[Log] The Girl in the Red Dress, Pt. 1

[brazenbronzer]

Who: Arezan, Cyrra, Edlyn, Ferros, Gay, Giremi, Jenivrys, Olwyn, R'dur, Revuen, Rilkie, Tiriana, Trevan, Yronica, Ziglan
When: Day 21, Month 9, Turn 13
Where: Living Cavern, Telgar Weyr
What: Telgar hosts its traditional dinner in honor of its candidates.
Notes: Find Pt. 2 here and Pt. 3 here.

Living Cavern, Telgar Weyr
     This huge cavern is sufficiently roomy to hold a large portion of the Weyr's population without feeling cramped. There's always a bustle of activity here. Fragrant dishes are constantly in prepartion for mealtimes: currently for the evening meal. Drudges are always present, either cleaning under Pierron's watchful eye, or helping fetch and carry. A myriad of glowbaskets and many ever-lit hearths make the cavern warm and inviting despite its size. The scents of cooking meats, baking breads and pastries, and the pungent aroma of spices hang mouthwateringly in the air. It is little wonder that those seeking to relax nearly always find their way here to do it.
     A short tunnel jaunts northward out to the bowl and the merry sounds of cooking, chores, and laughter echo from the kitchen at the southeast end of the cavern near the easterly passage to the rest of the lower caverns. Within the lower caverns is an entrance to the infirmary weyr to care for injured dragons and riders.
Contents:
Tiriana
Pierron
Telgar Serving Tables
Obvious exits:
Inner Caverns Kitchen Bowl
Your location's current time: 18:58 on day 21, month 9, Turn 13, of the Interval. It is a autumn evening.

R'dur
     Now 32 turns old, R'dur has matured into a tall, slender young man standing just below six feet tall. His wavy ash blonde hair is of medium length, shaggy and not quite short enough to keep it out of his grey-blue eyes; a few strands curl stubbornly around his ears. His pale skin doesn't tan. R'dur's features are strong and sharp; he has high, pronounced cheekbones dusted with faint, sparse freckles as well as a hawkish nose and thin lips.
     Contrary to his usual lackluster, over-large attire, R'dur is now dressed rather stylishly. He wears a well-fitted pair of khaki pants, long over his polished brown boots. His neat button-down shirt is light blue in color, carefully buttoned all the way up and tucked in to reveal a matching brown belt. Either he suddenly developed some fashion sense, or (far more likely) a woman's finally taken him in hand and dressed him. In any case, it's an improvement. He wears the knot of Telgar's Weyrsecond.

Tiriana
     Grown at last into her youth's promise of beauty, Tiriana is a strikingly pretty girl who looks about seventeen now. There's confidence in the set of her shoulders, her straight posture, and the often smirky tilt of her full and pouty lips. She has, too, her parents' height at five-foot-nine, along with a leggy, slimly athletic build; finally, she's filled out, pushing past the coltish stage of adolescence into a feminine, if never particularly curvy, figure. Tiriana's fair complexion is highlighted by eyes neither wholly blue or green, as well as the overabundance of wavy ink-black hair that reaches down to the bottom of her shoulderblades. A straight nose and prominent cheekbones round out her features.
     Though long not a girl concerned with fashion, Tiriana has of late improved her wardrobe to some degree. Deep crimson is the color of her satiny dress for this formal occasion, a sharp contrast to her fair skin and dark hair. With thin straps and a low-cut vee at the neck, it's a daring choice for her. The A-line garment is form-fitting across the torso, while letting the looser skirk swish around her legs a little more. It falls to just past her knees, and is paired with low black heels.

Rilkie
     Rilkie, fast becoming a young woman, has grown to a height of about five and a half feet. Her limbs are long and elegant, and though another might carry them awkwardly, she's learned to do so with an unusual grace.
     Her skin is moderately pale, and there will always be a profusion of freckles across her nose and cheekbones. Her features themselves (blue eyes, blonde hair) are fairly nondescript. The words that might be used to describe her-- 'regal', maybe even 'beautiful'-- stem not from the way she looks, but the aura of confidence and self-assuredness that she naturally carries herself with. Because of this, her youth is easily forgotten, and her actual age of 16 Turns, 10 months, and 22 days may come as a surprise.
     She wears simple, practical clothing when not in riding leathers. On her shoulder she sports the knot of a Telgari rider, with a twine of brown thread to symbolize her dragon Ancaith.

Revuen
     He's a young man, but his exact age is obscurred by a combination of features. While 5'11", he's not so thin as to give the impression of a boy who's just shot up. Instead, he has a lanky, athletic build that avoids gangly awkwardness for easy coordination. His dark hair is haphazardly cut and perpetually unstyled, as likely to stick up at odd angles as it is to be matted to his forhead. With boyish features, dark eyes and a rather delicate mouth, the bit of scruff along his jaw helps to balance the youthfulness of his appearance with something a bit more rugged.
     In summer's warmth, he wears a slim-tailored short-sleeved shirt of charcoal gray with a sharp collar and a row of pale pearly buttons down the front. While his dark trousers are made of an affordable, durable material, they are stylishly cut and held with a rather nice black leather belt. His black boots are sturdy and scuffed, a clash between fashion and financial limitations.

The living cavern has been spruced up for this evening, decorated in a fall theme to complement the changing season. Cleared so it can be prepared, and the fancy dinner set out on the tables; everything is only just now being completed, and R'dur is in the middle of it, trying not to look too frazzled as he mostly gets in the way of the Weyrstaff who is finishing setting out dinner. In his very best clothes, he plainly displays Brijana's hand in dressing himself, and keeps habitually smoothing at the fine clothes while he triple-checks that everything is ready, just as the first arrivals begin to enter.

Trevan walks here from the Inner Cavern.
Trevan has arrived.

