[Log] A Party for the Newest Arrivals, Pt. 2

[brazenbronzer]

Who: B'ren, Ch'dais, E'sere, G'thon, Jerion, Lexine, Magaly, Miniyal, Shayandra, Valandys
When: Day 8, Month 10, Turn 200, 6th Interval
Where: Living Cavern, High Reaches Weyr
What: High Reaches welcomes its newest arrivals to the Caucus with a party.
Notes: Find Pt. 1 here.

Living Cavern
     Large enough to hold the majority of the Weyr's human population, this cavern can become loud enough to deafen thanks to the acoustics caused by its size. The ceiling is so far overhead that it's cast into shadow, a darkness that is broken only by the spark and glitter of a lucky beam of light striking the minerals found in the rock walls. Below, most of the floor is covered with an assortment of long tables and benches. There are some smaller tables, surrounded by chairs, but privacy appears to be a rare thing in this bustling cavern. Large hearths line the west wall, with fires burning day and night to warm the food and drink that keep the Weyr's inhabitants fueled. The serving tables are near the hearth, opposite the dais that holds the single table reserved for the Weyr leadership and honored guests.

Upper Caverns [UC] Lower Caverns [LC] Kitchen [K]
Infirmary [INF] Bowl [B]

Ch'dais enters from the bowl outside.
Ch'dais has arrived.

Valandys enters from the bowl outside.
Valandys has arrived.

"You don't even have a proper scale. How can people tell the distance of things?" Miniyal demands, another stomp of her foot. "It's wrong. I'm telling you right now that if you don't remove it there will be trouble. It is entirely incorrect. I saw three errors just by a glance." A shake of her head and she tilts her chin up, "I cannot believe you would be proud of that. . .thing."

Ch'dais
     Tall and robust, the young man seems well-suited to northern climes. He stands like a sea-swept promontory, hardened even as he is smoothed by the battering of wind and wave; his body is labor-firm, his arms sheathed in the corded curve of muscle. Harsh features make him look more rugged than handsome, from the awkward break of his nose to the pronounced hollow of his cheeks. Still in all, some thought lurks beneath the turbid waters of his grey-green eyes, and his hair is a wild profusion of auburn, falling about his shoulders where it isn't haphazardly braided in order to clear his vision. The same ruddy color descends in sideburns, gathers about his lips in a stubbled beard. The man moves easily, balanced regardless of his ground or seat.
     His flying leathers may once have been black, but they've long since weathered to a spider's web of cracked charcoal. Wan grey surmounts the elbows and shoulders of the jacket, takes on a silver sheen in the animal fur sewn into the neck; the same hue shows in his pants at the knees and on the insides of his thighs. Heavy boots and a broad riding belt-- worn when needed, and as often draped absently over one shoulder-- complete the ensemble. The sole article of color is provided by his shoulder knot: one braided loop of vibrant blue and black, interwoven with a thin cord of bronze.

Valandys
     Valandys' features are simply drawn with soft curves and a strong bone structure, her skin the color of sun-warmed copper. There is sharpness to be found only in the thin bridge of her nose, and her lightning-quick smiles. Set deeply enough to seem always in shadow, her eyes are black, but bright with intelligence and calm. She wears her equally dark hair parted in the center and drawn back to a thick bun secured with red and yellow      Her healthy frame is draped in attire suitable for cold weather wear, provided she remains inside. A long-sleeved white blouse is tucked into the waistband of a black overskirt. The underskirts are less bland in shade; when she walks, flashes of red and yellow and orange can be seen, matching the gauzy scarves she has wrapped around her hips, her throat and her head. The scarves have fringe beaded with tiny bone beads, dyed in natural colors, and these beads match the clacking array of bracelets decorating her wrists.
     The bright red and golden yellow knot at her shoulder declares her origin as Igen Hold. The crosspoint of the knot serves as a bed for the beaten-copper pin of the Caucus.

"I do doubt that very much," G'thon remarks, but again he's come to the point where he speaks more to himself than to those around him, even the headmaster to whom the comment should properly be directed. But the hazel eyes sparkle and the one-end-up smile does not falter, and after a moment of gazing about much as Jerion does, just basking in the fullness of the cavern and the mood of the gathering - or something like that, given the mood isn't entirely baskable - the Weyrleader turns again to the other man and murmurs, "Do excuse me." That's all; he nods again to B'ren as he passes that table on his way toward the stairs.

G'thon ventures down the long tunnel that leads to the lower caverns.
G'thon has left.

Jerion inclines his head in farewell to the Weyrleader as the other departs and with a soft clacking noise on the stone floor, he makes his way to the knot of riders and such apparently involved in some kind of discussion. He remains on the outer edges of the group, merely using his height to peer over Miniyal's head almost curiously.

