The Caucus Ball
Location: Living Cavern
Time: Evening on Day 12, Month 12, Turn 3
Players: Coren (NPC), Ellaia, G'mal (NPC), Issa, Miniyal, Reyce, Roa, R'vain (NPCed by Roa), Tallara (NPC), Vanya, V'sen (NPC)
Scene: Oh sure, a party is all well and good, until somebody loses a wing of dragons.
It's evening at the weyr and after dinner the living cavern is still bustling. Although it is a different sort of crowd than usual. Many of the weyr's residents are nowhere to be seen. A gathering of snobby fancy people? Why waste time with that when they can go do something that doesn't involve people who might look down on them? Not to mention who might not try to lure impressionable daughters off for indecent activities. After all, it's not these visitors who get to deal with the results. The crowd that is here from the weyr tend to be older. They mingle some with visitors and stick to small groups of their own. Of course, the Caucus guests tend to do that as well. At least the Blooded ones. The crafters are a bit more loose in their associations.
Harpers play quietly on the dais to those who mingle in the open area created by the rearranging of tables. Their music switches from the sort designed to be listened to only to dance tunes of a proper sort. In between the music an occasional dignitary will step onto the dais to deliver some small speech or even toast. Applause generally follows and then conversations resume as they were. The tables near the kitchen entrance have been set up with small finger foods, desserts of all types, and beverages ranging from klah and tea to alcohols of assorted types mostly of the wine and brandy variety. As well as this well-dressed residents of the weyr circulate with glasses of wine for those not wishing to walk and refill theirs as well as some foods that can be easily taken in such a manner.
And amidst all this, for reasons that are explicable only to her, is Miniyal. With any luck she is not here to cause any sort of scene. Yep. She's just being sociable. And polite. And thoughtful.
Vanya really isn't certain why she's here, save that it beats sitting alone in her room, and it's an excuse to dress up and show off her brother's handiwork. Besides, she might see some people she knows from Healer Hall. H'kon is busy doing something, and so she's alone when she slips into the living cavern. Even if she will end up sitting alone on the sidelines, it's nice to see people, to watch them interact. After being away for a while, it's nice to be back at the weyr. And, so, the Healer moves into the throng, making her way to the food and drink tables, choosing a white Benden wine, and a small plate of tidbits before she heads toward the chairs against the wall. It's a fair guess she won't be asked to dance, anyway, so t his is the perfect spot to be a wallflower from. Near the hearth for warmth, out of the way for privacy.
One Bendenite has arrived on time, and in good style: Coren has been making the snob rounds that High Reaches' real residents eschew, and currently stands among a circle of young Holder's sons, taking a break from the dancing to share stories and laughter over wine. The other Bendenite, his brother, comes in less distinguished but arguably more noticeable company, with a pregnant greenrider on his arm. Reyce has shaved for the occasion, and found a rich mahogany outfit that does a fair job of matching Issa's brassy colors, even if it runs a faint risk of making him look like a big brown bear (if Pern had such, the risk would be far greater). The couple paces in from outside, chased by winter winds but thankfully, no snow.
A farmcraft master who has already had his share of wine and then some begins to make the rounds of young ladies. He spies a likely group of current students and heads their way with a swagger in his steps. Clearly he thinks he is a catch. Of course, some catches do get thrown back.
Despite the stupendous gossip that's been directed at Issa and her pregnant belly this seven, she's out to parade it about again and on the arm the babe's father to boot. And though her delicate situation might be an improper one, she faces the gathered crowd of high ups with a composed demeanor, smiling gently and nodding gracefully at those who decide to make eye contact with her. It's only Reyce she speaks to at this point, however, chin angled up to her big brown bear to mutter, "I think you're going to need a drink," her supposition paired with a nudge from her hip that sends them more in the direction of the food tables. "And I can stuff my face with food, while you enjoy all the best wine the Weyr has to offer." The bitterness present in that little comment is feigned, however, kept light and dealt with an extra squeeze of her fingers around his arm.
The harpers on the dais begin another song meant to encourage dancers. And enough of them are encouraged that the area set aside for such fills with bodies both young and old who waltz and show off their dresses and their dance partners.
Having filled a plate with delicacies and finger-foods, and collected a glass of white wine, Vanya selects a seat and relaxes. The plate is set on the nearest table, the wineglass cradled in her hands, still, though she has yet to take a sip. Her eyes roam around the cavern, here and there spotting a familiar face. Nods are given when her gaze is noted, but for the most part, the Healer seems content to remain rather solitary, not making any particular attempt to join a specific group. The dancers earn some observation as she sips her wine, plucking a tidbit from the plate to munch on while watching.
A small group of weyrlings, on their best behavior, have gathered on the edge of the dance floor. None of them dance, but they seem content to watch while holding plates of food. The women in the group seem to be cooing over the gowns of the well to do while the men are more interested in the figures in those dresses. All of their talk is done in hushed whispers.
If one is going to be at such a social occasion they have to accept that lurking is not going to do much good. At least for some. So, while Miniyal has made no real effort to engage in conversation it finds her in the guise of a rather portly older man with the knot of a minecraft master. The good news is he presents her with a glass of wine before he begins their conversation. However, thus far she has not actually taken a sip from it. For now it is just a prop as the two converse.
The harpers' invitation to waltz is denied, as Reyce clamps his elbow down on Issa's squeezing fingers, squeezing them back. "Get pretty thirsty," he avers, "crossing the bowl." The benefit to attracting outraged attention from the upper classes is that one is pretty well-watched, and when the Bendenite and his greenrider turns towards the food tables there is a subtle Parting of the Red Sea effect, as those too scrupulous to touch the social sinners edge silently out of the way. It's convenient enough, so Reyce has no qualms about making use of his private aisle to arrive at the refreshments table promptly, setting Issa loose to pick her snacks.
The weyrwoman and weyrleader of High Reaches are not a pair for very grand entrances, and even for the Caucus celebration, Roa and R'vain arrive on the steps into the Living Cavern with little fanfare. The large, red man heads down into the ball with the little and heavily rounded weyrwoman using his arm as a bit more than token support. When they reach the bottom, the weyrleader bends towards Roa to offer a few quiet (but rumbly) words. The weyrwoman smiles and shakes her head, sending the red man off to move through the crowd and begin to make small talk with this or that representative from this or that place. Roa draws in a slow breath (or as much of one as she can manage) before moving into the milling groups around the dance floor to do the same.
Like a dance of their own, Issa floats away from Reyce as soon as he loosens his hold, the touch of her fingers trailing off as if she'd been spinned away to another partner. That other partner just happens to be a platter of fruit tarts, which she peers at for a moment, picking through to find a good specimen before she picks one to put on her tiny plate. The food table doesn't receive her undivided attention for long, however, for there's too many interesting faces crowding around to be devoted completely. A certain goldriding weyrling happens to be one of those faces, seen from between a few milling holders, and she receives an arched eyebrow from her wingsecond, pale eyes pointedly slipping to the wineglass Miniyal holds. Apparently appearing to be drinking wine isn't any more acceptable than actually drinking wine. But that's all the reproach given before Issa turns back, picking up a few olives and tossing them down to roll up next to the tiny tarts. A final glance to make sure that's all and she's waddling back the way she came to find Reyce again.
If Vanya takes note of any particular person, it doesn't seem her gaze lingers on them for very long. Instead, she seems content to sit in her chair, sipping her wine and occasionally nibbling on something from her plate. The Weyrleaders are noted, however, and perhaps her gaze lingers there longer than anywhere else. But, even so, eventually, something else claims her attention, and since she's not been noticed by the 'leaders, Vanya lets her eyes move on to that other thing. Which just happens to be a person. Miniyal is noted through a break in the crowd, and Vanya's gaze lingers there a moment, a rather thoughtful expression on her face. Even so, she soon looks away, concentrating on the dancers.
Involved in her conversation Miniyal doesn't notice the look from the wingsecond. Or, if she does, she studiously ignores it. Then again, she's been receiving all sorts of looks since arriving, most of them curious of some variety or other. Some of them might even be categorized as hostile. However, all of them are ignored. See? She is talking politely to the minecraft master. Lalala. It would be rude to spread her attention away from the man who speaks so earnestly to her. He even says something that has her finding the faintest of smiles for him. Faint, brief, nothing more than polite. And if the glass of wine in her hand tempts her she so far resists.
Reyce hasn't moved much, and even if he had, that bear's suit would make him easy enough to find. Most of the other people, at least those hanging around the food table at this point, have dressed in brighter colors. He picked up a few snacks - crackers, a few incongruent cupcakes - on his way to the wine, and is only just now pouring himself a glass of red from an honest-to-god flagon. It's Tillek red, though, as this Bendenite betrays his roots.
The other Bendenite, off in his circle of young Bloods, stands conveniently close to the area where Roa's circulating, and if she fails to notice this, Coren certainly does not. "Weyrwoman!" he - a stranger - hails her, lifting his arm to flag her down. In a moment he's excused himself from his circle of friends and stepped to Roa's side. "I presume," he admits, "greatly. Coren of Benden." His hand angles sideways to catch hers for an introductory shake, or kiss, depending on her response.
The weyrwoman gets the opportunity to note the presence of certain people within the crown before she suddenly turns a bit sharply as her title is called across the room. Roa's gaze flicks around until it locates the waving man, and she stands unexpectedly before a member of the Benden blood that seems capable of multi-syllabic sentences. She offers a smile, warm if mild, and allows her hand to be taken, lifted, shaken or kissed as Coren chooses. "If you have kept abreast of recent gossip and news, I rather doubt it was a very great presumption, and at any rate, it has paid off. Well met, Coren of Benden. Are you finding your visit to High Reaches agreeable?"
The waltz ends and the couple of the floor depart to their separate destinations. Some of them head to the food and wine while others move back to their own groups. A few nudge each other and point out some dignitary or other. A person here to note, a person there to stare at, a person in clearly the wrong outfit to snicker at.
From her place by the hearth, Vanya has a fairly good vantage point. So it is that remains out of the way of most people, and can still watch. She sits alone, although a few people choose chairs not far from her. They pay her little mind, which the healer doesn't seem to mind at all. In fact, she's quite content to remain quiet, And keep her own opinion of the goings on. From the sidelines, it's easy to watch others and form your own opinions of actions and/or clothing.
Ellaia steps into the living cavern, moving slowly to not step on her dress or catch it on something. Her gaze travels around the room, stopping a few times to take in the others, smiling gently before she makes her way towards the healer. A nod is given to another records keeper, a word or two to someone else finally stepping up to where Vanya sits. "Good evening Vanya. Its so good to see you again. You've been missed."
Issa sidles up to Reyce again, but while he faces the wine table she turns her back on it, left shoulder to left shoulder as she leans her head against him, watching the dancers as they sweep past one another and the music winds to an end. "You have to dance with me as soon as I'm skinny again," she tells him with a wistful note. Her eyes track sideways from the dispersing dancers and catch sight of Vanya, whom she gives a smooth smile should her glance be noticed. But then she lifts her head from Reyce's arm, checking his readiness for the mingling they have ahead of them.
One must always be careful, with these oft-assertive queenriders, to allow for the more egalitarian handshake. But since Roa doesn't initiate one, it's a kiss her hand gets from the classically trained Coren. "Well, what do I know, you might be Issa in disguise," he jests, freeing her hand once the formalities have been completed. Apparently, that Roa knows by name the Wingsecond of her weyrling wing is something else he's willing to presume upon. "Since you aren't, well met in return. The weyr's been excellent to me, and thank you. You know, I took the tour." That, most like, would be the tour of Caucus grounds that stopped outside the stairs to the Weyrleaders' office, speaking loudly so their calculated praise of the leadership would be overheard.