Trevan
     A wiry lad in his late teens, Trevan stands at about average height and gives the impression of being confident and self-assured in the way he carries himself. A mop of tawny brown hair curls in disorganized fashion atop his head above a face composed of strong features: boldly arching brows over warm brown eyes, refined aquiline nose, full lips and a squared jaw.
     He's dressed up for the evening in a russet-hued shirt that's nice from the front, but still bears signs of mending along the back of one sleeve. Rich brown trousers though look new and end in neatly trimmed cuffs with a smattering of red embroidery going up the sides to about the knee. Rather than his usual work boots, he's wearing a pair of soft, calfskin ankle boots, also brown.
     On his shoulder is found the simple white-threaded knot of a Telgar Candidate.

"So this is one of those famed Weyr parties," Revuen says to himself as he strolls in, freshly bathed and neatly dressed in a smooth blue shirt with a pin-striped charcoal vest. Despite the amount of prep-time his well-tended appearance might suggest, he is a bit early and the crowd hasn't filled out yet. He lifts a brow as his eyes skim the room, looking for familiar faces among the strangers.

Rilkie enters the cavern wearing, for once--gasp!-- a dress, and a fairly nice one at that. She makes short work of finding herself a glass of wine, and noting the Weyrsecond in the crowd, goes to greet him. "Evening! Lovely spread, it looks like," she comments. "Brijana lend a hand with the planning, did she? Can I help with anything?" But both hands are wrapped around her glass, so it's clear it's mostly an offer out of politeness.

Cyrra walks in from the bowl.
Cyrra has arrived.

Cyrra
     Wild eyes of palest blue and a coltish energy have been gentled tonight, refining the features of this young woman's face and adding a new softness. Delicate brows, a plain nose, and Cupid's bow lips are all visible tonight. Pink from washing and radiant with an application of scented lotion, Cyrra's face remains unhidden by her hair. Tawny locks of wavy hair have been twisted neatly into an interlacing pattern just above the knap of her neck, tiny fresh flowers and metal filigree offering further decoration and holding the long tresses in place. On either side of her face, a long strand of hair hangs decoratively, natural waves offering it pizzazz where straightness would have provided drag. A slender, or perhaps more properly termed slight, neck has been adorned with a very simple silver chain that ends in a tear-drop shaped stone of pale emerald.
     Cyrra wears a long dress of insipid lavender that covers all of her 5'11" form from chest to toes. Thin straps are looped over each shoulder and a fitted, empire waist sets an elegant look for the gown. The silken fabric fits her form closely at first, opening into a graceful bell around her legs. Layered over the skirt of the dress and sewn into the waistline is a layer of sheer, netted fabric that opens in a split down the middle of the front of the dress, giving the color of the gown underneath a different look. Tiny sewn flower buds of pink wrapped in pale green leaves line the hem of the waistline, tying in the green gem of the necklace nicely. Completing the outfit are formal shoes of matching purple.

Olwyn walks in from the bowl.
Olwyn has arrived.

Olwyn
     An average height of 5'5" coupled with a build that is neither twiggy nor voluptuous has been bound in splendor tonight and is far from plain. Grey-green eyes are bright and lively, set off by unbound waves of auburn hair that cascade loosely over Olwyn's shoulders and down her back, reaching to just past her waist. The hair around her face has been elegantly pulled back with a clip of gold, tiny stones of deep blue glinting here and there in the woven metal setting. A loop of thick gold has been fastened around Olwyn's neck and the fabric of a luxurious blue gown hangs from it, forming a triangle pattern that shows off shapely shoulders and arms. The dress itself is all one color -- a rich sapphire that would shame teal, but is several shades lighter than midnight. It hangs loosely from her form, offering compliments to curvy areas and dwindling off gracefully just above her ankles.

The arrival of others seems to serve to settle R'dur somewhat, as he ceases most of his fluttering about in favor of welcoming both candidates and residents. "Thank you," he tells Rilkie when she stops by. "I... Well, I started it but then she kind of took it away from me," he confesses of Brijana. "I think she and the girls are probably still getting ready together. I... couldn't take any more of it, though, but anyway. Oh, no, no, thank you. You don't have to do anything. It's all ready now, I think. I'll just... I have to make a speech, when it gets going more." He looks crestfallen at the thought.

Olwyn enters, though unfortunately not on Gr'din's arm. That place of prominence is taken up by the bronzerider's crutches. The two of them have a hasty whispered conference, and after a moment, Grae hobbles his way to one of the corner tables where a rousing game of dragon poker is already going. Olwyn looks after him a bit sadly, then glances over the decorated room, looking a bit lost. Finally, she braces herself and walks into the crowd, skirts swirling as she begins the dreaded socializing.

Tiriana is resplendent in crimson, at least, when she does at last arrive, strutting into the decorated cavern somewhat later than many of the other guests this evening. She pauses, though, when she's further in, glancing back as she waits on her sister to arrive as well, just behind her. "C'mon already. You and Bri are so slow at this," she says, impatient as ever.

Cyrra slips in behind Tiriana, looking as if she would have been perfectly content to have stayed outside. The shy bluerider, lingers at Tiri's side now, hands fidgeting and her lip bitten between her teeth. A rather extreme transformation from wild child to lovely lady has happened and the slender girl wears a lovely dress of powdery lavender, a gentle beauty beside Tiriana's resplendent red. Gathering her nerve, she looks around, worried eyes searching for someone.

Trevan actually looks like he finally raided the Stores to get something better to wear than the ragamuffin workaday stuff he's usually got in. He's even combed his hair, futile as that is and it looks neater at least for as long as that lasts. He spots Revuen not too far off and scoots that way, looking around at the cavern with a smile. "Lookin' good ... lookin' good," though what exactly he's referring to: food, well-dressed girls, something else is uncertain.

Well, if there is one thing that parties are good for, it's food. That's where Revuen goes first, angling through the growing crowd toward the table and perusing the offerings. The other thing that parties are good for is girls in pretty dressed and it must be that brilliant crimsion that catches his eye. He pauses and turns a bit, a brow lifting up as his gaze drifts over Tiriana and then over Cyrra as well. He turns back to scan the table again, staring at nothing for a moment, and then moves down a few paces toward R'dur. "Sir, if I could ask a question... Candidates aren't allowed to drink tonight, considering the party and all, are we?"