Magaly rocks gently on the two back legs of the chair, a bemused expression begins to form on her face as she watches the interaction between Miniyal and B'ren take a slightly serious turn. "Settle down, sugar," her raspy chuckle interjects to the plump girl. The front feet of Magaly's chair come down with a clack for emphasis and she straightens her posture authoritatively. Habit, and all. E'sere is regarded in turn, her smile still set, "Wingleader, wasn't it? I may remember you from a Gather or some such." Such things are always possible.

B'ren grins charmingly at Miniyal, "I am proud of it. If someone of a rank greater than mine tells me to take it down then I shall, of course, but until then I think it does a fine service." He glances at E'sere, wondering if such an order is going to be given. He in turn gives a wide smile to Magaly, liking her more and more.

Head snapping over towards Magaly when she speaks, Miniyal blinks and stares at the other woman as if she has, perhaps, grown a second head. "Excuse me?" she asks with a frown still on her lips. "It's. . .wrong. Incorrect. Don't you understand how bad that is? You can't have incorrect maps any more than you can have incorrect records and sums. It's a falsehood. It's encouraging people to believe what is not true!" She stares, amazed, that someone would not see this. At B'ren's words she hmphs quietly. "I see. Then I will have a word with weyrwoman Diya about your inaccuracies. If you take so little pride in your work. Not that it surprises me."

Ch'dais sweeps in amid the scattering of locals coming and going from the bowl, unremarkable save for the young woman he leads on one arm-- a stranger, and by the look of her hailing from nowhere near this frigid clime. "If you happen to find a jug of juice, Valandys, then you're welcome to it." The burly rider's tone makes clear that it won't be very likely. Himself, he's headed for the hearths; he doesn't so much surrender his grip on the maid as loosen it, giving her the option to wander as she will without insisting upon it.

At that glance from B'ren, E'sere only shrugs. "It's the best we have right now," he remarks. "Until we have a better one, I suppose we'll just have to leave it where it is. But I'm sure the weyrwoman would be /most/ happy to give you a higher ruling." His voice is dry and faintly sarcastic. And that's all he's going to say on the subject, for he turns back to Magaly and seats himself at the table, all pretensions of exiting abandoned. "A gather, perhaps," he agrees. "But yes, that's right. Wingleader E'sere. How are you settling in--well, I hope?"

Jerion rocks back on his heels after a few moments of silence, listening to each person give their opinions on the subject of a map. "Who would be using this map, and for what exact purpose?" he asks thoughtfully, interjecting the question into a smooth lull of the conversation. "If it might be possibly used for between visualizations, or for Threadfall shelters, or any safety-related issue, then it must of course be as accurate as possible. If it's merely to decorate the necessary, then its accuracy is... less important." His voice is mild as he speaks, looking to the apparent creator of the map for an answer to his question.

But Valandys continues along at Ch'dais' side. In an unfamiliar place, his is the only face she knows and though she appears outwardly calm, there is a tightness about her eyes and mouth that hint at discomfort. She engages her hands in pulling her gloves off, a finger at a time, and in the unfastening of the heavy but very old riding jacket wrapped around her frame. "I suppose I should cultivate a klah habit. My mother says it stains the teeth, makes the breath stink though." Such pleasant conversation. She falls silent, ear cocked to those that they pass on the way to the hearth's welcome heat. "...they speak differently here. You as well," she tells the bronzerider at her side, quietly.

Shayandra enters from the bowl outside.
Shayandra has arrived.

Shayandra
     Large cinnamon eyes peak out of a rounded face, too round and light-colored to be exotic, framed by long black eyelashes. The girl's eyebrows are dark and average, not too thick and with a distict break between them, but not especially shapely. Cheekbones surely exist but cannot be seen because of cherubic cheeks, and the snub nose that perches between them would best be described as cute. Her full lips frame a mouth that's just a bit smaller than most, with faint marks showing where dimples will form when she smiles. Her dark brunette hair is just down to her shoulders, wavy enough that it'll never be straight, but nowhere near to reaching beautiful curls.
     Shayandra is average in height, but stockier in build. Generous people would likely call her curves feminine, though she's slightly on the chubby side. Her clothing is well suited to her frame, her embroidered cream tunic fitted around the waist and emphasizing her breasts over a full blue skirt that travels down to her ankles. A slit is cut up one side up to the knee, just enough to show off a bit of muscular calve over the tops of her tan wherhide boots.

The dangerous look that flashes in Magaly's brown eyes, albeit very briefly, suggests Miniyal's tone had better be moderate when directed towards this weyrwoman... be she foreign or native, it matters not. Pride is apparent in Magaly's carriage. But, it's never a good idea to start off offending the residents of one's new, if temporary, home and moreover it's a /terrible/ idea to preempt another's authority. It is with a measured tone that she comments, finality in her voice, to Miniyal, "A suggestion may find an easier way than a demand." Then, the weyrwoman turns to more pleasant conversation: E'sere's. "Magaly," she offers her name, and smiles thinly, "I arrived the night before, but I've already had to run back and forth for the things I keep forgetting to remember."