Reyce tilts his gaze back when Issa sidles up next to him, pausing the flow of wine to watch her lean against his shoulder. It lasts only a moment; the allure of getting a bit of alcohol in his system is too great to put off for long. "Keep you fat, then," he answers drily, not bothering to look at the dancers at all. He does, however, give his plate of crackers and cupcakes a small nudge towards her, his left hand lifting one of the latter and holding it out to her in a temptation towards fatness.
Once her hand is returned to her, it curls around the light shawl that drapes over her arms, and the weyrwoman chuckles. "Did you?" she asks Coren, "You poor thing. I'm afraid subtlety is introduced in turn one, but never quite get grasped until turn three or so. I suspect, if I were Issa, I would be considerably wittier. Even in disguise. How fares Benden and its Lord these days?"
Vanya first notices Issa's nod, and one is returned to the pregnant greenrider, along with a small smile. She does know the woman, after all, having met and treated her after the second flight over Nabol. The couldn't be called bosom buddies, but there's always been polite greetings between them, at least. Vanya can't really say the same for Issa's companion; the few times she's met Reyce have been iffy, at best. But it's a familiar voice that draws her immediate attention, and Vanya looks up to see Ellaia. "Hello," she says, smiling up at her friend. "That's so sweet of you to say, Ellaia. I missed everyone here, too." A gesture is made to one of the empty chairs beside her. "Join me, if you wish. Or, if you've plans ... don't feel like you have to be a wallflower like me," she teases.
Ellaia smiles and chuckles softly, finding a chair to pull closer to the healer, settling herself down in it. "Oh, I'm not here with anyone, not that anyone would ask." she states with a shrug, looking back out at the crowd around her. She pushes her dress around, making sure its not wrinkling under her, "Its only the truth Vanya. H'kon was very worried and had me that way as well. Where were you? If you don't mind my asking." she pauses, "Of course if you would rather leave that for another time that's fine too." Her eyes move to look at Issa and Reyce, shaking her head a bit, grinning over the couple.
Coren murmurs, "But I marvel at your energy," cribbing his compliments straight from a tour guide's mouth. A wicked grin dances behind the comment. In a louder voice, he continues, "I am pleased to say that Benden and its Lord are equally well. Makes you wonder if anyone's ever had that question and said, oh, terrible, my Lord has awful gout and we're overrun with treehoppers."
In time the portly minecraft master who has been speaking to Miniyal takes his leave. He heads off to the food table and leaves her alone. Alone with her glass of wine. Which still remains untouched even if she doesn't try to pass it off to any passing tray wielding person. Since she was left she doesn't need to move. For now it seems no one else is going to bother her and so she is content to observe the goings on. The looks that continue to be cast her way are ignored completely.
Another dance song starts up, but is interrupted by a former student and now steward of some small hold get up to deliver a pretty speech about how the Caucus has benefited him and the hold he helps to run. It does not last overly long and when he steps down to return to his friends the harpers take up the song they had been starting before.
"It probably depends on how many glasses of wine one has in them," Roa muses, the shawl slipping a bit down her arms and getting shrugged back into place. "Or, possibly, on how closely, or if at all, one is related to said Lord. And the severity of the treehoppers in question, naturally."
"Perhaps another time for more details, though I'm sorry you and H'kon were worried," Vanya replies. "Tavaly and I didn't mean to be gone so long, it's just that ... things didn't work out quite as we'd planned." She takes a sip of her wine, then sets the glass aside. "As you may've guessed, we weren't riding my circuit, but I'd rather talk about it in private. This doesn't seem to be the right setting, you know?" She glances around, eyes coming to rest on Miniyal for a long moment before moving back to Ellaia. "I'm just glad to be home. It wasn't bad where I was, but it wasn't home."
Issa takes a look at that plate that gets nudged her way, eyes switching between the crackers and the cupcakes as she works up a knowing little smile. But she gives him a little shake of her head, lifting her own little plate of tart and olives to indicate that she has her own preferences, a combination odder even than his. "So you hate dancing," she answers him, somewhat delayed as she gives his comment some thought, "more than you like my skinny ass?" As inappropriate a question as it is in this company, Issa treats it as if she were merely inquiring whether he were enjoying the music, peering up at him with a delicately arched eyebrow. Only her impish smile, later bent around a delicate bite of tart, betrays her.
A pair of fashionable young men engage in loud banter that calls into question the virtue of a young woman standing a short distance off with another fashionable young man. He looks at the lady he escorts and then over at the men speaking ill of her.
Coren pauses his reply to listen to the brief speech delivered by that former Caucusite. A smile threatens his lips while he does, but he manages to hold his expression relatively steady, and only Roa will be able to catch the sparkle of repressed amusement in his eye. "Yes, naturally," he says, giving vent to a piece of his laughter. As the new song starts, he tilts an ear. "I'd have asked you to dance, but I don't wish to strain your feet. So I've simply inconvenienced you, and anyone seeking you out with a more somber purpose, and really ought to apologize." It is, of course, notably that he doesn't /actually/ apologize: just pops his eyebrows up.
"Considering the multitude of somber purposes perpetually present here, I think you had rather ask for thanks than offer apology," the little weyrwoman says with a laugh. "I am not so burdened that I am incapable of dancing, but I could make for a somewhat awkward partner."
Reyce ignores the glances cast his way (or rather, Issa's), simply staring down at the greenrider with a level expression. It's broken, suddenly, when he growls at her, interrupting her nibbling of the tart to push his side into her and knock her towards a nearby table that's been drawn up along the wall. "Like it," he admits, putting his cupcake back on his plate as he picks up his food and keeps chivvying her towards the table. "Your skinny ass," he grumbles, and trailing behind her gives him plenty of opportunity to observe. The table he's chosen is close enough to the dance floor and the refreshments that it's an excellent thoroughfare for dancers in need of a rest or snack.
Coren doesn't wait for Roa to change her mind: stepping back, he gives himself room to dip a bow to the little Weyrwoman as he once again holds out his hand to request hers. "Then I demand my thanks," he announces, cheerful tone at odds with that supposed 'demand,' "in the form of a dance."
Ellaia looks over across the room with furrowed brows, a sigh coming from her lips as she stands back up. She shakes her head with an eyeroll, "It seems that I can't get away from a certain few people, no matter how hard I try." She smiles at the healer, "Well I'm glad you are home Vanya. We will have to get together on those details. I would really like to hear them." She fixes her dress, glancing about again briefly, thoughts kept to herself about those around her. "Maybe we can get together for dinner soon, something in your room maybe. More privacy there." She heads off in the direction of the waiting party, waving behind her, "I'll see you soon."'
The gentlemen discussing the lady's virtue move off towards the wine while the lady in question holds onto the gentleman's arm that is currently escorting her. Their discussion becomes heated for a moment, but eventually he appears to be appeased. Talked out of whatever trouble he might have caused.
Issa laughs at Reyce's grumbled response, the sound of it carrying over the nearby conversations and only supporting the floozy identity so many of those gathered have assigned to her. Step by step, she yields to his shuffling toward that table, though she pauses to snag a small cup of punch before they separate from the food tables altogether. That cup is given a vague wave across the small distance of the dance floor at another conspicuously pregnant woman. "Looks like your brother found the Weyrwoman," she tells him before selecting an empty chair for her own use. Her dishes are place on the table before it then she slides heavily down into it, watching more than just that couple. In particular, she looks back to where she last saw Miniyal, peering through bodies in order to scout out the other goldrider and her wineglass.
"How could I refuse so gracious a request?" asks the weyrwoman as she offers a curtsy and settles her hand in his to follow him out onto the dance floor. "How have you been keeping yourself amused here? Besides the tours, or course."
Vanya nods, smiling to the other girl. "Certainly, Ell. Just drop by any time and we'll talk," she says, watching Ellaia rise and move away. Once she's alone again, Vanya takes a deep breath, her features relaxing slightly from the faintly tense expression she wore a moment before. Apparently, the conversation was a bit less pleasant than she'd pretended. At any rate, the Healer picks up her wineglass again, draining it. She then rises and moves over to the drinks table, requesting a refill of the Benden white. A nod to those standing near, and then she's back to her chair by the wall. Every party has to have a wallflower, after all.
The weyrling weyrwoman and her wineglass have moved slightly. Not too far, but Miniyal has found a place a little farther from the dance floor to stand with her wine glass. There's no way to tell if she's been drinking from the wine glass. But she hasn't let it go. Likely she won't be letting it go anytime soon.
Reyce has no handy excuse for being so undignified, but he simply slides his plate and wine glass into place and then drops to a seat beside Issa. The convenient view of the dance floor that his seating affords is ignored, for the moment, as he goes through his ritual self indulgence and swipes a cracker over the top of a cupcake. "Not hard to find," he answers, "and not surprised." Now that there's frosting on the cracker, it's ready to be eaten, and he does so without once bothering to look for said brother.
Said brother turns to Roa as soon as he's found a decent space on the dance floor, giving her a quick wink. "I've a brother, a sister of sorts, a cousin, and any number of miscellaneous rogues I call old friends to entertain me. Not to mention," he adds dutifully, sobering his expression so he'll look - for a moment - appropriate, "the fine, stimulating entertainment that the Caucus provides." By now a new song has been struck by the harpers, and it's on this beat he starts their dance.
It the distance, draconic bellows of greeting can be heard as a large and sturdy bronze lands in the bowl and crouches to deposit a pair of riders. After a few minutes, another set of Weyrleaders join the Caucus celebration, both wearing the knots of Telgar Weyr. V'sen is a broad man, if not an especially tall one. His features are plain, his brown hair and beard close-cropped and his nose a little bit flat. He wears a finely tailored tunic and a pair of black breeches, and he looks around the room with a solemn expression, adam's apple bobbing once as he begins to descend down the steps. On his arm is the slender Tallara, her blonde hair spilling down her shoulders in soft waves, and the green and gold of her low-cut dress bringing out the green flecks in her large doe-like brown eyes. She is smiling brightly, and it is only when she gives V'sen a small jab with her elbow does he remember that, yes, he is meant to be smiling too. So, suddenly, he does.
Once more the harpers on the dais must stop to allow someone to speak. This time it is a retired Caucus teacher who has a few words to say. Including an embarrassing story about one of his former students. It earns chuckles and the former student in question gets elbowed and teased by the people he stands with. When then the speech ends the music picks up again. Not a dance tune this time but something slow and quiet meant to carry on under conversations.
"Very fortuitous, I suppose, that a man from Benden should have so many connections all the way at High Reaches. I suppose sometimes the world is a bit smaller than we give it credit for." Roa falls quiet so that she might take a moment to get into step, and it's only once she's moving without having to think overhard about each step that she begins to speak again. "Not to mention...yes...that. Did you sit in on any of the classes? I'd recommend 'politics' if you are so inclined and if you seek entertainment."
No surprise that the new-minted leaders of Telgar Weyr attract attention, especially from the weyr crowd. Bronze Rianeth is already among the dragons gathered outside, although he does not join the others in their welcoming bugle. The Igen Weyrleader's dragon, like his rider, is notoriously quiet. G'mal fixes his dark eyes on the new pair, but he doesn't stir from his spot, where he is giving every indication of paying no attention to the gabbling half-drunk Caucus rider at his side.