"I'm sure it'll be brilliant," Rilkie says reassuringly of R'dur's speech. "She's getting ready, still? When I see her, though, I'll have to pay her my compliments." She gives him a nod, taking her leave to go and greet others present, and is quickly swept up by the crowd.

Rilkie walks down the short tunnel and out into the bowl.
Rilkie has left.

"Yeah. Please do," R'dur tells Rilkie, with a nervous smile as she makes her way back off. He fidgets a bit more, and then, taking a steeling breath, straightens slightly and makes his way to the front of the cavern to do. Raising his voice, he manages to make himself heard reasonably well across the room, certainly a rarity for the quiet man. "Wel--Welcome to the dinner in honor of the candidates for Aleith's maiden clutch," he begins slowly. "Thank you all for coming out to--to support our candidates and... all. Please help yourself to the food, and when the harpers have had a chance to get set up, we'll have music and then dancing as well. So... Thank you, again, for coming." He's bright red by the end of it, but at least doesn't collapse into a puddle when he finishes.

Edlyn walks here from the Inner Cavern.
Edlyn has arrived.

Edlyn
     Tall at 5'6" and still growing, this lanky youth is rather ungainly in appearance, much like a runner foal - all limbs and slim build. The rest of her body has yet to fill into her length, but shadows of beauty occasionally descend on the waif-like young woman. Her face is smooth and long, her lips full and pouty. Thin, straight brows compliment almond shaped hazel eyes, a petite nose and a wide, even smile.
     Her hair is kept short, trimmed to an inch or so above her shoulders. Dark red, with lightened blonde highlights, it is perpetually straight and can very rarely be pulled back in any sort of fashion. It has taken her all of her youth to achieve a dusky amount of freckles and the lightest of tans.
     Holder-bred and raised, Edlyn is more comfortable in skirts and dresses than trousers - now that she has Telgar Weyr's knot of candidacy - she is more often in trousers and shirts for functionality though often she will look uncomfortable in the garb.

Jenivrys walks here from the Inner Cavern.
Jenivrys has arrived.

Jenivrys
     Jenivrys' long face is saved from horsiness by delicate features: a thin aquiline nose, high cheekbones, and a pointed chin. Her eyes are light green, almost grey, and stand out starkly against the healthy glow of her skin. A large mouth with full lips smiles often, but rarely shows her teeth. Dark walnut hair, black in some lights, is either caught into a snood or gathered into a modest knot at the nape of her neck.
     She is a shade taller than average, perhaps 5'5", with a slight build that gives her an air of fragility. Full-skirted and long of sleeve, her is dress the shade of roasted nuts. Braided cords of autumn hues define a squared-neckline, clasping cuffs, and flowing hem. The hint of polished bone can be seen as she turns, in a row of delicate buttons that keep the entire dress fastened. Her accent is that of Crom, her age perhaps 18 or 19 turns, and on her shoulder is the white knot of Candidacy at Telgar.

Trevan makes it over to the food likewise and nods Revuen's way. "Impressive ain't it?" He means the food this time, but his neck is craning around too at all of the very nicely dressed young ladies. His voice drops lower as the other Candidate asks that question of R'dur. "Shells, that'd be nice if they let us, even just for the one evening."

Tiriana, unsurprisingly, is not paying much attention at all to R'dur when he tries to speak; she's more interested in eyeing Cyrra and rolling her eyes at the older girl. "Okay, I'm going to eat. You can stand around and gawk if you wanna," she tells her with a sigh, melodramatically exasperated as she turns to head toward the serving tables herself. R'dur, recovering from his ordeal, lifts a hand in greeting to his two nieces, though the younger, at least, doesn't notice. Frowning slightly, the brownrider glances aside when Revuen greets him. "Oh, Revuen, good evening," he offers. Apologetically: "No, I'm sorry, we'd--we'd rather you didn't, please." Pause. "You look nice?" he offers, grasping at something nice to say then. "Trevan," he adds, to include the other eavesdropping candidate, with a small smile.

Olwyn pauses here and there to exchange greetings with familiar faces. Occasionally, she runs a nervous hand over the smooth sapphire fabric of her dress. The young goldrider is clearly comfortable with neither her finery nor the social expectations placed upon her as both a junior weyrwoman and the rider of the clutch's mother. For the most part, her path is aimless as she flounders to make herself part of the party.

Cyrra gives a little yip and scurries after Tiriana, her security blanket. Even as she walks, the bluerider is on the lookout for something, or perhaps it would be safer to say someone. Worried eyebrows rise and fall as she battles her shyness. She notices Trevan, offering him her best, if jittery little smile.

Jenivrys ghosts in along one of the other older Candidates. Olivya quickly abandons her for a handsome young bluerider, leaving Vrys stranded and as aimless as Olwyn. She does offer a nervous smile for anyone to latch onto, then wanders vaguely toward the other end of the room.

Melding into the crowd, that'd be Edlyn there in her earth-toned dress. Greens and browns are splashes of colors, one overlaying the other, in a sheer fabric. Form-fitting, it tucks against her wiry frame and accents her subtle contours. She slinks over to the food, and stares at the selection with a very obvious look of dismay. "Oh, shells," she mutters to herself.

"So do you, sir," Revuen bounces back at R'dur. "Very fine getup and a very fine party." He gives a big, certain nod, brows down and determined -- overall, it seems like a nod meant to encourage the Weyrsecond more than anything else. He steps out the way as R'dur's attention shifts to Trevan. "Hey, Trev." Oh, but the creature in red comes their way and as much as he might try to politely keep his attention between his fellow candidate and the Weyrsecond, the crimson keep pulling his eye past R'dur to Tiriana.

Ferros walks here from the Inner Cavern.
Ferros has arrived.