B'ren chuckles at Miniyal, "Trust me, Miya and I are far better at flaming than we are at drawing maps. You asked for my help," he nods at the map with a smile, "There it is." He smirks at E'sere, catching the dryness in tone and nods. Jerion's question is replied to, "Not visualizing for between, sir. No, it's for anyone going to Ista to know where to go once they get there. 'Where's the Living Cavern' and all that." He gets to his feet, "More wine?" he offers Magaly, "Anyone need anything?" he offers the table in general.

"Maps are a valuable resource. To hang it up here infers that it is considered to be accurate. And it is -not-." Miniyal points towards the map, expression changing from annoyed to sad. "Don't you understand? What if. . .what if someone. It's wrong." A stomp of her foot again and she wipes her sleeve across her nose as she lets out a sniffle. "You can't go showing people stuff that is not correct. It's -lying- to people, it is." Someone with a bit more charisma to them might have fared better, but as Miniyal suddenly realises she's turned into a brief center of attention she ducks her head and mumbles something. The mumble could be anything, one thing it is for sure is her farewell because the doesn't lift her head, just turns, nearly tripping over her feet, and hurries off back the way she came.

Lexine enters from the bowl outside.
Lexine has arrived.

Lexine
     At sixty turns - too old for pretty - Lexine still merits the description of striking. Pale blonde hair, the shade of good champagne now shot through with as much white as blonde, is cut short save for the longer silk-fine bangs that fall around sharp features, brushing at a cleanly angled jaw and austere, chiseled cheekbones. Angular eyes of a startling bright and clear green are framed by deep crow's feet at the corners, wrinkles creeping towards her cheekbones with each new turn. Otherwise, she seems to have only grown more polished with age, skin growing thin and pulling tight over already sharp features. Her lips are thin, though pleasantly curved, suited to smirks and quiet, secret smiles as sharp as the line of a sloped nose.
     Always slender at five feet and five inches tall, that very slightness has been forgiving as she has aged, keeping her from drooping or sagging too much. There's still the wiry strength of a veteran dragonrider in her arms and legs, though aching joints make movements once graceful now a little more stately. She wears simple, elegant clothes suited to High Reaches, a soft sweater of burgundy cashmere wool woven in the pattern of Tillek's Blood belted over a warm, dark grey wool skirt. Close-fitting breeches of black suede fit beneath the skirt, and the knot of the High Reaches senior Weyrwoman rests on her shoulder.

Ch'dais leans in to fetch one of the kettles hanging over the hearth-fire. "It may, at that," he opines, after a moment's consideration. "Fortunately, I can't rightly recall what my teeth looked like before the klah." He flashes his charge the briefest of smiles-- embrowned or otherwise-- then decants a steaming mug of the stuff for himself on a nearby table. "And you'll get used to us, in time. No gift for phrases, but we mean well. Usually." His grey-green eyes go to the maid once more, questioning now, as the kettle's spout hovers above a second mug.

"No, thank you," E'sere declines B'ren's offer, very polite toward the greenrider now. He offers him a brief smile as well, then glances again to Magaly. "Unfortunate, that," he agrees with a nod. "But if it's minor things, I'm sure our storerooms here can supply you, unless you just /want/ to ferry back and forth. Though, perhaps you prefer your own things?" He tilts his head slightly, eyes cutting toward Miniyal as she flees. His expression remains distinctly uninterested in her worries over the accuracy of the map, however.

Only usually? Valandys' gaze drifts to the young woman who's hurrying to exit, the tone of Miniyal's parting words easy enough to make out though she's too far and the cavern too crowded to make out just what was said. Her eyes go even darker as thick black brows draw down over them. Indeed. "Hmm? Oh... thank you, bronzerider." She pulls her focus back to him, forcing her mouth into something that better resembles a sociable smile. "The heat is welcome, at least." While waiting for him to pour, and the mug to be handed over, she shrugs out of the riding jacket and drapes it over one braceleted forearm. "After... do you know if I am meant to register with anyone?"

Lexine sweeps into the caverns with her usual aplomb, practically a force of nature as the crowds make way in her path. Politely, she greets many with easy smiles and gracious nods, stopping regularly on her path to grant personal attention to those arriving or departing from the Caucus. It means it takes her quite some time to get anywhere, but she seems content to make small talk rather than get where she was going, for today at least.

Jerion steps aside to allow Miniyal to flee without interference, being so kind as to ensure his cane is not in the way either. His gaze takes in some late arrivals, and he directs the usual formal respectful nod-thingy to folks like Ch'dais. "I've been to Ista many a time," he remarks as he looks at the map once more. "And when it comes to the core concept of 'this is where things are', this is eminently suitable. It is merely wise to ensure that it is /not/ used for between exercises, and there is no fuss over it," he concludes equably. His eyes once more falls on Ch'dais... or rather the person with him. However, he's far too old and wily to be caught staring once he figures out whom the other is. However, his attention is immediately diverted by the whirlwind named Lexine, and something of a fond smile creases his lips.