The attention turning to the pair entering also draws Vanya's attention, although she has no idea who they are. It takes an overheard comment from someone nearby to fill her in, that this is the rider who deposed S'lien, and this makes Vanya take notice of the man. Not that she ever met the former Telgar weyrleader, but she did hear stories of him from his cousin. So it's with curiosity she watches their entrance, shifting slightly in her chair for a better view while she nibbles on something from her plate.
Coren withdraws slightly from his dancing hold on Roa - not that, given her pregnancy, his hold was all that tight to begin with - and gives her a tilted smile, restraining clear amusement. "And what, make google eyes at Sefton?" He laughs, exercising less restraint with Roa than he has with the potential touchy speakers who insist on interrupting the harper music. "There's been a general migration of Benden riders to your snowy slopes, and therein my excuse." His eyes pass beyond the Reaches Weyrwoman to take in the sight of Telgar's, and the Weyrleader at her side, for just a beat.
Issa gives up her search for a certain weyrling fairly easily for the moment, turning that bit of attention back to Reyce. "He is a bit of a flatterer," she concurs, tone colored by a bit of amusement that could be attributed to any number of things-- his brother's nature, the crackers he frosts, the starkly prim older woman that snubs them on her way by, the current speaker on the dais. Or what she adds next, "Just like his brother." And she fairly beams over at him teasingly, taking a bite of tart. She stops short of combining the fruit and olives, but instead alternates between the two, popping in an olive that's then washed down with a swallow of punch. Her wandering eye draws, as so many do, to the entrance of the Telgari weyrleaders and she openly stares their way, a soft touch to Reyce's elbow as she alerts him simply (and probably needlessly), "Mmm, Telgar."
The wineglass, and the weyrling attached to it, meanders a little further from the bustle of the crowd. She is not standing on the outskirts or appearing to want nothing to do with people, but she is certainly continuing to give off the impression that attempts to talk to her might not be entirely welcome. Which does not stop the occasional stare cast Miniyal's way or even the even more occasional whisper and gesture towards her. There's nothing like a little notoriety to make an evening more eventful.
All these people staring at her form the perfect element for Tallara, who practically glows under all this scrutiny. Or, literally, glows in the shimmering light that hits her dress. There is a gradient of pleasure for the people she passes by: those to whom she owes some polite sign earn a nod, and those whom she is truly pleased to see receive a smile. The truly blessed receive a smile with bright, shining white teeth: Masterharper Kazimir receives such a one, and so does her Weyrleader when she chances to look up at him.
Everybody is looking. V'sen lifts a large hand and settles it over Tallara's, offering her dainty fingers a soft pat-pat, as if the gregarious creature on his arm is the one in need of a bit of comfort. "Good evening, hello, evening, hi," he murmurs in a low baritone as the Weyrleader of Telgar finds himself looking at various faces that look back. His path is taking him towards the tables of food and drink. This brings him past Benden's Reyce and his don't-call-her-his weyrmate. As Issa is one of those that is peering, she also receives one of V'sen's mumbled hellos.
"Well," Roa laughs, brow hitching upwards, "it -is- a weyr, so..." But whatever tease the weyrwoman was going to make, she instead follows Coren's glance and notices, for the first time, Telgar's arrival. Though she continues the steps of the dance, her attention settles a bit more squarely on V'sen and Tallara until Reaches weyrwoman remembers herself and she looks back to Coren with an easy smile.
There's a frosting-slathered cracker in his mouth, else Reyce might do more than give Issa a pointedly flat stare when she compares him to his brother. The arrival of Telgar's leaders serves to kill that line of conversation, anyway; Reyce, too, gets caught up in the general interest, and he's looking at the pair even before Issa points them out to him. He's still watching their approach as they come close enough to offer a greeting, and V'sen's mumble triggers an automatic nod and, "Sir," from him. Being one himself, he understands the reticent man's discomfort well enough to say no more, and his gaze - while frank - does not cross over into judgmental territory. Nor, however, does it flee from the Weyrleader who has obviously become the main attraction around here.
Since his dance-partner's attention has wandered, Coren does not try quite so hard to rein in his own. He's watching the Telgari move through the crowd with an unabashed grin on his face - quite possibly because he has just noticed the spectacle of them greeting Reyce. No doubt the gossips in the crowd are going mad with the impropriety of it all. Peripherally, he notices Roa looking back at him, and he returns her smile just as easily. "Cute couple. Wonder who they are."
Gently, Issa's eyebrows sweep up as she returns V'sen's greeting with a smooth nod and a warmly perked smile, though the acknowledgment does little to shake her gaze from him and the Weyrwoman he escorts. She trails them until a rather large woman bustles by and cuts them off from view; as if a spell's been broken, her attention flicks back to the Bendenite beside her. "I like him," she mutters to Reyce, and if she realizes the rather premature nature of that first impression she shows nothing of it, simply turning back to pick up her half-eaten tart and adding a few more bite marks along its edge.
Whatever may be said of Tallara (and a lot of unkind things have gone around), she is nice to a fault. Most likely because she misses her cue to act otherwise. So when she sees V'sen greeting a pregnant woman and her big brown bear of a weyrmate, she purses her lips into a little coo. "Oh, they are just darling," she can be heard, gushing to her Weyrleader as they continue through the crowd.
Vanya's gaze finally drifts away from the Telgari Weyrleaders, moving around the room to finally land on Miniyal. There's a moment of hesitation in the healer, and then she stands. For a moment, she doesn't move from in front of her chair, just watching the weyrling goldrider. A deep, steadying breath is taken, and then she seems to make up her mind. A few steps are taken towards the weyrling, a meandering kind of movement, as if she's trying not to appear in search of the girl. A few people are smiled at, asked their pardon as she makes her way steadily toward where Miniyal stands holding her wine glass. Even when she's closer, Vanya doesn't say anything for a long time, and then, it's only a soft, "Miniyal...? Weyrwoman? -- if you have a moment?" It may not even be heard over the music and conversation. If it's not, well, that's all right, too.
The arrival of Telgar's weyrleaders doesn't register on Miniyal's radar, but since it does on everyone else's she is required to cast a slight glance their way. Oh, look. How nice. Then she peers into her wine glass. How tempting. Even more so when she hears her name. Really, conversation at a social? Shaking her head she looks up from the glass and nods to Vanya. "Oh, I don't know. I am terribly busy standing here. I suppose I've a moment to spare." No sarcasm. Yet another sign all is not well with her.
Reyce is still considering his opinion, and still watching the Telgari move away - nevermind that the large woman interrupted his line of sight, it was restored quickly enough. He overhears Tallara's coo and tenses, one corner of his mouth twisting down before he finally returns his attention to Issa. "He's fine," Reyce answers, which - despite the positive sound of it - is actually a reserved judgment on his part. Despite what he overheard - and what the gossips also overheard, and have already pounced upon to add to that list of unkind things to be said about Tallara - he has no comment for the Weyrwoman at all. Just goes after a drink of wine.
For the generally cordial nod from Issa and the vaguely understanding 'Sir' from Reyce, V'sen offers, briefly, something a bit more genuine than his pasted grin. He might not even realize he's done it, and Tallara distracts him quickly enough with her chirp of 'darling'. The Weyrleader blinks and 'shhhs' her too late. But then, thankfully, they're by the food and, better yet, the wine. A glass of white is offered to his Weyrwoman, and V'sen takes a glass of red for himself. About half of it is gone in the first swallow.
The High Reaches weyrwoman offers her dance partner a feeble shrug. "I'm not sure. He's a bit broad and rumbly. Cousin of R'vain, perhaps?" And then Tallara's comment rings out and Roa clears her throat, "...or of Sinopa."
Once she's acknowledged, Vanya takes a step closer to Miniyal, and smiles, albeit a little nervously. "Yes, I can see that," she says, also sans sarcasm. "Rather like I'm terribly busy holding the wall up where I'm sitting," she remarks. There's a moment of awkward silence, then, "I just wanted to ... well, I know it's been quite a while since it happened, but I wanted to congratulate you on Impressing. H'kon tells me that Peloth is doing well, and ... um, I just wanted to say I'm pleased for you." The healer moistens suddenly dry lips, and hesitates before adding, "And, I wanted to ask how your Weyr History is coming along. It's been a while since we talked, but you said if I had anything to add, I should let you know." As for anything else, like offering condolences on Miniyal's recent loss, well, that's covered with a soft, "And, I'm sorry for your recent loss." The last is almost a whisper.
Without thinking about it Miniyal's glass is lifted so she might take a drink. An automatic sort of action and once she's had a sip, well, so be it. Nothing to be done about it now. "Well, one chooses to hold up a wall, yes?" Her shoulders shrug and the hand not holding the glass lifts so she might tuck a strand of hair behind her ears. It promptly slides back out being too short to remain there on its own. "The history project has been set aside for now. I have not had time in some time to truly give it the attention it deserves and so until I do I do not believe I should be working on it. I will likely pass on what I know to someone else. I am no longer in a position to do it well. It was merely a vanity project anyway." Up comes the wine glass again, but this time it pauses and lowers back again. "And thank you for your kind words. Peloth is doing quite well, yes." For her loss there are no words.
Careless of laughing at Roa he may be, but Coren is too circumspect to mock the Weyrleader - or the former acting Weyrwoman - in their absence. He drops a wink on the Weyrwoman, then (as the song is ending) releases her. He turns to consider the Telgari. "They might be party crashers," he supposes, planting his fists on his waist. "They have that vagrant look."
Apparently Reyce's reserved judgment is good as judgment itself, for Issa, for she doesn't press him. She seems quite happy, for the moment at least, to nibble alternately at a tart or an olive, eventually letting her knee fall softly over to Reyce's under the table, playful little nudges dealt out at nearly regular intervals. But that moment doesn't last forever, and when she's done away with all but a crumbled edge of tart and a few drops of her punch she leans a hand down to his knee for a change. Using it to support her as she leans over to him, she tells him, "I can't sit anymore. Let's walk." It's the kind of instruction that can be easily disregarded if he so chooses, but she means to carry it out, already moving to heave herself upright with a steadying hand on the table.
It suddenly becomes a different party, for the dragonriders. There's a distant touch, hazy and full of uncertainty like a ham operator twiddling the dials for a good frequency, in the minds of all the dragons at High Reaches. Suddenly it comes through. We are our own! it announces proudly, a male voice coming all the way from Five Mines. The rest of the details filter indistinctly through the link: Igen is left behind, they have come to join the heroes. The message fades away, its sender tired by the effort, but no less victorious for all that.
Reyce does not rise to the bait of those playful knee nudges, pretending not to notice them at all as he proceeds systematically through his cupcake-cracker snacks. When Issa starts to move is the first he responds, giving her knee a swift knock back before she has time to get up from the table - by the time she's rising, Reyce is up to support her, his arm moving unasked around her waist.
"That's a shame," Vanya replies before she thinks, and then must clarify. "About the history, I mean. A thing like that is important for future generations to have. So many things in the past have been lost or ... or change with each telling. An honest history would be nice to have. It might prevent --" But she stops herself before continuing that thought. "If I might, I would say that you'd be in an excellent position to continue, once you've graduated from weyrlinghood, of course. As a weyrwoman, your work would be respected." A pause. "Well, not that it wouldn't be respected if you weren't a weyrwoman." Another pause, awkward. "It's just that rank does sometimes convey more respect than ..." She trails into silence. "I'm not saying it very well. I'm sorry. I'm glad Peloth is doing well. H'kon tells me that Arekoth speaks highly of her, as does he." Safer ground, that.
