes out around him, keeping as far out of the way as possible without abandoning his security.
(Next part.)