Magaly is quick to hand her depleted mug over to B'ren's capable hands. "Oh yes, much appreciated--and you ought to try a mug yourself, the spices are blended just so." With the heat of the map debacle over, Miniyal (though she's now to far gone to see it) is given a considerate look that borders the line of confusion. Such a silly thing to argue over; tourist maps. Momentarily distracted, her brown eyes take in Jerion at last and she offers the man a smile as well as a belated and murmured greeting. New arrivals in the form of Ch'dais and Valandys are briefly studied for signs of familiarity before E'sere once again receives her attention. "Small, personal effects," Magaly grins, "As well as last minute details to finalize, professionally speaking. So long as I can weather that absolute cold of *between*, frivolous trips don't seem so wasteful."

B'ren watches Miniyal leave with a shake of his head as he pours himself and Magaly some mulled wine. "It's not inaccurate," he murmurs. "You land and face north, living caverns are a bit behind and to your right. Ahead is the hatching grounds...it's accurate." Finished with talking to himself - or his green - he gently rubs at his bruised jaw. He nods to Jerion with a bit of a smile for the man, in thanks for seconding the map's accuracy. It couldn't be used for between anyway, it's just a two dimensional line drawing, nothing special. He returns to the table and graciously sets Magaly's mug down before he resumes his seat, silent for the moment.

Shayandra waits for a general lull of conversation in the room before entering, but just misses it and doesn't actually make into the large cavern before the noise level rises again. She sighs to herself, then begins scanning the area, putting a pretty smile on her face. Finally, a destination is chosen as she makes a beeline for a familiar face. "B'ren," she purrs. "Fancy meeting you here. Why don't you introduce me to these nice folk?" she says upon reaching the area with the greenrider. While everyone within reasonable distance gets a glance, Ch'dais and E'sere get longer, more calculating looks.

Ch'dais lowers his head over the second mug and pours, his braids swaying gently above the coarse wood of the tabletop; it's either a minor miracle or an effect of long practice that the maid receives her klah unadorned. "Mm. You'll want to speak to the Headmaster, I expect." His glance shifts briefly to the man in question, then passes on. "And when you've settled, it may do you a turn to pay your respects to the Weyrwoman." A nod of the head goes in Lexine's direction, this time. The big man straightens, takes up his own klah-mug in one gloved hand.

Lexine slowly makes her way through the cavern until she reaches Ch'dais and Valandys at the hearth, a brief, wistful glance given the klah cavern before the focuses on the young woman. New face, Caucus. "Ch'dais," she greets with a small, warm smile, tirelessly maintaining her courtesy. "I see you've taken to helping us with our new arrivals; I do appreciate it." She turns her smile on Valandys next, tilting her head slightly. "Ah. Let me think a moment..." she says, raising one finger. "Your must be Valandys, from Igen?"

"Ah, I see," notes E'sere with a nod. "No, I suppose it's best to make the trips, in that case. Really, it's not too bad--not like you're a holder, begging for a ride back, after all." He shrugs mildly, glancing away from her. The crowd surrounding Lexine gets a brief look, though E'sere doesn't worry long about her as she moves off to talk to the various new Caucus members. Instead, E'sere flicks his gaze to the latest to join the table, offering Shayandra a smile. "Good evening, weyrwoman," he greets her as well.

Jerion looks at the Ista goldrider approaching, and he gives the other a long look of no particular emotion aside from the formal nod. "Weyrwoman," he acknowledges with the polite smile he's expected to give. "Excuse me." Slipping away, he moves carefully toward Lexine and her new party, folding his hands over his cane. "Welcome," he greets Valandys with the exact sort of tone appropriate for her rank.

Valandys' eyes follow the gentle back and forth of the bronzerider's braids, caught somewhere between fascination and concern. She does a masterful job of hiding her relief when the mug finds its way into her hands without being touched by those bristly ends. "Thank you. I suppose that would be a good idea," she says, acknowledging Ch'dais' sound advice with a nod- a nod that leaves her facing the woman in question as she turns while finishing it. She recovers admirably, blinking only once before giving her the same glazed doll's smile she'd offered her escort. "Yes, Weyrwoman. It is an honor, and a privilege to meet you... Ch'dais has been most kind to stay with me, he- ah, thank you, Headmaster."

Magaly nods in polite agreement with E'sere's observation. "Chelinth loves to travel, too," she adds, referencing her lifemate. Sitting back, she drinks deeply of her mulled wine, thanking B'ren with a heavy sigh of satisfaction. As the flow of conversation wans from Magaly's immediate direction, she takes the moment to survey the living caverns more carefully. Of course, she recognizes Lexine--the politics of leadership make any goldrider aware of each Weyr's Senior and junior members. For that matter, Magaly's travelling gaze picks up on Shayandra's arrival to the table with a mote of familiarity. The smile she offers is mild, and quickly dissolved by another round of sips from the mug.