Ferros
     Just nearing 20 Turns, Ferros has reached his full height of 6'2", though his awkwardly slumping shoulders give the impression of a shorter man. While his muscular build and broad shoulders are fitting for his age, his usual posture would imply he's not quite used to his new body yet. His brown hair is cut short, yet strands still manage to fall in the way of his large pale green eyes. His nose is long and thin, as are his pale lips. There are hints of a scruffy, scraggily beard trying to grow, but it certainly isn't a substantial beard by any stretch of the imagination.
     He's wearing an uncomfortable looking, dark green tunic that fits him quite nicely. Rather than his usual brown, stained workpants, he's wearing spotless dark black slacks. He's retained something of his old, boring outfit, though: he has the same old worn wherhide boots, though the matching jacket is absent. His white candidate knot sits upon his shoulder, looking oddly out of place.

Yronica has arrived.

Yronica
     A flyaway mane of dusty dishwater blonde, roughly swept back and occasionally pinned in simple clips above the ears but always loose down the back, frames this young woman's full, square face. Her cheeks are prominent not from fine, high bones but from good eating; her eyes are small but nearly always smiling. Her nose is pert and a little bit big, the same as her broad chin, and her complexion is pale but uneven. For the special occasion of a fine dinner, she's put on her best skirts -- long flowing affairs, floor-length and full-cut in brown wool with a burgundy velvet waistband. The velvet appears again in the trim of her vest, an almost mannish accessory worn open over a linen blouse with full sleeves. The clothes go well enough with the strands of semiprecious stones and beads she always wears, the beaten silver bracelet on her wrist and soft brown leather boots. She might be about 17 turns old, and a bit less than five and a half feet tall.

Ziglan has arrived.

Ziglan
     A young boy not yet into his teens, Ziglan stands at an average height for a boy of twelve turns. Though he's scrawny, there's a length to his limbs that hints at a growth spurt not yet hit. His eyes are pale and grey; his hair brown. Peppered with chocolate lowlights and ruddier highlights and kept closely cut, its short ends most always stick up at awkward angles. Youthful softness defines his features, from the baby-chub clinging to his cheeks and the button-esque shape of his nose, to the dimpling of his cheeks and the awkwardness he carries himself with.
     Ziglan's clothes are simple and functional. A long-sleeved shirt for the colder weather, short sleeved for the warmer temperatures though always in varying shades of red. His pants are most always scuffed or ripped in the knees, his shoes similarly worn.

Loading his plate up indiscriminately, Trevan pulls a slight face. "Ah well, had to try eh?" Revuen's distraction turns his head and he joins in the 'staring at Tiriana' portion of the evening. "Uh ... hey there Tiriana. You look absolutely smashing." He's distracted again in short order, by Edlyn's arrival and he leans back a little. "Looking for something in particular Ed?" It's a kindly voiced question.

"Er. Thank you," R'dur says, flushing at the compliment Revuen returns to him. "Brijana picked it out for me." Of course. He looks sheepish a moment, and then shrugs, while the harpers get set up and begin to play, quiet music befitting dinner as more and more people head to the serving tables to get dinners and sit down with them at any of the decorated tables in the living cavern. Tiriana seems quite aware of the eyes on her, and with an incredibly smug smirk, she turns about to glance at Trevan and then Revuen, while R'dur just gawks at her and slinks away to find somewhere safer to socialize. Tiriana tilts her head slightly as she studies the two boys. Then: "Trevan. You have clean clothes. Revuen. You're still gay," she notes, wiggling a finger at his vest.

Cyrra's face falls, going from nervous to sad as she fades more and more into Tiriana's shadow and can't seem to find what she's looking for. Pulling away from the table and leaving her sister's side, the taller of the girls moves off into the crowd, lips set in a petulant pink pout and eyes still scanning the crowd as she goes and doing her best not to get stepped on.

Olwyn's random path brings her to the clump of candidates. "Trevan," she acknowledges. Revuen gets a glance but is otherwise ignored. "You ran out rather quickly earlier today. Do you feel comfortable on the sands or shall I invite you back another time?"

Ferros frowns as he shifts nervously by the entrance to the living caverns. He manages to pull his expression into a smile, giving Jenivrys an empathetic look before meandering around aimlessly himself. Another frown quickly makes its way onto his face as he tugs at his new green tunic, his slumping shoulders ruining the appearance of the tailored outfit. Eventually, he heads towards the serving tables; at least there he can busy himself and look a little less awkward.

Ziglan comes in upon the heels of a taller man sporting the knot of a brownrider. The man is considerably taller and not so much all the knees and elbows Ziglan is, but there's still a similarity between the two - whether it's their shared, overall wary regard of the proceedings or their shared look upon arriving amidst a bleating of merry little giggles from a small group of females settled off at the side. Either way, the pair are here to stay; Ziglan to fetch whatever he's been told to fetch and the brownrider to find seats for them both.

Revuen catches Tiriana's smirk and his reaction? Is to laugh quite delightedly. He grins broadly at her, shaking his head a little and as she turns away he reaches for a plate to start chosing some food. "Some color, huh?" he says to Trevan. But as Olwyn moves in, Revuen is quick to drop the smile, take his plate and move off.

Jenivrys falls into Ferros' wake and trails after the big man. "It's... we all look nice tonight, don't we?" Ah, uncomfortable small talk. Bane of dinners everywhere. "The food looks good, too," she adds, peering around him at the dishes and platters. "I wasn't sure it would all fit."

Gay walks in from the bowl.
Gay has arrived.

Gay
     She never seems bored, this young-looking woman of about 30 turns. Her attention is always on her environs, showing a keen interest in the surrounding world. Unfortunately, such enthusiasm tends to exact a price - in her case, concentration is often too easily pulled from one thing to the next.
     Her hair reflects her moments of distraction; short, thick, and wild, a confusion of peach-coloured corkscrew curls and tiny braids. A wide ribbon of a deep, bright orange holds it all back from her round, fair-skinned face, though it is not held back without a fight. Her long-lashed eyes are deep brown, usually brightened with excitement or amusement, the spark of a fierce intellect lurking in their depths. She's attractive - closer to cute than stunning, with a small nose and a quick and ready smile. Willowy and tall with a boyish figure, she moves with a hard-won athletic grace.
     For the occasion, she's in a dress; elegant, simple, but nonetheless eye-catching, as it's made of matte sisal of a bright, deep persimmon orange. Sleeveless, empire-waisted, and round-necked, its tailored clean lines sketch out her lithe form to just past her knees. It's trimmed with matching ribbon at neck, waist, arms and skirt, and paired with flat sandals that are simply soles with straps of matching ribbon, lacing up her ankles. Around her neck is an item rarely worn; an intricate and stylized torc. She wears jewellery, in warm golds and ambers - a stylized necklace, a bracelet on one wrist and a ring on her right hand. Her knot is Telgari; a complex weaving of black and white, twined with a strand of incandescent gold.