"There are plenty of people capable of recording history," Miniyal begins and then pauses. Lifting up her glass she empties it and then shakes her head. "I don't even fucking want to know," she mumbles. Clearing her throat she passes off her empty glass to a passing server type person and then begins to twist her ring around her finger. "History should be written by those who have done nothing worth marking down in it. So as to maintain some perspective. Otherwise bias appears. Where it should not. I'm sorry, please excuse me." She'll have to be excused because the weyrling glances through the crowd and then heads off.
Over at the food and drink table, V'sen has been caught up speaking to a Caucus student hailing from Telgar Hold. In one moment, he is listening with rapt attention about the crops of last summer. In the next, his eyes glaze over, his mouth goes slack and, suddenly, he is looking for G'mal out in the throng of partygoers. When he spots him, he immediately looks away again and the rest of his wine is swallowed. He picks up another glass and downs it as well.
Roa laughs, eyes rolling. "True enough. Maybe I should alert the guards that..." but the weyrwoman's jibe is derailed and she blinks distractedly. "Oh, you must be joking," she murmurs quietly. "Coren, thank you for a lovely dance. It was a pleasure meeting you, but I'm afraid you'll have to excuse me." She is already inching away, her eyes seeking out R'vain wherever he's ended up.
Tallara is standing near V'sen, sipping desultorily from the glass of wine he gave her while she chatters with the Telgari's 'date.' Suddenly, she, too, is getting messages from her gold, and she stops to blink her wide, dark doe-eyes a few times. "Oh," she says. Then, "What?" She looks up at her Weyrleader for guidance.
For all she seemed insistent on walking a second earlier, Issa pauses with her hand flat on the table, letting him cradle her waist unchallenged. Her eyes skip over the crowd from face to face without seeing a one; it takes her only a handful of seconds to turn a glance startle-wide up to him before her expression is reigned in to a more appropriate party politeness. "Trouble," is all the muttered excuse she gives for that break before she takes him with her, away from the table and the confused pair of brownriders that still sit at the other end. As they walk further through the parting crowd, then, she leans smilingly up, as if to whisper sweet nothings, though her words carry something far heavier. "Igen riders at Five Mines. For some reason." Their steps seem to have no goal in mind, now, heading past the food tables first then bending randomly around to the back of the crowd, which just so happens to take them in view of Igen Weyrleader and his reaction.
There are ice shards all over G'mal's body; it is the only way to explain his sudden stiffness, or the breaking way he moves. He sets his hands down on the table. Pushes himself up. There's a wine glass left in his wake, but he ignores it. Hunching over his fists, the Igenite Weyrleader scans the room with unmistakable, cold fury. He finds R'vain before Roa has a chance to. And then he finds V'sen - for whatever reason, he finds V'sen. He stands completely. "I see," he says, though only his immediate tablemates will be able to hear him - and none of them have dragons, so they are all confused. He does not stop to conference with the other Weyrleaders, or indeed with anyone, as he strides coolly towards the bowl and the waiting Rianeth. Never let it be said that Igen's Weyrleader gabbled around at a party when there was work to be done.
If Vanya is insulted by Miniyal's abrupt departure, she gives no indication. She merely stands there, watching the weyrling goldrider move away. If she had stayed, Miniyal might be surprised to find that Vanya agrees with her, but be that as it may, she did not. And so, yes, Vanya chooses to go back to holding up her wall. She is not the socialite others are, and turns away. It's then when she takes note of a few riders near her. She is familiar enough with that "glazed" kind of expression a rider gets when speaking with his or her dragon. Her brow knits, and her steps falter for a moment. Pity she doesn't know any of those riders, else she might ask of the problem. Where's a brownrider when you need him?
"Excused," Coren offers promptly, and though his eyebrows lift, he makes no effort to pursue an answer. Not when the Weyrwoman is already clearly in flight from him. Instead, this Bendenite wanders off to find someone less occupied, who might have some idea - after all, there are all those rider contacts he mentioned.
The Telgari Weyrleader blinks down at his Weyrwoman. "What?" he echoes her question back at her. Then he looks away, cranning his neck and going suddenly still as he finds himself caught in G'mal's intent stare. "Wait here," he tells Tallara once the Igenite moves away and into the bowl. "I am going to--" Except that Rianeth is already winging away, "-we should...I think we had better..." But his gaze goes hazing again as Horath invites his rider in on the conversation he's having with those other bronzes and golds that lead a Weyr.
When Issa pauses, Reyce looks her way sharply, crossing his other hand towards her stomach. It's only a pause, so he's more checking in than worried yet, and the polite face she gives him when she speaks the word 'trouble' only leaves him confused. He follows her lead on this one, stepping away from the bench with her and keeping his arm snugged tight around her waist. The information she whispers to him so sweetly gets a blink from him, and his eyes dart swiftly across the room - noticing Igen's Weyrleader, but not until he's up and leaving. The only answer he makes Issa is an indrawn breath, followed by a heavy puff.
Of course, Miniyal really isn't headed anywhere or towards anyone. She is, basically, wandering. Her path tends to lead her towards this person or that person. There is no pausing long enough to talk, but she surely manages to catch this word or that said by someone. Eavesdropping is all she does. It's not like she has anything to offer to the conversations going on. And if she goes out of her way to avoid anyone who might try to make her leave, because people always make the weyrlings leave when interesting things happen, well that is just coincidence.
Tallara continues to blink prettily at V'sen, unwittingly adding more pressure to his indecision with her expectant gaze. Vianeth has become distracted by the conversation going on amongst her peers, and it's clear that Tallara hasn't been pulled in as her Weyrleader has. "Excuse us," she says to the Telgari holder V'sen was talking to, with a sweet smile. She sets her hand on the Weyrleader's chest and guides him a step back from the conversation.
Roa doesn't have very far to go to locate the weyrleader of High Reaches. Where he was, was speaking with a gaggle of just-slightly-inebriated, female Caucus students. What he was doing was showing off those pearly whites in the sort of I-will-nibble-you-all-up smile that would send his weyrwoman's eyes rolling. What he is doing now is pushing through the crowd, his green eyes searching for the small, round figure of his weyrwoman. When they meet, they both start talking at once, stop at once, and then it's R'vain and speaks first, Roa responding as soon as he quiets.
The shift is subtle, but suddenly Issa is no longer guiding their trajectory around and between a few gaily chatting groups of nonriders still unaware of the disturbance, instead submitting to where Reyce will take her while she vacantly attends to what her dragon can gather. Her eyes are blank on the bend of her belly or her feet beyond it, the hand not hooked through his arm rubbing away some faked ache at the side of her belly. But the draconic gossip chain is much quicker than the one running through the cavern, and she looks up with an openly concerned glance, finding Reyce before she looks beyond him. There behind a couple of conversing lads is Miniyal, walking past and not avoiding well enough it seems. Issa careens them both suddenly into a collision course, lengthening her waddling stride; it takes seconds before she's coming up behind the weyrling, reaching with a friendly sort of hand for her arm to pull her to a halt. Not to send her away, she soon proves, but to say frankly, "All I hear is rogue riders." There's little attempt to conceal her voice now, now that the news is murmuring its way through the crowd. "What do you hear?" A beat. "Or Peloth?"
Reyce has his own purpose when Issa leaves him to steer their way through that crowd, and as he moves to new vantage points here and there he stops to lift on his toes and look around. Before he can find anything, however, Issa has tuned back into the world of the here and now and is dragging him towards Miniyal, onto whom is displaced a small puff of frustration. He says nothing, however, simply standing by Issa to listen in on her conversation.
Sooner or later, even draconic gossip is translated into human speech, and whispers can carry even to ears which are not attached to dragons. Vanya hears snatches of conversations, tidbits that are both intriguing and cryptic. It takes no special genius to figure out something has happened, something not as dire, perhaps as the death of a Weyrwoman, but something which has caused concern in the Weyrleaders of High Reaches, and visiting weyr dignitaries. She may not know exactly what's happened, and would probably be turned away should she inquire of riders she knows, but Vanya is no fool, and from what she's heard, she manages to coddle some info regarding rogue riders. Again, it doesn't take any particular genius to put "rogue" together with other murmurs, and come up that this /might/ have something to do with a place from which she has only recently returned. She holds her tongue, but means to speak with H'kon as soon as she can find him.
And it is Issa. Lucky Miniyal running into the greenrider this way. She sure feels lucky, really. Her steps cease and she turns her attention to the wingsecond with a shrug. "Igen. To be honest, it's barely surprising considering the news out of there lately." And look, Reyce too. Her two favorite people in the world. "I wonder if two days is enough? I wonder if he'll tell me more than what slips out? Well, I suppose I shall just find out once I've written him." Blinking a few times she lets her lips tilt upwards for a fraction of a second. Nearly a smile. "Oh, sorry, ma'am. I am practicing being subtle. How was that? Well, excuse me, you two." A jaunty little salute is given to the pair and if Peloth has heard anything different it's not to be shared tonight it would seem. Turning away she finds a path through the crowd again. It probably won't take her past the wine.
The nudge from Tallara jolts Telgar's Weyrleader back into his own head. "The others want a meeting. Come." His hand around Tallara's arm tightens and V'sen turns to go. Stops. Turns back to the two Telgari he was speaking with. "It was very nice to have met you," he tries, but turns away again before there can be any reply. He's heading for the stairs and a quick exit.
Tallara does not really have time to offer her own farewells to the Telgari, although her mouth is open for it. She's yanked away and can only offer them a smile and parting wave before she has to keep up with her Weyrleader, practically trotting to keep up with his long strides.
They're not the only weyrleaders making a departure. R'vain and Roa are also heading for the stairs, though their pace is considerably slower because the weyrwoman can't move overly quickly at the moment, and the weyrleader isn't willing to outpace her. Plus, they get waylaid by various riders who want an explanation for what their dragons overheard. Who was that? What did it mean?
If Issa is surprised by Miniyal's parting shot it shows no further than a few flickering blinks; her expression is just shy of blank as the goldriding weyrling takes her leave, but a grudging smile falls at her back. "I suppose I deserved that," she mutters before taking the step backward that will bring her on level again with Reyce's shoulder. Weyrleaders of the High Reaches sort are sought out, but a glimpse of their retreating backs stifles her impulse to move again. Instead she just turns up to Reyce, her other hand falling to the arm she has curled up in her own as well. "I don't suppose you've heard anything new that will explain this, have you?" she asks, teasing in a way that tells she's given up on actually discovering anything else for now.
Reyce squints his eyes when Miniyal starts speaking, treating her with a certain wariness even though he can't know what that subtlety reference means. When she retreats - with a salute, no less - he gives way to a low growl that's audible to Issa only, if even that, and it takes him a moment to look down at the greenrider, at his shoulder once again. "No," he answers, taking her tease semi-seriously. "Should find Coren." Then he's up on the balls of his feet again, peering around in search of the other Bendenite - not a hard find, because Coren's just tall enough to be noticeable even in a milling crowd. After a moment, he tightens his arm over Issa's and heads towards the food table.
After several starts and stops, though Roa seems willing to answer more individual questions, R'vain's rumbling voice speaks up. His words are just loud enough that those flocking towards the weyrleaders can easily overhear, and the gist of them is that they don't know what's going on, they are on their way to try and figure out what's going on, and the sooner they are able to leave and /do that/, the sooner everyone /else/ can know what's going on. Either the words or the rising irritation behind them cause the curious to take a step back, and the weyrleaders of High Reaches are able to make it up the stairs and out into the bowl with no further delays.
Eventually Miniyal stops trying to overhear what people are saying. They are certainly saying a lot. She slips out of the living cavern to return to the barracks. And compose a letter she will not send for a few days. All subtle like.