B'ren blinks in mild surprise when he sees Shayandra, "Well hey there," he says with a charming smile, "You've come too, huh? But I'll bet you get to go back." He chuckles, "Well, this is Weyrwoman Magaly of Fort, lover of hot-and-alcoholic drinks and a fine woman if I may say so myself. That is the Caucus Headmaster Jerion, who is growing on me I'll admit. This is Bronzerider and Wingleader E'sere, whose wing I'm hoping to be in or not be in - I have yet to decide." He grins, "That lovely creature over there is the Senior Weyrwoman Lexine, a fine and fair lady who is kind enough not to embarrass me in public, and those two I have not met yet. Everyone, if I may introduce Shayandra of Ista Weyr, rider to Gold Ovelath." Introductions over he takes a long pull of his wine.

Ch'dais offers Lexine a thin smile that would pass for decorous by firelight. "Weyrwoman. Always happy to help." Something less than entirely true, this, but at least the note is amiable. He doesn't give the goldrider a great deal of time to object, either, turning as he does to replace the kettle on its hook above the fire. The bronzerider takes a long pull from his mug, then sets it down and begins the business of removing his own gloves.

"As it is our pleasure to host the best and brightest," Lexine replies easily to Valandys, smile warm and welcoming. "I'm certain you'll do your home proud." She nods her thanks to Ch'dais, then, before turning her attention to Jerion, smile slightly more fixed. "Headmaster, how pleasant to see you. Have you spoken with the Fortian contingent? I believe I saw the Masterharper over by the wine earlier."

Shayandra, as attention begins to move towards her and B'ren introduces her, moves into a position that can be called nothing short of a pose. She tips her head just right to take advantage of the available light and lowers her eyes just enough to suggest at demureness. Magaly and Lexine get regal nods of vague familiarity, Jerion gets another look, longer this time, and then she returns her attention to E'sere, her smile widening just a bit at the bronzerider. "It's very nice to meet you weyrwomen again, and to meet you others for the first time," she says, though she continues to look at E'sere as she speaks. Then, in an aside to the greenrider that's more than a little sour compared to dulcet tones she's been using, she adds sulkily, "I'm not allowed to go back, no, not until it's time for Ovelath to rise."

E'sere adopts a bemused expression at B'ren's words. "Diplomatic of you," he remarks with a smirk. "Lovely creature. You're too flattering." He shakes his head, flicking a quick look over Lexine as she mingles. "Anyway. Yes, E'sere. I hope you're settling into the Weyr, nicely? It's really not /too/ bad, after all," he tells Shayandra, turning back and offering her a smile. Though, he doesn't linger attention on her for very long before giving Magaly another nod. "Well, that's a blessing, then--perhaps she'll enjoy staying here for a time," he suggests to her.

Magaly bursts out with a quick, dry laugh. "My, you are quite the town crier, aren't you, B'ren?" She toasts his thorough litany with a lift of her mug and cracks what is the first full-mouthed smile from her tonight. "Don't ever let a little thing like rank get you down, good sir, you are a noble beast all on your own." With that compliment delivered, the smile begins to fade back into the natural, thin set of her lips. Magaly's gaze studies Shayandra with perhaps a bit too open curiosity, though she speaks to E'sere in return through a murmur that hovers her lips over the crest of the mug of wine, "Oh, certaintly, until the heart of that frozen hell you call winter sets in."

B'ren grins at Shayandra, "Then you're just stuck with me. Again." He gives her a wink. "But this time, /I/ have my own ledge and you're stuck in the barracks." He chuckles and offers her his mug of mulled wine, "Wine?" He grins at E'sere, "I'm learning something by being around all these politicians," he quips. He then bestows a very warm and charming smile on Magaly, dipping his head in a bow, "M'lady Weyrwoman, you flatter me." Then he laughs and nods in full agreement with Magaly, "Aye! I've moved Miyamurath into my own bedroom so she can keep me warm. I'm not looking forward to snow."

The Igenite's smile grows slightly less fragile with Lexine's words, simple pleasantries though they may be. "One hopes, Weyrwoman," Valandys responds in a murmur. Recognizing the goldrider's attention being drawn away, she inclines her head to the pair of Lexine and Jerion before turning herself, back towards Ch'dais. "Did I thank you for bringing me safely?" It's a question prompted by hindsight, one that earns him the same deeper smile she'd given the weyrwoman a moment ago. "And for not shooing me away, into the festivities," she adds, gaze roving the crowds again. There is something in the way she lifts her mug of klah for a careful sip that suggests it's more shield than beverage- a blind from which she can study the weyrfolk.