Edlyn clasps her hands before her, a thumb brushing against her skin in thought. She turns at Trevan's voice, "Oh? Well, you know me. It's all splendid looking, really," her eyes dart about in case the cooks are present, "but I can't decide when there's so - so many choices." Her bare shoulders rise and fall in a shrug. "But, nothing for it." A smile flashes then, as she takes in the party. "This is all very nice, isn't it?" That smile falters at Tiriana and her comments - a curious glance shot at Revuen. "Dunno if it's good though," she puts towards Ferros and Jenivrys. "Which are you two going to have?"

Yronica has not been here all the while, but the unassuming manner of her appearance would not betray that fact. She's quick to get a half-full cup into her hand, taking her time after that step's done to laugh and greet with a few of her fellow candidates. "Oh, should we have worn them? I left mine with my clothes, it has so much dirt on it," she tells a girl whose knot has probably been cleaned just for the occasion, her voice bright and filled with the promise of laughter. She's got half her mind on the food, though, and when she's able works her way toward the tables.

Fortunately for Gay, there's really no such thing as being 'late' to the party - though from the way she darts in from the bowl shiftily, she's hoping no one notices her entrance. It might work, were she not wearing /bright orange/. She looks unusually formal, though only in dress - her bearing is as relaxed as is ever is, comfortable with both crowds and the resultant din. As she glances around trying to take it all in, she fairly beams. "I love parties."

Revuen's laughter makes Tiriana's smirk broaden, amused as well, until Olwyn approaches and the man slinks off. She stares after him with furrowed brows, glancing between him and Olwyn a couple of times before she studies the goldrider disdainfully. "Gee, you have to drag 'em out on the sands now or something? Wonder what that says about you," she remarks casually

R'dur, for his part, slides on through the crowded cavern, offering greetings to those who catch him but not lingering long. Eventually, though, she nears the little group of Edlyn, Ferros, and Jenivrys, and offering them a quick smile. "Good evening. You all... Well. Thank you for coming," he offers as he pauses for a moment. "You all... Well. You clean up nicely? I mean, not that you don't look nice all the time, but... You--oh, you know what I mean."

Ferros looks from dish to dish, hesitating as he takes a whiff of all those fancy smells. He glances at Edlyn, seeking some reassurance, "I...I'm not sure. Is there anything you'd recommend? I don't even recognize some of this stuff. I'm used to just redfruit juice and meatrolls...oh, and tubers sometimes." He blinks rapidly, trying to take in all the dishes and people and fancy clothes. "I can't even recognize some of the /people/ I know here, with all these nice dresses n'stuff." He grins at R'dur, relieved by the presence of another bumbling man. "Yes sir. Traded in my usual clothes for something nicer."

It's Edlyn's answer Trevan's been waiting for and he smiles encouragingly at her and leans in to murmur something in an undertone, then points at his own overflowing plate. "The little cheesy pastry things are good." Olwyn's address pulls his gaze over to the goldrider and his brows lift. "Just fine out there, thanks ma'am. Got a good sense of where the eggs are and how big the space is." He doesn't address the rapid quality of his exit at all. More entering Candidates and he's waving to the ones that come nearby and seeing as the crowd around the food table is growing he steps away a little so as not to hold things up around him. Cyrra's smile earlier and her retreat are totally missed in the shuffle.

"I helped with the greens," Vrys tells Edlyn, spooning same onto her plate. "And the bread's been driving me *between* with the smell all day." So that, too, is added. R'dur's stammer causes her to turn, even smile a bit. "Thank you, sir. You look nice, too." She looks past the tall Weyrsecond, eyes skimming the crowd before returning. "I don't suppose you've seen my brother? He's probably not here, though, not with his crutches."

Olwyn blinks at the candidate. "Hmm, I hope that's enough for you, then. Aleith moves the eggs around at least half a dozen times a day," she says absently as she turns a scathing look on Tiriana. "Only the crazed ones that think we've booby-trapped the sands for some unknown reason," she says coldly, her blue skirts swooshing audibly as she turns her back on the scarlet girl towards the serving table. She catches the tail end of Vrys's question then and she speaks up once more. "He's in a corner playing dragon poker, since he can't do much else as far as partying goes, Vrys."

Revuen finds himself a seat rather near the music, foot tapping even before he drops into the chair. He seems pretty content to eat and look around for now, though his right hand falls onto his knee, fingers tapping away against the rhythm of his heel as the song strikes up a lively beat. He works on a mouthful and scans the room again now that it's filled up.

Edlyn nods her head at the direction Trevan gives, a smile offered to Vyrs at her comment. "I'll have to have some of the greens then, since you made it." Her hand reaches out and the bread is grabbed, a bit of butter put on the side of the dish, then greens. "Oh, R'dur, thank you for noticing," a late comment, but nonetheless she's accepting the compliment with a faint blush. Ferros is included in that, "Oh Ferros, just have what I'm having. It looks clean enough." A nod and then she's stepping towards an empty table. Olwyn is noticed, and given a brief curtsey, before she settles into a chair. Her gaze floats around the room though - lighting on the notable persons, head nodding and smile offered to any that make eye contact. Ever friendly.

Ziglan puts those bony appendages of his to good use in wheedling his way into place amongst those gathering before the food. If, when he hears R'dur's voice, he shoots the Weyrsecond a look and then purposefully avoids drawing any and all attention to himself... well, that's as coincidental as him nearly dropping the plate he emerges with upon spotting Tiriana in a dress. He hastens to his uncle who - much to Ziglan's well covered dismay - was only able to procure himself a seat. Relieved of his plate none the less, Ziglan is sent on his way with a casual dismissal from the brownrider.

