Dignitaries say hello. And do a wee bit of gossiping.
Who: Coren (NPC), Issa, Kazimir (NPC), Lexine (NPC), Miniyal, Reyce, Roa, R'vain
Where: Living caven
When: Late afternoon on day 2, month 12, turn 3 of the 7th pass.
What: The Caucus anniversary celebration kicks off with a welcome to the weyr social.
6/7/2007
At High Reaches Weyr, it is late afternoon on day 2, month 12, turn 3 of the 7th Pass.
While the last couple of days have seen people arriving for the celebration of the Caucus' tenth anniversary this afternoon appears to be the day everyone is expected to be here by. A little reception has been arranged in the living cavern. Nothing fancy really, but there doesn't need to be fancy things to get the point across what with all the important people now mingling together. Weyr residents venture in and some remain, but many of them sneak to the food tables and then see themselves back out. The conversations range from the weather to the latest gossip to all the news that has come out of High Reaches lately. Near the fire a string quartet plays quiet music. The kind meant to travel under conversation and not deter it.
In the cavern crowded with dignitaries, Reyce has found a rarity: a table that's not yet full. Somewhat near the back, granted, but away from the entrance and the cold winter weather it brings. Issa is absent, or else has undergone some dramatic changes, for the only person with him is a man about his age, somewhat similar in appearance but not at all in nature. The man - whom some will recognize as Coren, Reyce's half-brother and more importantly one of the Benden Bloods - is actually /cheerful/. His laughter pipes up briefly, carrying across the crowded cavern, but he quickly quiets to answer whatever it was Reyce said.
It is, quite possibly, the last place one would imagine Miniyal being. After all, any sort of event celebrating the institution she wishes would go away and never come back is hardly somewhere she is likely to have a good time. And still, she comes in from the bowl raking fingers through her hair in some vague attempt to get it to appear as if someone didn't just hack it off. Which someone did. Once she's out of the way of anyone else trying to come inside she pauses to get her bearings. Or at least to look around and figure out where anyone she most definitely wants to avoid might be. Then she considers the table where the food and wine are at. Not that she might go for the latter. Nope.
The youngest of the Nabolian brood are all present, the last four brothers of the erstwhile Lord Odern. Sakher, of course, is splendidly dressed for the occasion--never mind it's not 'fancy'--and he gives his two older brothers (the eldest of them, Zanjian, graduated as part of the first Caucus class) and one younger sister a tour. There's quite the family resemblance amongst them, in looks, in their bright and fashionable dress, and in the cheerful, noisily light-hearted demeanor they cast, all chattering as Sakher leads them around and introduces various friends to them, and as all of them catch up to old acquaintances: between them, they seem to know almost everyone--or at least everyone worth knowing.
Neatly dressed but fidgeting with her clothes all the same, Issa resurfaces from somewhere in the lower caverns, pregnant as ever and unchanged indeed. Once her tunic is settled satisfactorily, her hands move to her hair, tucking a strayed curl back into her low-lying bun. Buffeted by a few milling people, she hesitates halfway between her seat and the food tables, deciding a second later to head for the latter. A hand falls to her belly as she weaves heavily through the people, as if she could hold it in, make it a smaller obstacle for others to dodge. In the end she just ends up sidling past a pair of cooing ladies from High Reaches Hold, smiling indulgently at their praises, until she finally reaches her goal and her expression drops subtly into annoyance as she bends over the trays laid out. A plate is slowly filled with an abundance of fingerfoods, each picked gingerly from the rest.
There are plenty of ladies to coo over the pregnant Issa. One of them at the table near her doesn't quite go so far as to pat the pregnant belly, but she comes awful close. Before she's led away by a man, presumably her husband. Some of the older esteemed visitors have congregated around the fire, listening to the music and soaking up the heat into old bones.