"My dear Lexine," Jerion answers the Weyrwoman, "the Masterharper is /always/ by the wine." His craft secret told, he smiles, and hearing his name, he looks over his shoulder to spot B'ren. "He would not need yon B'ren's map to find it either," he adds with an amused grin. However, those who know him best will detect a slight edge to his voice when he says that. "As is traditional," he speaks, shifting topic and attention to Valandys, "you get the night to settle in, and then we'll expect you right and early in the morning to assess your strengths and weaknesses, for everyone has them, and properly begin your instruction."

"Now that I've handed you over to the Headmaster's.../tender/ care," Lexine murmurs with wry amusement. "I wish you welcome, Valandys, and luck in your studies." Gathering a mug of klah from a passing tray with unexpected grace, the weyrwoman slips easily away from the current grouping and towards her son, only the most aware likely to catch her grateful roll of her eyes as she takes a sip. "E'sere," she greets as she approaches, smile curving with a more personal warmth. "Hoarding the new arrivals again, I see."

Shayandra glances over at Magaly again when the other goldrider laughs, appraising her for a moment before returning her attention to the wingleader. "Oh, I'm settling in as well as can be supposed. Forgive me, sir, but it /is/ quite a change from Ista," she says, perhaps even putting a bit of honest emotion into her words. "I'm sure I'll find ways to...adjust, though," she continues more slyly before giving B'ren another sour look. "Just my luck, I suppose. You are very good at getting underfoot." Despite her words, she takes the offered wine, her expression turning grateful, and sips at it.

E'sere quirks a brow in response to Megaly's words, offering his own low ones in return. "All the better, then, to cuddle up with lots of blankets in your weyr," he tells her with a smirk and a shrug, before leaning back to regard B'ren and Shayandra. "Precisely," he tells the greenrider, letting the comment on politicians slide by without comment. "A very good i--Mother. I just can't help myself," he tells her, a wistful inflection in his voice. "They're all so fascinatingly new." With a shrug and a grin for Lexine, he casts a quick nod Shayandra's way. "Of course you will. And we of High Reaches will do everything we can to make your stay more pleasant, weyrwoman," he tells her.

B'ren grins at Shayandra as he rises and offers her his chair, "If you all will please excuse me, Miyamurath calls." With a bow the greenrider strides out, much bemused by something or other.

Ch'dais has his gloves off with a few strong tugs; he tosses them down on the table beside his mug. "You did not, Valandys of Igen Hold," he returns, an observation rather than a reproach. "But I'll assume that you prefer this to the alternative." Another vague smile goes the Igenite's way, and then he's working loose his broad riding belt. Of the festivities he says nothing, so far politic at least as to withold any personal opinion he might have while in the Headmaster's presence. After too long a pause, the man dredges up, "I wish you the best of luck in your studies here." It's the sort of thing one might write at the bottom of a letter.

B'ren passes into the tunnel that leads to the bowl.
B'ren has left.

"I give you thanks then, Ch'dais of High Reaches. You are a very poor liar," the woman informs the bronzerider, allowing a glint of humour to show through. But then, having mistaken being handed off for a loss of attention, Valandys seems startled to find herself once more to be Jerion's focus. "Ah, my apologizes, Headmaster. I had thought that the Weyrwoman and you were otherwise engaged. Thank you, Weyrwoman." It takes another moment after that for her to run what was said back over the canvas of her memory. One night, and then an early morning. "Of course," she then continues. "I am accustomed to rising early but unfortunately, early in Igen is not the same as early in High Reaches. I will do my best not to be tardy, or tedious with my weaknesses."

"The Caucus barracks are kept stocked with Crom coal throughout the winter for warmth, thanks to an agreement made at its formation," Lexine assures Shayandra with a touch of amusement. "It wouldn't do for us to allow our tropical flowers to wilt in the chill of Reaches winters." She reaches up to try to ruffle fondly at E'sere's hair, likely expecting him to move away. "And you, my dear, try not to monopolize them. There are more than just goldriders joining us today."

Shayandra flicks her hand at B'ren in a gesture that might be a wave or simply a dismissal of something annoying, then settles down into the chair he vacated. Lexine is given a bright, if rather vacant smile. "Oh, he's just being very kind in welcoming us newcomers, Weyrwoman. And that's a relief!" she says brightly before sneaking a glance at the wingleader again. "I might just have to take you up on that," she smirks.

Jerion smiles with something of amusement. "Given the differences in time," he answers Valandys with his voice properly controlled for her rank, "you will get to sleep in a little. I suggest you use those hours to your advantage," he adds, his eyes falling on Shayandra for a few moments, and once more, his pokerface erupts. "And given the temperature difference, you'll find plenty of warm furs have been allocated. We are well used to the needs of those from hotter areas." He gestures to where the caucus areas are found off the cavern. "We're over there. I'm sure you'll quickly learn your way," he adds kindly.