Time: Evening on Day 12, Month 12, Turn 3
Players: Coren (NPC), Ellaia, G'mal (NPC), Issa, Miniyal, Reyce, Roa, R'vain (NPCed by Roa), Tallara (NPC), Vanya, V'sen (NPC)
Scene: Oh sure, a party is all well and good, until somebody loses a wing of dragons.
It's evening at the weyr and after dinner the living cavern is still bustling. Although it is a different sort of crowd than usual. Many of the weyr's residents are nowhere to be seen. A gathering of snobby fancy people? Why waste time with that when they can go do something that doesn't involve people who might look down on them? Not to mention who might not try to lure impressionable daughters off for indecent activities. After all, it's not these visitors who get to deal with the results. The crowd that is here from the weyr tend to be older. They mingle some with visitors and stick to small groups of their own. Of course, the Caucus guests tend to do that as well. At least the Blooded ones. The crafters are a bit more loose in their associations.
Harpers play quietly on the dais to those who mingle in the open area created by the rearranging of tables. Their music switches from the sort designed to be listened to only to dance tunes of a proper sort. In between the music an occasional dignitary will step onto the dais to deliver some small speech or even toast. Applause generally follows and then conversations resume as they were. The tables near the kitchen entrance have been set up with small finger foods, desserts of all types, and beverages ranging from klah and tea to alcohols of assorted types mostly of the wine and brandy variety. As well as this well-dressed residents of the weyr circulate with glasses of wine for those not wishing to walk and refill theirs as well as some foods that can be easily taken in such a manner.
And amidst all this, for reasons that are explicable only to her, is Miniyal. With any luck she is not here to cause any sort of scene. Yep. She's just being sociable. And polite. And thoughtful.
Vanya really isn't certain why she's here, save that it beats sitting alone in her room, and it's an excuse to dress up and show off her brother's handiwork. Besides, she might see some people she knows from Healer Hall. H'kon is busy doing something, and so she's alone when she slips into the living cavern. Even if she will end up sitting alone on the sidelines, it's nice to see people, to watch them interact. After being away for a while, it's nice to be back at the weyr. And, so, the Healer moves into the throng, making her way to the food and drink tables, choosing a white Benden wine, and a small plate of tidbits before she heads toward the chairs against the wall. It's a fair guess she won't be asked to dance, anyway, so t his is the perfect spot to be a wallflower from. Near the hearth for warmth, out of the way for privacy.
One Bendenite has arrived on time, and in good style: Coren has been making the snob rounds that High Reaches' real residents eschew, and currently stands among a circle of young Holder's sons, taking a break from the dancing to share stories and laughter over wine. The other Bendenite, his brother, comes in less distinguished but arguably more noticeable company, with a pregnant greenrider on his arm. Reyce has shaved for the occasion, and found a rich mahogany outfit that does a fair job of matching Issa's brassy colors, even if it runs a faint risk of making him look like a big brown bear (if Pern had such, the risk would be far greater). The couple paces in from outside, chased by winter winds but thankfully, no snow.
A farmcraft master who has already had his share of wine and then some begins to make the rounds of young ladies. He spies a likely group of current students and heads their way with a swagger in his steps. Clearly he thinks he is a catch. Of course, some catches do get thrown back.
Despite the stupendous gossip that's been directed at Issa and her pregnant belly this seven, she's out to parade it about again and on the arm the babe's father to boot. And though her delicate situation might be an improper one, she faces the gathered crowd of high ups with a composed demeanor, smiling gently and nodding gracefully at those who decide to make eye contact with her. It's only Reyce she speaks to at this point, however, chin angled up to her big brown bear to mutter, "I think you're going to need a drink," her supposition paired with a nudge from her hip that sends them more in the direction of the food tables. "And I can stuff my face with food, while you enjoy all the best wine the Weyr has to offer." The bitterness present in that little comment is feigned, however, kept light and dealt with an extra squeeze of her fingers around his arm.
The harpers on the dais begin another song meant to encourage dancers. And enough of them are encouraged that the area set aside for such fills with bodies both young and old who waltz and show off their dresses and their dance partners.
Having filled a plate with delicacies and finger-foods, and collected a glass of white wine, Vanya selects a seat and relaxes. The plate is set on the nearest table, the wineglass cradled in her hands, still, though she has yet to take a sip. Her eyes roam around the cavern, here and there spotting a familiar face. Nods are given when her gaze is noted, but for the most part, the Healer seems content to remain rather solitary, not making any particular attempt to join a specific group. The dancers earn some observation as she sips her wine, plucking a tidbit from the plate to munch on while watching.
A small group of weyrlings, on their best behavior, have gathered on the edge of the dance floor. None of them dance, but they seem content to watch while holding plates of food. The women in the group seem to be cooing over the gowns of the well to do while the men are more interested in the figures in those dresses. All of their talk is done in hushed whispers.
If one is going to be at such a social occasion they have to accept that lurking is not going to do much good. At least for some. So, while Miniyal has made no real effort to engage in conversation it finds her in the guise of a rather portly older man with the knot of a minecraft master. The good news is he presents her with a glass of wine before he begins their conversation. However, thus far she has not actually taken a sip from it. For now it is just a prop as the two converse.
The harpers' invitation to waltz is denied, as Reyce clamps his elbow down on Issa's squeezing fingers, squeezing them back. "Get pretty thirsty," he avers, "crossing the bowl." The benefit to attracting outraged attention from the upper classes is that one is pretty well-watched, and when the Bendenite and his greenrider turns towards the food tables there is a subtle Parting of the Red Sea effect, as those too scrupulous to touch the social sinners edge silently out of the way. It's convenient enough, so Reyce has no qualms about making use of his private aisle to arrive at the refreshments table promptly, setting Issa loose to pick her snacks.
The weyrwoman and weyrleader of High Reaches are not a pair for very grand entrances, and even for the Caucus celebration, Roa and R'vain arrive on the steps into the Living Cavern with little fanfare. The large, red man heads down into the ball with the little and heavily rounded weyrwoman using his arm as a bit more than token support. When they reach the bottom, the weyrleader bends towards Roa to offer a few quiet (but rumbly) words. The weyrwoman smiles and shakes her head, sending the red man off to move through the crowd and begin to make small talk with this or that representative from this or that place. Roa draws in a slow breath (or as much of one as she can manage) before moving into the milling groups around the dance floor to do the same.
Like a dance of their own, Issa floats away from Reyce as soon as he loosens his hold, the touch of her fingers trailing off as if she'd been spinned away to another partner. That other partner just happens to be a platter of fruit tarts, which she peers at for a moment, picking through to find a good specimen before she picks one to put on her tiny plate. The food table doesn't receive her undivided attention for long, however, for there's too many interesting faces crowding around to be devoted completely. A certain goldriding weyrling happens to be one of those faces, seen from between a few milling holders, and she receives an arched eyebrow from her wingsecond, pale eyes pointedly slipping to the wineglass Miniyal holds. Apparently appearing to be drinking wine isn't any more acceptable than actually drinking wine. But that's all the reproach given before Issa turns back, picking up a few olives and tossing them down to roll up next to the tiny tarts. A final glance to make sure that's all and she's waddling back the way she came to find Reyce again.
If Vanya takes note of any particular person, it doesn't seem her gaze lingers on them for very long. Instead, she seems content to sit in her chair, sipping her wine and occasionally nibbling on something from her plate. The Weyrleaders are noted, however, and perhaps her gaze lingers there longer than anywhere else. But, even so, eventually, something else claims her attention, and since she's not been noticed by the 'leaders, Vanya lets her eyes move on to that other thing. Which just happens to be a person. Miniyal is noted through a break in the crowd, and Vanya's gaze lingers there a moment, a rather thoughtful expression on her face. Even so, she soon looks away, concentrating on the dancers.
Involved in her conversation Miniyal doesn't notice the look from the wingsecond. Or, if she does, she studiously ignores it. Then again, she's been receiving all sorts of looks since arriving, most of them curious of some variety or other. Some of them might even be categorized as hostile. However, all of them are ignored. See? She is talking politely to the minecraft master. Lalala. It would be rude to spread her attention away from the man who speaks so earnestly to her. He even says something that has her finding the faintest of smiles for him. Faint, brief, nothing more than polite. And if the glass of wine in her hand tempts her she so far resists.
Reyce hasn't moved much, and even if he had, that bear's suit would make him easy enough to find. Most of the other people, at least those hanging around the food table at this point, have dressed in brighter colors. He picked up a few snacks - crackers, a few incongruent cupcakes - on his way to the wine, and is only just now pouring himself a glass of red from an honest-to-god flagon. It's Tillek red, though, as this Bendenite betrays his roots.
The other Bendenite, off in his circle of young Bloods, stands conveniently close to the area where Roa's circulating, and if she fails to notice this, Coren certainly does not. "Weyrwoman!" he - a stranger - hails her, lifting his arm to flag her down. In a moment he's excused himself from his circle of friends and stepped to Roa's side. "I presume," he admits, "greatly. Coren of Benden." His hand angles sideways to catch hers for an introductory shake, or kiss, depending on her response.
The weyrwoman gets the opportunity to note the presence of certain people within the crown before she suddenly turns a bit sharply as her title is called across the room. Roa's gaze flicks around until it locates the waving man, and she stands unexpectedly before a member of the Benden blood that seems capable of multi-syllabic sentences. She offers a smile, warm if mild, and allows her hand to be taken, lifted, shaken or kissed as Coren chooses. "If you have kept abreast of recent gossip and news, I rather doubt it was a very great presumption, and at any rate, it has paid off. Well met, Coren of Benden. Are you finding your visit to High Reaches agreeable?"
The waltz ends and the couple of the floor depart to their separate destinations. Some of them head to the food and wine while others move back to their own groups. A few nudge each other and point out some dignitary or other. A person here to note, a person there to stare at, a person in clearly the wrong outfit to snicker at.
From her place by the hearth, Vanya has a fairly good vantage point. So it is that remains out of the way of most people, and can still watch. She sits alone, although a few people choose chairs not far from her. They pay her little mind, which the healer doesn't seem to mind at all. In fact, she's quite content to remain quiet, And keep her own opinion of the goings on. From the sidelines, it's easy to watch others and form your own opinions of actions and/or clothing.
Ellaia steps into the living cavern, moving slowly to not step on her dress or catch it on something. Her gaze travels around the room, stopping a few times to take in the others, smiling gently before she makes her way towards the healer. A nod is given to another records keeper, a word or two to someone else finally stepping up to where Vanya sits. "Good evening Vanya. Its so good to see you again. You've been missed."
Issa sidles up to Reyce again, but while he faces the wine table she turns her back on it, left shoulder to left shoulder as she leans her head against him, watching the dancers as they sweep past one another and the music winds to an end. "You have to dance with me as soon as I'm skinny again," she tells him with a wistful note. Her eyes track sideways from the dispersing dancers and catch sight of Vanya, whom she gives a smooth smile should her glance be noticed. But then she lifts her head from Reyce's arm, checking his readiness for the mingling they have ahead of them.
One must always be careful, with these oft-assertive queenriders, to allow for the more egalitarian handshake. But since Roa doesn't initiate one, it's a kiss her hand gets from the classically trained Coren. "Well, what do I know, you might be Issa in disguise," he jests, freeing her hand once the formalities have been completed. Apparently, that Roa knows by name the Wingsecond of her weyrling wing is something else he's willing to presume upon. "Since you aren't, well met in return. The weyr's been excellent to me, and thank you. You know, I took the tour." That, most like, would be the tour of Caucus grounds that stopped outside the stairs to the Weyrleaders' office, speaking loudly so their calculated praise of the leadership would be overheard.