Despite the perfect opportunity for mingling, the Bendenites stay put. Most likely because of Reyce's noted dislike for these sorts of things; Coren is usually more outgoing at these sorts of things. As it stands, he has to settle for just hallo'ing folks as they walk past, and the most recent victim is one of Anshuman's sons, Yanesh. A bookish lad who graduated from the Caucus some time ago, Yanesh flits a smile at Coren and ducks his brother - apparently a new face to him - a deft bow. Murmurs are exchanged across the table, hands are shaken, but Yanesh makes polite apologies and dutifully continues to circulate. His path takes him near Sakher's little bundle, though he's stopped along the way by an effusive Seacraft Journeyman.
Rather than move once she's considered the relative location of everyone Miniyal decides to sort of remain where she is. Not quite out of the way, but not in any way encouraging people to converse with her. Even still, she can't duck all the attention that comes her way and so she just does her best to ignore it. Lalala. No weyrling weyrwoman is present. This is not the person you are looking for.
The Masterharper arrives, today, without the attendance of apprentices or even the other dignitaries with whom he somewhat regularly makes appearances: the Mastersmith has so far not appeared, nor Lord Tillek, who is hardly even expected by those most in the know. But Kazimir does arrive with someone trailing behind him, a lad from the stables who's holding the master's coat with an air of dazed disorientation. After a few paces in the Harper turns around, heaving a put-upon sigh, and says, "Over there." One aged hand lifts a finger to point to hooks and racks where garments may be hung. There is an exchange of some fraction of a mark and the boy dashes that way, leaving Kazimir to finger-comb his disorganized hair and pat down his clothes to smooth them, or brush off dust. He wears, to this supposedly quiet event, trousers. A long-sleeved shirt buttoned up. A vest. And riding boots. These do something not altogether bad for his height.
Near the wine a master vintner expounds on the various high and low points of the offerings at this little gathering. The only ones really listening are a pair of young girls here visiting with an older cousin attending Caucus on behalf of the farmcraft. Most of the others who come to look over the bottles and skins just ignore the man who is over sampling everything already.
Issa flashes a bright smile at the lady who would touch her belly, but her eyes are snapping with a syrupy dislike. When the offending woman is dragged away, Issa concludes her grazing quickly, stepping aside to eye enviously the wine array while scooping up three small mugs of punch by the handles. Any unwanted attention is thoroughly ignored as she makes her way toward the back again as she maintains a not entirely feigned preoccupation with the arrival of the Masterharper. She doesn't stare, but merely flicks several interested glances his way, of the same examining sort she begrudged earlier when they were directed at her belly. "I brought back refreshments," she announces as she edges up to the section of table belonging to Reyce and his brother. The plate and cups are deftly slid onto the tabletop while she nods in the general area of the entrance. "Kazimir's arrived, did you see?" she asks, eyes turned first on Reyce before she turns to include Coren as well.
What appears to be rather disapproving parents watch as a young woman brings a young man forward to introduce them. The young man, someone's distant cousin, swallows heavily with obvious fear. He maintains a distance from the young woman who brought him forth and she looks with some exasperation from young man to parents.
"Issa, you're a marvel," Coren says, playing up the exaggeration with the cheesiest grin in his repertoire. There is genuine appreciation for the thought, though, and he swoops up his glass of punch for a quick drink while heartlessly abandoning Reyce to make his own answer. "Saw," he confirms, shifting aside a bit. There's plenty of room for Issa to sit next to him, anyway, but this way seems more inviting. He lets his drink wait and lifts an arm up to scoop her in. "By himself," he remarks, glancing at the well-dressed harper. "Mastersmith's not here. Saw Tillek's son, that's it." "Yanesh," Coren reminds him, stopping his drink to be mildly reproachful. "I don't think his father is coming," the other Bendenite muses as he reaches out to see what finger foods Issa has assembled.
It takes him a while to disentangle himself from the effusive seacraft, and when he does Yanesh appears - for a moment - visibly relieved. Duty demands that he not ignore the crowd entirely, ever, but he can at least seek out a less demanding companion (or perhaps that's just wishful thinking), and his eyes eventually alight on one quiet but well-ranked young woman hanging at the back. That would be Miniyal, to whom Yanesh offers another of his well-executed, but awkwardly swift bows as he arrives in front of her. "Weyrwoman, my respects. I am -" his hand flexes at his side, a nervous habit obviously quashed - "Yanesh, son of Lord Anshuman."