E'sere, indeed, pulls away from Lexine's hand as she starts to ruffle his hair, immediately reaching up to rake his fingers through it. "Must you do that?" he whines good-naturedly. "You'll mess it all up, and I'll lose my horde of admirers." He smirks up at her for a moment before directing that expression at Shayandra. "I'd be most happy to show you around anytime I'm free, weyrwoman," he tells her, his words quite proper, even if the tone is not.

"You offend me, young miss," Ch'dais returns, in a tone that sounds not the least offended. "I happen to be a fine liar." There's a sparkle like sunlight in seawater as he watches Valandys from the corner of his eye, and then the burly figure half-turns from her conversation with the Headmaster. He frees his riding belt, drapes it casually over one shoulder. Next comes the klah mug, grasped and lifted for a longer, more luxurious sip.

Lexine smirks faintly at E'sere, almost mischievous as she lifts her mug for a sip. "I'm afraid I can't tell the difference between when you have it arranged your way and when it's been ruffled. Disadvantages of letting you be raised here, I'm afraid." Chuckling softly, she turns her attention on Shayandra. "Shayandra of Ista, I assume. I hope your Ovelath is settling in well?"

Valandys inclines her head to Jerion, the gesture rich with respect. "I will sleep soon, and well, I think. Thank you, Headmaster." The information about the furs is greeted with another version of her polite smile, as if she were reluctant to admit to a need for them. Instead a second nod is given. Silent acknowledgement, before the conversation turns to directions. "I have been fortunate in my guide so far... you have met bronzerider Ch'dais? Once I have finished my klah, perhaps I'll go exploring," she adds, looking down the beverage in question. One sip has been had, and the rest is cooling, untouched.

Shayandra lowers her eyes and flutters her eyelashes just a bit. "Oh, no, sir, I couldn't possibly take up your time like that," is what she says, though her tone sounds more like, "I'll take you up on that anytime." She looks suitably innocent when she looks up at Lexine, though, sipping at her own mug. "You honor me by recognizing me, ma'am. Ovelath is settling in just fine," she says simply, words matching tone this time.

"There's an art," E'sere notes, "to mussing it just so." He demonstrates: his 'art' seems to consist more of rubbing a hand through it, then smoothing out any pieces that stick out too much or are obviously tangled. "Much better. And--well, if you insist," he adds to Shayandra, rather blandly. "So, Mother, how has your day been? Not too stressful, I hope?" he asks of Lexine, turning back to her.

Jerion smiles rather easily. "I have met a great number of people," the headmaster answers Valandys' question cheerfully enough. "And despite his deplorable lack of manners, I trust he is a suitable escort until it's time for you to retire." And then his eyes go to Ch'dais, and there's an intent aspect to them. Or else, might be inferred, although the smile on his face successfully achieves the state of blandness. "I fear I have a veritable mound of hidework to do yet tonight, so I'll leave you to it. Clear skies, both of you." And then he tap, tap, taps away, his cane presaging his exit from the living cavern, stopping briefly for idle chatter along the way.

Lexine chuckles quietly at E'sere, shaking her head slightly. "It's been as it has this time of the turn for the last ten turns. Thankfully, it's almost finished now. Shayandra, don't let him take advantage of you," she adds to the other goldrider, smile wry.

Shayandra titters at E'sere's demonstration, sounding as there's not an ounce of brains in her skull. "You're quite the experienced musser, Wingleader," she says, rather than responding to his bland reply to her less-than-forceful protest. The Weyrwoman is giving an innocent look, and then she laughs again. "Oh, I'm sure a bronzerider wonderful enough to be wingleader wouldn't take advantage of little ol' me," she chirps brightly.

Ch'dais hunches up his shoulders, just a tad, when Valandys draws him back into the conversation; still, he turns again towards Headmaster and student with a determinedly blithe smile. "Good evening, Headmaster," he calls, gesturing a hearty farewell as the other man makes his exit. "I'll take good care of her." Then, leaning towards Valandys with a tangled fall of auburn braids and hair, he confides softly, "The man loves me. You can see it in his back."

"Thank you, Headmaster," Valandys repeats again- she clings to these pleasantries as she does to the mug of klah, another blind made of words- smiling at the older man until his back is presented. "I am certain he will be... although I hesitate to monopolize what I realize must be a rare moment of free time, bronzerider. Much as I appreciate your escort and your... ah... honest view of the world." The klah becomes useful again, used to diguise her need to bite her lower lip, to keep from chuckling at the quiet exchange. She is struggling to find a reply that doesn't encourage the man. "Perhaps I should find the caucus areas he mentioned. I don't wish to keep you from time spent with more esteemed company."

E'sere nods toward Lexine, his smile wry agreement. "Ah, of course. Quite busy right now," he agrees with her, before shaking his head. "You think so little of me," he tsks, apparently crestfallen at his mother's words. "I'm hurt, really I am. At least /you/ have faith in me still." He offers Shayandra a charming smile, relieved by her reassurance. "And thank you--it's the turns of practice, you see." Proudly, he brushes a few longer strands of his hair aside, completing his look.