Cyrra, successful in slipping unnoticed through the crowd, has found a seat to curl up in out of the way of most of the gathering people. Abandoning her nice shoes, she curls up in a chair, tucking her feet up under her dress and fidgeting with a small string that has come loose in the hem. Watchful eyes trace the various interactions, often on the lively red dress of Tiriana.

"Brijana dressed me." The words just keep slipping out of R'dur, apparently involuntarily, because every time he flushes all over again. Still, he manages a small smile for the pair and then hesitates at Jenivrys' question. He frowns, glancing over the room and then shaking his head. "I thought I saw him arrive with Olwyn but... I don't know, really. I'm sorry," he answer her. Olwyn, though, supplies that answer, and R'dur offers her a half-smile as well, a nod as she joins that conversation.

Ferros jaw drops a little as he sees Trevan murmur something to Edlyn and a nice dark red rises up in his cheeks. Turning away from the two, he busies himself with spooning something onto his place--he's not quite sure what since he's not paying attention, but it turns out to be a cinnamon-spiced herdbeast dish. For the rest of his meal, he copies Edlyn and nabs some beans and bread, adding on a few spoonfuls of mashed tubers out of habit. He trails quickly after Edlyn, speeding ahead to pull out Ed's chair for her. "After you, miss." He says shyly, with a polite nod to the girl.

Arezan walks here from the Inner Cavern.
Arezan has arrived.

Arezan
     Tall and lithe, this young man tends to move with an easy, feline grace. Long limbs bear lean muscle, and broad shoulders are definitely the widest part of him, tapering into a narrow waist and slim hips. Black waves fall to his chin, framing pale skin and and brushing his high brow. Wide set light grey eyes with a faint speckling of pale blue sit beneath dark expressive brows and above a thin nose; his jawline is square but not broad and his cheekbones well defined. A soft, mobile mouth finishes off features that are sharply angled and verging on androgynous. His appearance wars with a cynical glint to his eyes and a strong set to his jaw, making his age a bit hard to peg, but in reality he is 21 Turns, 5 months, and 22 days old.
     An untucked button-down shirt in vibrant plum is fitted but not tight, skimming Arezan's slender form and emphasizing the width of his shoulders. The rich violet shade is paired with thin pinstripes in dove grey, and the buttons that run up the front and highlight the cuffs are the same pale shade. He wears a black cotton shirt beneath it which peeks out above buttons undone nearly half way. Black trousers that fall in a straight line to the ground and boots that bear the glint of fresh polish finish him out. He wears the simple knot of a Telgar candidate at one shoulder.

"Couldn't imagine where they'd get an idea like that," answers Tiriana, blatantly sarcastic as she looks Olwyn up and down. Then, snorting, she deliberately turns her back to the goldrider to flounce toward the serving tables, noting Ziglan as she does so, and flashing him a smirky look as she brushes past him. "Like it?" she asks him, spreading her hands slightly as she looks at him, and then continues on past, heading toward Revuen since he fled earlier. "Scared? Of her? Are you really?" she asks the man without further ado.

Trevan is busily trying to balance that heaping plate now and dodging around a very intent rider heading for the booze. "Some crowd ..." the Neratian murmurs to himself and finds a spot across from Ferros and Edlyn, setting the plate down and resting his hands on the back of the chair for a minute. "Phew. Thought I almost lost the whole thing there for a second." He pulls the chair out then, grinning at Ferros for his pretty manners and sits to dig in, trying a little bit of everything, combining things strangely, likely out of ignorance of how it's supposed to be eaten.

Gay finishes her survey of the cavern - and eyeing the crowd near the food with a wrinkled nose, she starts off towards the other end of the table, where the drinks are. She gives a waves and a bright grin as she passes the small group of candidates and riders considering the spread - and then proceeds to make her way up the line, less by presence and more with a few well-placed elbows and apologetic smiles. Eventually, she gets herself some wine and drifts off in the direction of the tables, passing Tiriana on the way and lifting her glass to the girl in crimson. "Told you it works."

Jenivrys looks toward those poker tables, her face falling. After a long moment she seems to remember herself and looks back to R'dur and Olwyn with a more party-appropriate smile. "Maybe I'll go talk to him later, then. We should, um, probably move away from the food." There's a slight pile-up behind them, and her eye is caught by the women clashing in their crimson and orange. "Oh." Another beat, and Vrys' eyes widen at Gay. "/Oh/." She gabbles, "I'm just going to find, uh, a place? To sit?" and sidles to Olwyn's other side.

"Oh, Ferros, thank you," Edlyn answers as the seat is pulled out and she's settled into it. Her cheeks flush with color at the movement. "You look, nice. Did you pick out new clothes?" Trevan's eating habits draw a frown from the girl. "Really, Trev. You shouldn't mix it all like that. Causes stomach aches." Her own food is further divided, being split into nice, edible, little morsels. "Doesn't the Weyrwoman just look splended?" she drops her voice to a murmur to comment to the two boys. "I almost wish we could have wine. I saw what they're offering, and it's a splended white and red." Voice of experience.

There's a light shrug from Trevan. "My innards don't seem to mind. It all tastes good anyway, though I'm not too sure about this stuff." He pokes at some jelly-like concotion. "Kind of too sweet. Think I'll skip the rest." With customary gusto he's making quick work of the contents of a plate that was formerly very full. "Everyone looks really good. You too Ed." The lad from Nerat scans the crowd for a second, gaze lingering here and there at some of the very fine looking people. "Yeah, Rev asked R'dur if we could and he said no, more's the pity. D'you fancy wine, generally, Ferros?" He turns back towards the other Candidate at the table, curious, taking another bite of food that keeps his mouth occupied for a minute or two of speechlessness.