Reyce tilts his gaze back when Issa sidles up next to him, pausing the flow of wine to watch her lean against his shoulder. It lasts only a moment; the allure of getting a bit of alcohol in his system is too great to put off for long. "Keep you fat, then," he answers drily, not bothering to look at the dancers at all. He does, however, give his plate of crackers and cupcakes a small nudge towards her, his left hand lifting one of the latter and holding it out to her in a temptation towards fatness.
Once her hand is returned to her, it curls around the light shawl that drapes over her arms, and the weyrwoman chuckles. "Did you?" she asks Coren, "You poor thing. I'm afraid subtlety is introduced in turn one, but never quite get grasped until turn three or so. I suspect, if I were Issa, I would be considerably wittier. Even in disguise. How fares Benden and its Lord these days?"
Vanya first notices Issa's nod, and one is returned to the pregnant greenrider, along with a small smile. She does know the woman, after all, having met and treated her after the second flight over Nabol. The couldn't be called bosom buddies, but there's always been polite greetings between them, at least. Vanya can't really say the same for Issa's companion; the few times she's met Reyce have been iffy, at best. But it's a familiar voice that draws her immediate attention, and Vanya looks up to see Ellaia. "Hello," she says, smiling up at her friend. "That's so sweet of you to say, Ellaia. I missed everyone here, too." A gesture is made to one of the empty chairs beside her. "Join me, if you wish. Or, if you've plans ... don't feel like you have to be a wallflower like me," she teases.
Ellaia smiles and chuckles softly, finding a chair to pull closer to the healer, settling herself down in it. "Oh, I'm not here with anyone, not that anyone would ask." she states with a shrug, looking back out at the crowd around her. She pushes her dress around, making sure its not wrinkling under her, "Its only the truth Vanya. H'kon was very worried and had me that way as well. Where were you? If you don't mind my asking." she pauses, "Of course if you would rather leave that for another time that's fine too." Her eyes move to look at Issa and Reyce, shaking her head a bit, grinning over the couple.
Coren murmurs, "But I marvel at your energy," cribbing his compliments straight from a tour guide's mouth. A wicked grin dances behind the comment. In a louder voice, he continues, "I am pleased to say that Benden and its Lord are equally well. Makes you wonder if anyone's ever had that question and said, oh, terrible, my Lord has awful gout and we're overrun with treehoppers."
In time the portly minecraft master who has been speaking to Miniyal takes his leave. He heads off to the food table and leaves her alone. Alone with her glass of wine. Which still remains untouched even if she doesn't try to pass it off to any passing tray wielding person. Since she was left she doesn't need to move. For now it seems no one else is going to bother her and so she is content to observe the goings on. The looks that continue to be cast her way are ignored completely.
Another dance song starts up, but is interrupted by a former student and now steward of some small hold get up to deliver a pretty speech about how the Caucus has benefited him and the hold he helps to run. It does not last overly long and when he steps down to return to his friends the harpers take up the song they had been starting before.
"It probably depends on how many glasses of wine one has in them," Roa muses, the shawl slipping a bit down her arms and getting shrugged back into place. "Or, possibly, on how closely, or if at all, one is related to said Lord. And the severity of the treehoppers in question, naturally."
"Perhaps another time for more details, though I'm sorry you and H'kon were worried," Vanya replies. "Tavaly and I didn't mean to be gone so long, it's just that ... things didn't work out quite as we'd planned." She takes a sip of her wine, then sets the glass aside. "As you may've guessed, we weren't riding my circuit, but I'd rather talk about it in private. This doesn't seem to be the right setting, you know?" She glances around, eyes coming to rest on Miniyal for a long moment before moving back to Ellaia. "I'm just glad to be home. It wasn't bad where I was, but it wasn't home."
Issa takes a look at that plate that gets nudged her way, eyes switching between the crackers and the cupcakes as she works up a knowing little smile. But she gives him a little shake of her head, lifting her own little plate of tart and olives to indicate that she has her own preferences, a combination odder even than his. "So you hate dancing," she answers him, somewhat delayed as she gives his comment some thought, "more than you like my skinny ass?" As inappropriate a question as it is in this company, Issa treats it as if she were merely inquiring whether he were enjoying the music, peering up at him with a delicately arched eyebrow. Only her impish smile, later bent around a delicate bite of tart, betrays her.
A pair of fashionable young men engage in loud banter that calls into question the virtue of a young woman standing a short distance off with another fashionable young man. He looks at the lady he escorts and then over at the men speaking ill of her.
Coren pauses his reply to listen to the brief speech delivered by that former Caucusite. A smile threatens his lips while he does, but he manages to hold his expression relatively steady, and only Roa will be able to catch the sparkle of repressed amusement in his eye. "Yes, naturally," he says, giving vent to a piece of his laughter. As the new song starts, he tilts an ear. "I'd have asked you to dance, but I don't wish to strain your feet. So I've simply inconvenienced you, and anyone seeking you out with a more somber purpose, and really ought to apologize." It is, of course, notably that he doesn't /actually/ apologize: just pops his eyebrows up.
"Considering the multitude of somber purposes perpetually present here, I think you had rather ask for thanks than offer apology," the little weyrwoman says with a laugh. "I am not so burdened that I am incapable of dancing, but I could make for a somewhat awkward partner."
Reyce ignores the glances cast his way (or rather, Issa's), simply staring down at the greenrider with a level expression. It's broken, suddenly, when he growls at her, interrupting her nibbling of the tart to push his side into her and knock her towards a nearby table that's been drawn up along the wall. "Like it," he admits, putting his cupcake back on his plate as he picks up his food and keeps chivvying her towards the table. "Your skinny ass," he grumbles, and trailing behind her gives him plenty of opportunity to observe. The table he's chosen is close enough to the dance floor and the refreshments that it's an excellent thoroughfare for dancers in need of a rest or snack.
Coren doesn't wait for Roa to change her mind: stepping back, he gives himself room to dip a bow to the little Weyrwoman as he once again holds out his hand to request hers. "Then I demand my thanks," he announces, cheerful tone at odds with that supposed 'demand,' "in the form of a dance."
Ellaia looks over across the room with furrowed brows, a sigh coming from her lips as she stands back up. She shakes her head with an eyeroll, "It seems that I can't get away from a certain few people, no matter how hard I try." She smiles at the healer, "Well I'm glad you are home Vanya. We will have to get together on those details. I would really like to hear them." She fixes her dress, glancing about again briefly, thoughts kept to herself about those around her. "Maybe we can get together for dinner soon, something in your room maybe. More privacy there." She heads off in the direction of the waiting party, waving behind her, "I'll see you soon."'
The gentlemen discussing the lady's virtue move off towards the wine while the lady in question holds onto the gentleman's arm that is currently escorting her. Their discussion becomes heated for a moment, but eventually he appears to be appeased. Talked out of whatever trouble he might have caused.
Issa laughs at Reyce's grumbled response, the sound of it carrying over the nearby conversations and only supporting the floozy identity so many of those gathered have assigned to her. Step by step, she yields to his shuffling toward that table, though she pauses to snag a small cup of punch before they separate from the food tables altogether. That cup is given a vague wave across the small distance of the dance floor at another conspicuously pregnant woman. "Looks like your brother found the Weyrwoman," she tells him before selecting an empty chair for her own use. Her dishes are place on the table before it then she slides heavily down into it, watching more than just that couple. In particular, she looks back to where she last saw Miniyal, peering through bodies in order to scout out the other goldrider and her wineglass.
"How could I refuse so gracious a request?" asks the weyrwoman as she offers a curtsy and settles her hand in his to follow him out onto the dance floor. "How have you been keeping yourself amused here? Besides the tours, or course."
Vanya nods, smiling to the other girl. "Certainly, Ell. Just drop by any time and we'll talk," she says, watching Ellaia rise and move away. Once she's alone again, Vanya takes a deep breath, her features relaxing slightly from the faintly tense expression she wore a moment before. Apparently, the conversation was a bit less pleasant than she'd pretended. At any rate, the Healer picks up her wineglass again, draining it. She then rises and moves over to the drinks table, requesting a refill of the Benden white. A nod to those standing near, and then she's back to her chair by the wall. Every party has to have a wallflower, after all.
The weyrling weyrwoman and her wineglass have moved slightly. Not too far, but Miniyal has found a place a little farther from the dance floor to stand with her wine glass. There's no way to tell if she's been drinking from the wine glass. But she hasn't let it go. Likely she won't be letting it go anytime soon.
Reyce has no handy excuse for being so undignified, but he simply slides his plate and wine glass into place and then drops to a seat beside Issa. The convenient view of the dance floor that his seating affords is ignored, for the moment, as he goes through his ritual self indulgence and swipes a cracker over the top of a cupcake. "Not hard to find," he answers, "and not surprised." Now that there's frosting on the cracker, it's ready to be eaten, and he does so without once bothering to look for said brother.
Said brother turns to Roa as soon as he's found a decent space on the dance floor, giving her a quick wink. "I've a brother, a sister of sorts, a cousin, and any number of miscellaneous rogues I call old friends to entertain me. Not to mention," he adds dutifully, sobering his expression so he'll look - for a moment - appropriate, "the fine, stimulating entertainment that the Caucus provides." By now a new song has been struck by the harpers, and it's on this beat he starts their dance.
It the distance, draconic bellows of greeting can be heard as a large and sturdy bronze lands in the bowl and crouches to deposit a pair of riders. After a few minutes, another set of Weyrleaders join the Caucus celebration, both wearing the knots of Telgar Weyr. V'sen is a broad man, if not an especially tall one. His features are plain, his brown hair and beard close-cropped and his nose a little bit flat. He wears a finely tailored tunic and a pair of black breeches, and he looks around the room with a solemn expression, adam's apple bobbing once as he begins to descend down the steps. On his arm is the slender Tallara, her blonde hair spilling down her shoulders in soft waves, and the green and gold of her low-cut dress bringing out the green flecks in her large doe-like brown eyes. She is smiling brightly, and it is only when she gives V'sen a small jab with her elbow does he remember that, yes, he is meant to be smiling too. So, suddenly, he does.
Once more the harpers on the dais must stop to allow someone to speak. This time it is a retired Caucus teacher who has a few words to say. Including an embarrassing story about one of his former students. It earns chuckles and the former student in question gets elbowed and teased by the people he stands with. When then the speech ends the music picks up again. Not a dance tune this time but something slow and quiet meant to carry on under conversations.
"Very fortuitous, I suppose, that a man from Benden should have so many connections all the way at High Reaches. I suppose sometimes the world is a bit smaller than we give it credit for." Roa falls quiet so that she might take a moment to get into step, and it's only once she's moving without having to think overhard about each step that she begins to speak again. "Not to mention...yes...that. Did you sit in on any of the classes? I'd recommend 'politics' if you are so inclined and if you seek entertainment."
No surprise that the new-minted leaders of Telgar Weyr attract attention, especially from the weyr crowd. Bronze Rianeth is already among the dragons gathered outside, although he does not join the others in their welcoming bugle. The Igen Weyrleader's dragon, like his rider, is notoriously quiet. G'mal fixes his dark eyes on the new pair, but he doesn't stir from his spot, where he is giving every indication of paying no attention to the gabbling half-drunk Caucus rider at his side.