Lexine just shakes her head, smile amused. "Careful, E'sere, or I'll find your foster mother and send her after you with a comb," she warns, settling for a pat on his forearm before she turns to Shayandra. "I bid you welcome, Shayandra, and wish you luck in your studies," she concludes with a warm smile, taking her drink and moving on.

Shayandra returns E'sere's charming smile with one of her own, thought with a hint of amusement visible in the set of her eyes. "Very impressive! I'm sure few have such skill," she coos. This statement is a bit much even for her, though, and just a hint of sarcasm manages to make it into her tone. Then, with Lexine's leavetaking, she manages to get control of herself again enough to give the Weyrwoman a bright, bubbly, empty-headed farewell. "Thank you very much, ma'am!"

Ch'dais smiles faintly, his stubbled beard wreathed in steam as he lifts his mug to his lips. "The esteemed company has all the esteem it can well manage, I think," he muses, casting a good-humored glance across the cavern at E'sere's table. Then more seriously, "You head on down that way--" a hand on Valandys' shoulder orients her towards the appropriate tunnel-- "and I'll join you once I've had your things off of Arinth. We'll see you to the barracks at any rate; I'd never break a promise to the Headmaster." The note of sincerity in this last is spot-on.

Valandys, who had been sincere in her remark about other company, seems bemused when the chance to escape isn't taken. "Such opportunities should not be missed," she counsels Ch'dais, following his glance at that table with her own. Perhaps it's impertinent, but the combination of growing weariness and the warmth of the cavern, after the cold of *between* and outside, softens that stiff exterior. "But I do appreciate that kindness." The near-full mug is set down, freeing her to struggle back into the heavy jacket and oversized gloves. Then she's off towards the indicated tunnel, inclining her head to those that catch her eye on the way out.

"You wouldn't!" Horror strikes E'sere, and he keeps one hand on his hair protectively. "She'd bring scissors, too--you know how she is." He relaxes, though, as Lexine pats his arm and moves away. "Good night, Mother," he tells her. As the Weyrwoman moves away, E'sere relaxes, leaning back in his chair and folding arms over his chest. He regards Shayandra with an amused half-smile, shaking his head slowly. "I'm sure," he agrees simply after a moment.

Valandys passes into the tunnel that leads to the bowl.
Valandys has left.

Lexine takes her reprieve towards the kitchen door, under the guise of making certain that everything is properly in order. In point of fact, she takes a moment to actually enjoy her klah behind the screen of drudges going in and out.

Jerion heads up the long tunnel that leads to the upper caverns.
Jerion has left.

Ch'dais takes the time to drain his mug, to let his gaze wander lazily over the evening bustle. At last, abandoning the empty vessel on the table, he takes up his gloves and heads for the nighttime chill of the bowl-- off, no doubt, to disburden Arinth of the Igen visitor's satchel.

Ch'dais passes into the tunnel that leads to the bowl.
Ch'dais has left.

Shayandra doesn't quite manage to muffle her true laugh at amusement at E'sere's horror and protectiveness over his hair, but tries to hide it by directing her attention momentarily to her cup of wine. She sips at it for a few moments, then, her composure recovered, she gives E'sere a coquettish smile. "I suppose I should leave you to your duties, busy Wingleader," she says, feigning sorrow at such a thought.

E'sere eyes Shayandra, his expression wry as she laughs at him, though there's no anger in the expression. "Perhaps you should," he begins, "but you certainly don't have to. I appreciate the company, actually." He pauses, inserting a mild shrug between his words. "And--" he adds, pausing again for effect "--and I'm free for the rest of the night, actually. My duties can wait until morning. Perhaps you need some help settling in further? Moving your things, perhaps?" He arches a questioning brow.

Still hiding herself out, Lexine slips into the kitchen when she sees Fort's Lord headed her way. Not without finishing her klah, she isn't.

Lexine makes their way into the hustle and bustle of the Weyr's kitchens.
Lexine has left.

Shayandra's returning smile is almost a smirk, any lost confidence regained as the bronzerider starts to play the game right. She flutters her eyelashes and strives to look demure again before she answers. "Oh, sir, that is so very kind of you. If all of High Reaches is as thoughtful as you, I'm sure I'll find myself at home very soon. I do have some things I could use some help with if such a thing isn't beneath you," she purrs.

"Never let it be said that High Reaches doesn't make its guests at home," E'sere tells Shayandra. "I'd be happy to help you out, of course." Standing, he offers an arm chivalrously to the goldrider before starting to make his exit.

Shayandra nods, then takes a few moments to finish her wine before deliberately setting the mug on the table and gracefully rising. She takes the offered arm and smiles up at the bronzerider before saying, "Shall we then, sir?"

"We shall," agrees E'sere with a slight nod, heading for the door with Shayandra on his arm.