Olwyn reaches for a ladle to start dishing herself up some food, but an alert server snatches it from her before she can complete the move. With a sigh, she whispers, "My father got to you guys too?" The man grins and nods, and resignedly, Olwyn points out what she wants. "How are you today, Vrys?" she asks as she accepts her plate, turning her head towards the candidate's new position.

From the seat she's taken to hiding in, Cyrra's continuiously searching gaze has given up, dropping to the bare toes that wiggle from underneath the hem of her dress. One of the old aunties that is headed by pauses to scold her for daring to slump about in her dress and the chastised girl straightens up and puts her feet back on the floor. The lavender material is smoothed out delicately as she looks away shame-faced from the bossy old woman, shoulders heaving with a silent sigh.

Ziglan's teeth click shut with an audible snap of his jaw and it's a credit to his ability to learn that he says nothing to her in reply. Falling back into line to claim some food for himself, the young boy stubbornly crosses both arms across his chest and picks a point away from the weird dress-wearing Tiriana to stare at. As though that will help him not stare at her.

Ferros looks oddly satisfied as he takes his seat beside Edlyn and sets his plate down. He answers Edlyn's question, "Oh, yes, yes I did. My parents sent me enough to get the tunic and pants made for me once they heard about this dinner. They're proud, or something." He smiles softly, fingers momentarily playing along the soft green fabric his tunic is made from. "You, um, told me people usually dress to match their eyes. So...so I did. See?" Trevan earns himself a strange glare from Ferros, but the young man politely responds, "Oh, no, not usually. I've never really acquired the taste for it, and candidacy hasn't helped much in that regard."

Awkward with plate and cup both to handle, Yronica is slowed in her efforts to get her dinner plated by another interruptive conversation. She allows that conversation to draw her a few steps away from the food tables, a coincidence that is in no way related to Olwyn's presence at the serving area. The girl from Crom keeps her voice low, though her smile's hard to miss; she flatters the other candidate's dress and seems completely unbothered that similar flattery is not forthcoming in return. All the while she keeps a sidelong eye on the brooding queen's rider, pleasantly wary even after all this time wearing the white-threaded knot, a knot she's not included in her 'formal' costume.

Edlyn reaches out her hand to give Ferros a brief pat on the shoulder. "You did real well. It does work with your eyes. I noticed, right?" Ed's all smiles, the boys' interaction either ignored or unnoticed by her. "Shells, it's too bad R'dur wouldn't let us have a small sip. Just for the taste of it," is the comment directed to Trevan in regards to the wine. Then it's food: and this is met with a focus from the girl that has yet to be seen. Usually quick to push it aside, she's actually taking the time to enjoy all the tastes and smells that have been created for the dinner.

Edlyn has disconnected.

Revuen looks up with a mouthful, chewing and swallowing quickly and wiping the back of his hand across his lip. "Scared?" he asks with a laugh. "Scared, no. Smart enough to stay out of her way before I'm sent packing? Yeah. I don't think there's any 'good' excuse for pissing off a weyrwoman and I seem to have some sort of special talent for it." His gaze flicks over Tiriana once again, then across the room. "Enjoying all the eyes?" he asks, tipping his head to urge her to take a seat by him.

Tiriana glances around at Gay's voice, brows arching slightly as she takes in the goldrider's dress. "Huh," she says, sounding impressed then. "Maybe. A little." Which is about as good as a yes for her, in the end. One last smirk over her shoulder for Ziglan, and then with a swish of dress she stops in front of Revuen to plant her hands on her hips. "I punched her once. First time I ever met her. Should I do it again for you? 'Cause I would--'cause she needs it anyway--but it's not really gonna help my opinion of /you/." And to the latter question, she outright beams at him. "Of course. I like everybody staring at me," she tells him proudly.

Arezan slips in from the direction of the lower caverns, sticking to a smudge of shadow untouched by the festive abundance of glowlight. He runs an absent hand down the front of his shirt, eyes flickering over the already bustling crowd. Too bustling for his taste really, and his full mouth becomes thin as he presses his lips in a tight line before forcibly donning the quiet blankness so common to his features. Still, grey eyes that pick up the violet of his shirt are quick, darting here and there like a green firelizard on the search for food. A search that he, apparently, does not share as rather than attacking the food tables he slips along to the drink table. A reach for wine is halted with a tsk and instead he opts for his now usual juice. It's as he moves away that Yronica catches his eye and he jerks his chin toward a table out of the choas. "You have a seat yet?" he asks his fellow Cromite as he passes.

The glare from Ferros earns a lift of one of Trevan's eyebrows as he chews on his last mouthful of food. "I didn't get to try too much either 'til I came up this way with the traders. Still learning my way around it. Traders make some really potent stuff too. Burn your throat out if you're not careful." He smiles lightly Edlyn's way. "Well the eggs'll hatch some day and depending on how that goes, there'll be wine again." Another forkful of food is dug up to keep Trevan occupied while he crowd-watches.

"A little right back atcha." Gay beams again. The whole scaring-candidates-away thing is lost on her as she speaks with Tiriana, so she keeps moving in that direction anyway, to the table of Trevan, Ferros, and Edlyn. To those that are left, she offers a brilliant smile, asking, "How're all of you? Hope not too nervous or anything." Spotting Olwyn with her plate, she gives the other goldrider a wave, calling, "Nice dress!" Though she's trying to keep focus, it's obviously difficult for her; too much going on.

R'dur, moving on again from his current group, continues trying to talk to everyone, however uncomfortable he looks at it. He's a dutiful host, if nothing else, and as he gets his own dinner ready, he pauses to offer to Yronica, "Good evening. How are you, Yronica? You look nice. And--oh, Arezan, hi," he offers as the other young man joins them as well.

Jenivrys adroitly avoids Yronica's reaching for food, 'safe' on Olwyn's other side. "I'm fine, thank you ma'am. Uh, miss. Olwyn." She darts a look to R'dur to see if he'll chastise her for her informality, then adds to the other girl, "The greens are good. Are you all right? Grae's not bothering you, is he? With his leg, I mean?"