The attention turning to the pair entering also draws Vanya's attention, although she has no idea who they are. It takes an overheard comment from someone nearby to fill her in, that this is the rider who deposed S'lien, and this makes Vanya take notice of the man. Not that she ever met the former Telgar weyrleader, but she did hear stories of him from his cousin. So it's with curiosity she watches their entrance, shifting slightly in her chair for a better view while she nibbles on something from her plate.
Coren withdraws slightly from his dancing hold on Roa - not that, given her pregnancy, his hold was all that tight to begin with - and gives her a tilted smile, restraining clear amusement. "And what, make google eyes at Sefton?" He laughs, exercising less restraint with Roa than he has with the potential touchy speakers who insist on interrupting the harper music. "There's been a general migration of Benden riders to your snowy slopes, and therein my excuse." His eyes pass beyond the Reaches Weyrwoman to take in the sight of Telgar's, and the Weyrleader at her side, for just a beat.
Issa gives up her search for a certain weyrling fairly easily for the moment, turning that bit of attention back to Reyce. "He is a bit of a flatterer," she concurs, tone colored by a bit of amusement that could be attributed to any number of things-- his brother's nature, the crackers he frosts, the starkly prim older woman that snubs them on her way by, the current speaker on the dais. Or what she adds next, "Just like his brother." And she fairly beams over at him teasingly, taking a bite of tart. She stops short of combining the fruit and olives, but instead alternates between the two, popping in an olive that's then washed down with a swallow of punch. Her wandering eye draws, as so many do, to the entrance of the Telgari weyrleaders and she openly stares their way, a soft touch to Reyce's elbow as she alerts him simply (and probably needlessly), "Mmm, Telgar."
The wineglass, and the weyrling attached to it, meanders a little further from the bustle of the crowd. She is not standing on the outskirts or appearing to want nothing to do with people, but she is certainly continuing to give off the impression that attempts to talk to her might not be entirely welcome. Which does not stop the occasional stare cast Miniyal's way or even the even more occasional whisper and gesture towards her. There's nothing like a little notoriety to make an evening more eventful.
All these people staring at her form the perfect element for Tallara, who practically glows under all this scrutiny. Or, literally, glows in the shimmering light that hits her dress. There is a gradient of pleasure for the people she passes by: those to whom she owes some polite sign earn a nod, and those whom she is truly pleased to see receive a smile. The truly blessed receive a smile with bright, shining white teeth: Masterharper Kazimir receives such a one, and so does her Weyrleader when she chances to look up at him.
Everybody is looking. V'sen lifts a large hand and settles it over Tallara's, offering her dainty fingers a soft pat-pat, as if the gregarious creature on his arm is the one in need of a bit of comfort. "Good evening, hello, evening, hi," he murmurs in a low baritone as the Weyrleader of Telgar finds himself looking at various faces that look back. His path is taking him towards the tables of food and drink. This brings him past Benden's Reyce and his don't-call-her-his weyrmate. As Issa is one of those that is peering, she also receives one of V'sen's mumbled hellos.
"Well," Roa laughs, brow hitching upwards, "it -is- a weyr, so..." But whatever tease the weyrwoman was going to make, she instead follows Coren's glance and notices, for the first time, Telgar's arrival. Though she continues the steps of the dance, her attention settles a bit more squarely on V'sen and Tallara until Reaches weyrwoman remembers herself and she looks back to Coren with an easy smile.
There's a frosting-slathered cracker in his mouth, else Reyce might do more than give Issa a pointedly flat stare when she compares him to his brother. The arrival of Telgar's leaders serves to kill that line of conversation, anyway; Reyce, too, gets caught up in the general interest, and he's looking at the pair even before Issa points them out to him. He's still watching their approach as they come close enough to offer a greeting, and V'sen's mumble triggers an automatic nod and, "Sir," from him. Being one himself, he understands the reticent man's discomfort well enough to say no more, and his gaze - while frank - does not cross over into judgmental territory. Nor, however, does it flee from the Weyrleader who has obviously become the main attraction around here.
Since his dance-partner's attention has wandered, Coren does not try quite so hard to rein in his own. He's watching the Telgari move through the crowd with an unabashed grin on his face - quite possibly because he has just noticed the spectacle of them greeting Reyce. No doubt the gossips in the crowd are going mad with the impropriety of it all. Peripherally, he notices Roa looking back at him, and he returns her smile just as easily. "Cute couple. Wonder who they are."
Gently, Issa's eyebrows sweep up as she returns V'sen's greeting with a smooth nod and a warmly perked smile, though the acknowledgment does little to shake her gaze from him and the Weyrwoman he escorts. She trails them until a rather large woman bustles by and cuts them off from view; as if a spell's been broken, her attention flicks back to the Bendenite beside her. "I like him," she mutters to Reyce, and if she realizes the rather premature nature of that first impression she shows nothing of it, simply turning back to pick up her half-eaten tart and adding a few more bite marks along its edge.
Whatever may be said of Tallara (and a lot of unkind things have gone around), she is nice to a fault. Most likely because she misses her cue to act otherwise. So when she sees V'sen greeting a pregnant woman and her big brown bear of a weyrmate, she purses her lips into a little coo. "Oh, they are just darling," she can be heard, gushing to her Weyrleader as they continue through the crowd.
Vanya's gaze finally drifts away from the Telgari Weyrleaders, moving around the room to finally land on Miniyal. There's a moment of hesitation in the healer, and then she stands. For a moment, she doesn't move from in front of her chair, just watching the weyrling goldrider. A deep, steadying breath is taken, and then she seems to make up her mind. A few steps are taken towards the weyrling, a meandering kind of movement, as if she's trying not to appear in search of the girl. A few people are smiled at, asked their pardon as she makes her way steadily toward where Miniyal stands holding her wine glass. Even when she's closer, Vanya doesn't say anything for a long time, and then, it's only a soft, "Miniyal...? Weyrwoman? -- if you have a moment?" It may not even be heard over the music and conversation. If it's not, well, that's all right, too.
The arrival of Telgar's weyrleaders doesn't register on Miniyal's radar, but since it does on everyone else's she is required to cast a slight glance their way. Oh, look. How nice. Then she peers into her wine glass. How tempting. Even more so when she hears her name. Really, conversation at a social? Shaking her head she looks up from the glass and nods to Vanya. "Oh, I don't know. I am terribly busy standing here. I suppose I've a moment to spare." No sarcasm. Yet another sign all is not well with her.
Reyce is still considering his opinion, and still watching the Telgari move away - nevermind that the large woman interrupted his line of sight, it was restored quickly enough. He overhears Tallara's coo and tenses, one corner of his mouth twisting down before he finally returns his attention to Issa. "He's fine," Reyce answers, which - despite the positive sound of it - is actually a reserved judgment on his part. Despite what he overheard - and what the gossips also overheard, and have already pounced upon to add to that list of unkind things to be said about Tallara - he has no comment for the Weyrwoman at all. Just goes after a drink of wine.
For the generally cordial nod from Issa and the vaguely understanding 'Sir' from Reyce, V'sen offers, briefly, something a bit more genuine than his pasted grin. He might not even realize he's done it, and Tallara distracts him quickly enough with her chirp of 'darling'. The Weyrleader blinks and 'shhhs' her too late. But then, thankfully, they're by the food and, better yet, the wine. A glass of white is offered to his Weyrwoman, and V'sen takes a glass of red for himself. About half of it is gone in the first swallow.
The High Reaches weyrwoman offers her dance partner a feeble shrug. "I'm not sure. He's a bit broad and rumbly. Cousin of R'vain, perhaps?" And then Tallara's comment rings out and Roa clears her throat, "...or of Sinopa."
Once she's acknowledged, Vanya takes a step closer to Miniyal, and smiles, albeit a little nervously. "Yes, I can see that," she says, also sans sarcasm. "Rather like I'm terribly busy holding the wall up where I'm sitting," she remarks. There's a moment of awkward silence, then, "I just wanted to ... well, I know it's been quite a while since it happened, but I wanted to congratulate you on Impressing. H'kon tells me that Peloth is doing well, and ... um, I just wanted to say I'm pleased for you." The healer moistens suddenly dry lips, and hesitates before adding, "And, I wanted to ask how your Weyr History is coming along. It's been a while since we talked, but you said if I had anything to add, I should let you know." As for anything else, like offering condolences on Miniyal's recent loss, well, that's covered with a soft, "And, I'm sorry for your recent loss." The last is almost a whisper.
Without thinking about it Miniyal's glass is lifted so she might take a drink. An automatic sort of action and once she's had a sip, well, so be it. Nothing to be done about it now. "Well, one chooses to hold up a wall, yes?" Her shoulders shrug and the hand not holding the glass lifts so she might tuck a strand of hair behind her ears. It promptly slides back out being too short to remain there on its own. "The history project has been set aside for now. I have not had time in some time to truly give it the attention it deserves and so until I do I do not believe I should be working on it. I will likely pass on what I know to someone else. I am no longer in a position to do it well. It was merely a vanity project anyway." Up comes the wine glass again, but this time it pauses and lowers back again. "And thank you for your kind words. Peloth is doing quite well, yes." For her loss there are no words.
Careless of laughing at Roa he may be, but Coren is too circumspect to mock the Weyrleader - or the former acting Weyrwoman - in their absence. He drops a wink on the Weyrwoman, then (as the song is ending) releases her. He turns to consider the Telgari. "They might be party crashers," he supposes, planting his fists on his waist. "They have that vagrant look."
Apparently Reyce's reserved judgment is good as judgment itself, for Issa, for she doesn't press him. She seems quite happy, for the moment at least, to nibble alternately at a tart or an olive, eventually letting her knee fall softly over to Reyce's under the table, playful little nudges dealt out at nearly regular intervals. But that moment doesn't last forever, and when she's done away with all but a crumbled edge of tart and a few drops of her punch she leans a hand down to his knee for a change. Using it to support her as she leans over to him, she tells him, "I can't sit anymore. Let's walk." It's the kind of instruction that can be easily disregarded if he so chooses, but she means to carry it out, already moving to heave herself upright with a steadying hand on the table.
It suddenly becomes a different party, for the dragonriders. There's a distant touch, hazy and full of uncertainty like a ham operator twiddling the dials for a good frequency, in the minds of all the dragons at High Reaches. Suddenly it comes through. We are our own! it announces proudly, a male voice coming all the way from Five Mines. The rest of the details filter indistinctly through the link: Igen is left behind, they have come to join the heroes. The message fades away, its sender tired by the effort, but no less victorious for all that.
Reyce does not rise to the bait of those playful knee nudges, pretending not to notice them at all as he proceeds systematically through his cupcake-cracker snacks. When Issa starts to move is the first he responds, giving her knee a swift knock back before she has time to get up from the table - by the time she's rising, Reyce is up to support her, his arm moving unasked around her waist.
"That's a shame," Vanya replies before she thinks, and then must clarify. "About the history, I mean. A thing like that is important for future generations to have. So many things in the past have been lost or ... or change with each telling. An honest history would be nice to have. It might prevent --" But she stops herself before continuing that thought. "If I might, I would say that you'd be in an excellent position to continue, once you've graduated from weyrlinghood, of course. As a weyrwoman, your work would be respected." A pause. "Well, not that it wouldn't be respected if you weren't a weyrwoman." Another pause, awkward. "It's just that rank does sometimes convey more respect than ..." She trails into silence. "I'm not saying it very well. I'm sorry. I'm glad Peloth is doing well. H'kon tells me that Arekoth speaks highly of her, as does he." Safer ground, that.