Ziglan, with a plate at last in hand and a few things piled atop it, at last spares a compliment for Tiriana. "Makes you look like a real girl," he says with quite the convincing smile. Only he can't be terribly serious because it's Tiriana and the last thing she is is a girl. He's quick to leave after, though, but mostly because there's an open seat within view and he seeks to claim it before it's claimed by someone else.

Ferros grins widely at Edlyn's compliment and cheerfully digs into his tasty meal, though he takes care to keep any gravy away from his tunic's sleeves. Giving Trevan a much friendlier look, he asks, "Sounds like you know a lot about wine. Do you think you could introduce me to the whole affair after the eggs hatch? People sure seem to like their alcohol, so I'd like to see what it's all about." He swirls his fork around his plate, picking up a few greens. "Er, not that I want to get drunk, or anything." This is said a bit louder as Gay approaches, and the young man awkwardly takes a big bite of the beans. He politely motions to a free seat at their table and after swallowing, nervously adds, "C-Care to join us, Weyrwoman?"

Olwyn glances over at Jenivrys again in time to catch the wave out of the corner of her eye as well as the one doing it. Gay is hard to miss in that color. "Thanks, Gay. You too!" she calls back with a wave of her own and then turns back to Grae's sister. "Oh, no, he's not. He's impatient to get back to his duties, of course. Being grounded isn't much fun. Now was probably the best time to have it happen, though, because neither of us can go anywhere at the moment, so we see each other a bit more than usual."

Giremi walks here from the Inner Cavern.
Giremi has arrived.

Giremi
     Tall at some six and a half feet, Giremi does not wear his height well, having a tendency to stoop and hunch his shoulders as if wishing he were shorter. Lean and lanky, he's put on some muscle in the last few turns that have at least provided him with more of an air of maturity than he used to possess, so he at least looks twenty-something now. Pale and freckled, the young man doesn't look like he's spent much time out of doors and when he does, the sun is not kind to him. Clear blue eyes and wavy auburn hair are his two standout features, the rest of his face largely unremarkable.
     Tonight he's dressed in a pale blue shirt of fine sisal and a vest of plush indigo velvet tucked into black pants also of fine make. All the blue only intensifies the color of his eyes and brings out the red highlights in his hair. A Journeyman Harper's knot is most often found looped around his right shoulder and the badge of Telgar Weyr is sewn onto most of his jackets and vests.

"Oh. No, I haven't." Yronica gives up her typical, brilliant grin to the fellow from Crom as he goes by, gesturing with her half-full plate and half-full cup of klah as if they explain her state somehow. She's only slowed a moment by the need to excuse herself from the woman she'd been talking to previously, and soon skips a few steps to catch up to Arezan. "Thanks. It's wild in here, hard to stay in a conversation for more than a second or two, impossible to find anyone particular except by chance. I hadn't even thought about sitting down yet. How're you getting on?"

Mumbling something about broken gitar strings, Giremi makes his way through the crowd to join the other Harpers. Distracted and a little red-faced he doesn't take much notice of the composition of the party just yet, but checks in with the journeyman playing lead on the current music. He nods a few times and starts to get set up.

Jenivrys relaxes enough to smile at Olwyn, her nose wrinkling. "The whining sounds like Grae, all right. Not the duties part - he used to skive off any sort of work. That's why he spent so much time teaching me to read, when I was little. Has he really... does he /like/ working, now?"

Cyrra shifts restlessly in her seat and then gives up, standing and lifting the dress gracefully to slip her shoes back on. Licking her lips, she tries to skirt around the crowd, eyes still roaming in search of something as she walks. At one point, she nearly walks into someone, stopping quickly and looking worried as the man's drink sloshes in the glass just before her. Nervous fingers seek something to do while she waits patiently for a small cluster of people to pass and take their seats so the small tendril of hair left out of her done up hair is twirled.

"I know a little," is Trevan's disclaimer. "Be happy to share what I know though and maybe we can figure the rest out as we go along." The Neratian grins over at Ferros, nodding a few times and tucks away the last few bites on his plate, pushing it way from himself a little as it gets clear. "'Course not. There's a difference between having a glass or two and gettin' smashed." Trevan looks up at Gay's approach. "Pretty good, thanks, Weyrwoman. Lovely gown you've got there. See what you mean about the orange." He flashes her his best charming smile, his own shirt only a few shades darker than the gown in question.

Arezan gives a little nod for Yronica, an acceptance of all explanations both spoken and unspoken. He's distracted by the hustle and bustle, eyes quick as he tries in vain to keep track of too much going on. In the end he spots a table off at the edge of things with only a single occupant, and even as he points toward it the greenrider is up and mingling. A shadow of a smile passes over his mouth and he tips his head that way. "A little less wild over that way I'd say. I can't even hear myself think!" He heads for it without waiting for an answer, settling down into one of the chairs with a soft sigh when he arrives.

Olwyn laughs and shakes her head. "I don't think it's the actual duties so much as just having the abilities to do them," she admits. "If he can fly sweeps or whatever, then that means he has his normal freedom back. Having a broken leg is rather limiting for a rider. And it's always very difficult to have to ground a dragon during Threadfall," she says, falling more serious.

Gay looks at Ferros confusedly, asking with sincere bemusement, "Why wouldn't you? It's fun. Well, you know. Once in awhile." Her last sounds a little like the candidate's addition for her benefit. "Not like I encourage that sorta thing." Setting down her glass for the time being, she notes, "Ought to move 'round, but I can chat for a bit. R'dur's doin' a good job of it, yeah?" Her dark gaze tracks the the Weyrsecond momentarily, somewhat surprised by his sociability. "He's like, talkin' to people. And thanks, Trevan. We sorta match - if you did that on purpose, I'll be totally impressed."

Revuen laughs again, "No, I don't think punching her will help much and," he looks Tiriana over again, "As much as I'm sure you could take her, I think I'll save your 'support' for another time. Besides, what if she got all angry at you and had you tossed out? Who would we all look at in situations like this one? - Have you done a proper spin, yet? You know, so everyone can see all sides?" He holds up a hand, a swirling, down-pointed fingerd urging her to turn around.