"There are plenty of people capable of recording history," Miniyal begins and then pauses. Lifting up her glass she empties it and then shakes her head. "I don't even fucking want to know," she mumbles. Clearing her throat she passes off her empty glass to a passing server type person and then begins to twist her ring around her finger. "History should be written by those who have done nothing worth marking down in it. So as to maintain some perspective. Otherwise bias appears. Where it should not. I'm sorry, please excuse me." She'll have to be excused because the weyrling glances through the crowd and then heads off.
Over at the food and drink table, V'sen has been caught up speaking to a Caucus student hailing from Telgar Hold. In one moment, he is listening with rapt attention about the crops of last summer. In the next, his eyes glaze over, his mouth goes slack and, suddenly, he is looking for G'mal out in the throng of partygoers. When he spots him, he immediately looks away again and the rest of his wine is swallowed. He picks up another glass and downs it as well.
Roa laughs, eyes rolling. "True enough. Maybe I should alert the guards that..." but the weyrwoman's jibe is derailed and she blinks distractedly. "Oh, you must be joking," she murmurs quietly. "Coren, thank you for a lovely dance. It was a pleasure meeting you, but I'm afraid you'll have to excuse me." She is already inching away, her eyes seeking out R'vain wherever he's ended up.
Tallara is standing near V'sen, sipping desultorily from the glass of wine he gave her while she chatters with the Telgari's 'date.' Suddenly, she, too, is getting messages from her gold, and she stops to blink her wide, dark doe-eyes a few times. "Oh," she says. Then, "What?" She looks up at her Weyrleader for guidance.
For all she seemed insistent on walking a second earlier, Issa pauses with her hand flat on the table, letting him cradle her waist unchallenged. Her eyes skip over the crowd from face to face without seeing a one; it takes her only a handful of seconds to turn a glance startle-wide up to him before her expression is reigned in to a more appropriate party politeness. "Trouble," is all the muttered excuse she gives for that break before she takes him with her, away from the table and the confused pair of brownriders that still sit at the other end. As they walk further through the parting crowd, then, she leans smilingly up, as if to whisper sweet nothings, though her words carry something far heavier. "Igen riders at Five Mines. For some reason." Their steps seem to have no goal in mind, now, heading past the food tables first then bending randomly around to the back of the crowd, which just so happens to take them in view of Igen Weyrleader and his reaction.
There are ice shards all over G'mal's body; it is the only way to explain his sudden stiffness, or the breaking way he moves. He sets his hands down on the table. Pushes himself up. There's a wine glass left in his wake, but he ignores it. Hunching over his fists, the Igenite Weyrleader scans the room with unmistakable, cold fury. He finds R'vain before Roa has a chance to. And then he finds V'sen - for whatever reason, he finds V'sen. He stands completely. "I see," he says, though only his immediate tablemates will be able to hear him - and none of them have dragons, so they are all confused. He does not stop to conference with the other Weyrleaders, or indeed with anyone, as he strides coolly towards the bowl and the waiting Rianeth. Never let it be said that Igen's Weyrleader gabbled around at a party when there was work to be done.
If Vanya is insulted by Miniyal's abrupt departure, she gives no indication. She merely stands there, watching the weyrling goldrider move away. If she had stayed, Miniyal might be surprised to find that Vanya agrees with her, but be that as it may, she did not. And so, yes, Vanya chooses to go back to holding up her wall. She is not the socialite others are, and turns away. It's then when she takes note of a few riders near her. She is familiar enough with that "glazed" kind of expression a rider gets when speaking with his or her dragon. Her brow knits, and her steps falter for a moment. Pity she doesn't know any of those riders, else she might ask of the problem. Where's a brownrider when you need him?
"Excused," Coren offers promptly, and though his eyebrows lift, he makes no effort to pursue an answer. Not when the Weyrwoman is already clearly in flight from him. Instead, this Bendenite wanders off to find someone less occupied, who might have some idea - after all, there are all those rider contacts he mentioned.
The Telgari Weyrleader blinks down at his Weyrwoman. "What?" he echoes her question back at her. Then he looks away, cranning his neck and going suddenly still as he finds himself caught in G'mal's intent stare. "Wait here," he tells Tallara once the Igenite moves away and into the bowl. "I am going to--" Except that Rianeth is already winging away, "-we should...I think we had better..." But his gaze goes hazing again as Horath invites his rider in on the conversation he's having with those other bronzes and golds that lead a Weyr.
When Issa pauses, Reyce looks her way sharply, crossing his other hand towards her stomach. It's only a pause, so he's more checking in than worried yet, and the polite face she gives him when she speaks the word 'trouble' only leaves him confused. He follows her lead on this one, stepping away from the bench with her and keeping his arm snugged tight around her waist. The information she whispers to him so sweetly gets a blink from him, and his eyes dart swiftly across the room - noticing Igen's Weyrleader, but not until he's up and leaving. The only answer he makes Issa is an indrawn breath, followed by a heavy puff.
Of course, Miniyal really isn't headed anywhere or towards anyone. She is, basically, wandering. Her path tends to lead her towards this person or that person. There is no pausing long enough to talk, but she surely manages to catch this word or that said by someone. Eavesdropping is all she does. It's not like she has anything to offer to the conversations going on. And if she goes out of her way to avoid anyone who might try to make her leave, because people always make the weyrlings leave when interesting things happen, well that is just coincidence.
Tallara continues to blink prettily at V'sen, unwittingly adding more pressure to his indecision with her expectant gaze. Vianeth has become distracted by the conversation going on amongst her peers, and it's clear that Tallara hasn't been pulled in as her Weyrleader has. "Excuse us," she says to the Telgari holder V'sen was talking to, with a sweet smile. She sets her hand on the Weyrleader's chest and guides him a step back from the conversation.
Roa doesn't have very far to go to locate the weyrleader of High Reaches. Where he was, was speaking with a gaggle of just-slightly-inebriated, female Caucus students. What he was doing was showing off those pearly whites in the sort of I-will-nibble-you-all-up smile that would send his weyrwoman's eyes rolling. What he is doing now is pushing through the crowd, his green eyes searching for the small, round figure of his weyrwoman. When they meet, they both start talking at once, stop at once, and then it's R'vain and speaks first, Roa responding as soon as he quiets.
The shift is subtle, but suddenly Issa is no longer guiding their trajectory around and between a few gaily chatting groups of nonriders still unaware of the disturbance, instead submitting to where Reyce will take her while she vacantly attends to what her dragon can gather. Her eyes are blank on the bend of her belly or her feet beyond it, the hand not hooked through his arm rubbing away some faked ache at the side of her belly. But the draconic gossip chain is much quicker than the one running through the cavern, and she looks up with an openly concerned glance, finding Reyce before she looks beyond him. There behind a couple of conversing lads is Miniyal, walking past and not avoiding well enough it seems. Issa careens them both suddenly into a collision course, lengthening her waddling stride; it takes seconds before she's coming up behind the weyrling, reaching with a friendly sort of hand for her arm to pull her to a halt. Not to send her away, she soon proves, but to say frankly, "All I hear is rogue riders." There's little attempt to conceal her voice now, now that the news is murmuring its way through the crowd. "What do you hear?" A beat. "Or Peloth?"
Reyce has his own purpose when Issa leaves him to steer their way through that crowd, and as he moves to new vantage points here and there he stops to lift on his toes and look around. Before he can find anything, however, Issa has tuned back into the world of the here and now and is dragging him towards Miniyal, onto whom is displaced a small puff of frustration. He says nothing, however, simply standing by Issa to listen in on her conversation.
Sooner or later, even draconic gossip is translated into human speech, and whispers can carry even to ears which are not attached to dragons. Vanya hears snatches of conversations, tidbits that are both intriguing and cryptic. It takes no special genius to figure out something has happened, something not as dire, perhaps as the death of a Weyrwoman, but something which has caused concern in the Weyrleaders of High Reaches, and visiting weyr dignitaries. She may not know exactly what's happened, and would probably be turned away should she inquire of riders she knows, but Vanya is no fool, and from what she's heard, she manages to coddle some info regarding rogue riders. Again, it doesn't take any particular genius to put "rogue" together with other murmurs, and come up that this /might/ have something to do with a place from which she has only recently returned. She holds her tongue, but means to speak with H'kon as soon as she can find him.
And it is Issa. Lucky Miniyal running into the greenrider this way. She sure feels lucky, really. Her steps cease and she turns her attention to the wingsecond with a shrug. "Igen. To be honest, it's barely surprising considering the news out of there lately." And look, Reyce too. Her two favorite people in the world. "I wonder if two days is enough? I wonder if he'll tell me more than what slips out? Well, I suppose I shall just find out once I've written him." Blinking a few times she lets her lips tilt upwards for a fraction of a second. Nearly a smile. "Oh, sorry, ma'am. I am practicing being subtle. How was that? Well, excuse me, you two." A jaunty little salute is given to the pair and if Peloth has heard anything different it's not to be shared tonight it would seem. Turning away she finds a path through the crowd again. It probably won't take her past the wine.
The nudge from Tallara jolts Telgar's Weyrleader back into his own head. "The others want a meeting. Come." His hand around Tallara's arm tightens and V'sen turns to go. Stops. Turns back to the two Telgari he was speaking with. "It was very nice to have met you," he tries, but turns away again before there can be any reply. He's heading for the stairs and a quick exit.
Tallara does not really have time to offer her own farewells to the Telgari, although her mouth is open for it. She's yanked away and can only offer them a smile and parting wave before she has to keep up with her Weyrleader, practically trotting to keep up with his long strides.
They're not the only weyrleaders making a departure. R'vain and Roa are also heading for the stairs, though their pace is considerably slower because the weyrwoman can't move overly quickly at the moment, and the weyrleader isn't willing to outpace her. Plus, they get waylaid by various riders who want an explanation for what their dragons overheard. Who was that? What did it mean?
If Issa is surprised by Miniyal's parting shot it shows no further than a few flickering blinks; her expression is just shy of blank as the goldriding weyrling takes her leave, but a grudging smile falls at her back. "I suppose I deserved that," she mutters before taking the step backward that will bring her on level again with Reyce's shoulder. Weyrleaders of the High Reaches sort are sought out, but a glimpse of their retreating backs stifles her impulse to move again. Instead she just turns up to Reyce, her other hand falling to the arm she has curled up in her own as well. "I don't suppose you've heard anything new that will explain this, have you?" she asks, teasing in a way that tells she's given up on actually discovering anything else for now.
Reyce squints his eyes when Miniyal starts speaking, treating her with a certain wariness even though he can't know what that subtlety reference means. When she retreats - with a salute, no less - he gives way to a low growl that's audible to Issa only, if even that, and it takes him a moment to look down at the greenrider, at his shoulder once again. "No," he answers, taking her tease semi-seriously. "Should find Coren." Then he's up on the balls of his feet again, peering around in search of the other Bendenite - not a hard find, because Coren's just tall enough to be noticeable even in a milling crowd. After a moment, he tightens his arm over Issa's and heads towards the food table.
After several starts and stops, though Roa seems willing to answer more individual questions, R'vain's rumbling voice speaks up. His words are just loud enough that those flocking towards the weyrleaders can easily overhear, and the gist of them is that they don't know what's going on, they are on their way to try and figure out what's going on, and the sooner they are able to leave and /do that/, the sooner everyone /else/ can know what's going on. Either the words or the rising irritation behind them cause the curious to take a step back, and the weyrleaders of High Reaches are able to make it up the stairs and out into the bowl with no further delays.
Eventually Miniyal stops trying to overhear what people are saying. They are certainly saying a lot. She slips out of the living cavern to return to the barracks. And compose a letter she will not send for a few days. All subtle like.