There are a handful of people to whom the Masterharper is immediately obliged to make hellos. Harpers posted to instruct at Caucus slip free of their circles of conversation and form a new one around their craftmaster, but Kazimir is not a verbose casual speaker and after a few words of approval for this or that of his masters, he remarks to them that he will be trying to speak to each of them in turn about their classes 'here at High Reaches' while he's visiting the weyr - and, having dropped that little bomb, Kazimir goes in search of something to hold in his hand and forget to drink.
Is it so hard to go unnoticed? Apparently so. Well, it's not like any of the weyr's leaders bothered to show. Damn them. It would serve them right if Miniyal caused some kind of disturbance. However, she makes no move to do that at all. Instead she turns a carefully, if politely so, neutral gaze upon the intrusion. "Ah, it's nice to see you, Yanesh. I hope your father is well?" Pausing a moment her head tilts to the side. "If you're looking for an out of the way spot the one near the kitchen door is best. A lot of movement by those working and few people willing to risk a cook's ire by being in the way just to be social."
Conversation near to where the Blood of Benden sits drifts ever so momentarily to the fact that one of them has knocked up one of the riders here. Yes, that one sitting with them. Really. Female voices drop to speculate on if the bastard will see to his own and what whomever is chosen for his future wife will think of it.
Lexine breezes into the cavern, a rich gown of deep gold and white fur as fine as her garb ever was in her heyday. If she isn't nearly so imposing as she used to be, she still pauses here and there to make tiny adjustments. A tablecloth here, the set of a glowshield there, all the details are scrutinized and settled before she accepts a chilly glass of Tillek white to survey the people.
Caught. Yanesh pulls back his lips: it's meant to be a smile, it even shows some teeth, but it doesn't make it there. "He's doing very well, yes. Thank you. And your Peloth?" No surprise the bookworm already has the weyrling queen's name memorized. After he's spoken, he trails his gaze to the side to watch his aunt breezing by. "Thanks," he adds to Miniyal in an undertone, carefully pitched so it won't carry past her ears. "But I prefer being out here." It's a lie, but it's delivered with determination and a peppy smile that would make it just heartbreaking to contradict. Really.
Kazimir is not so far yet from the drinks himself, having just found someone to put a glass into his hand so he can commence ignoring it while listening to other people talk, and having not yet been resurrounded by those of his harpers posted at Caucus to teach, he steps up beside the former weyrwoman High Reaches. With the riding boots, he's almost her measure of height. "Weyrwoman," he remarks in his small and creaky voice, for that title, at least, will presumably be always hers. "Do you approve?"
"Of course," is Miniyal's reply. "Yes, me too. I enjoy being out here so much." A trace, the slightest little trace, of sarcasm slips out. But she gives her head a shake to clear it. "Peloth is well, thank you for inquiring." Her gaze slips past him to tour the room. Once more she eyes the tables and more importantly the wine, but while she might have gone there something once more keeps her away. Clearing her throat she casts about for some topic, looking about the room for inspiration. "I think people would have preferred if they had started the Caucus in the spring or summer. Winters here, even in the early stages, tend to be disagreeable." The weather, yes, safe.
"Masterharper," Lexine greets with a warm smile, leaning over to brush an air-kiss along the man's cheek. "Such a pleasure when you stop by." She sips again, gaze raking in momentary sharpness over the arrangements. "And yes," she admits with a soft sigh. "Much to my dismay," she drawls, wry, "I must say I approve. I almost feel as though I may have done my job well enough to leave off for a bit. A very strange feeling, and one I don't advise, really."
"Yes, I know," Issa counters Coren, a sweet smile furnished for the cheesy grin she's given. She has an ear cocked back over her shoulder as she slides easily into the spot Reyce has created for her, and whatever it picks up turns the corner of her smile higher with wry amusement before the Bendenites' observations bring her back into the conversation. "Is he sick or something, do you know?" Issa asks Coren for the observation he's made of Anshuman. Her gaze falls elsewhere though, ravenously observing the mess of important people; Kazimir gets the lions share of her glances, and when he sweeps up to Lexine she gives them a little point, the gesture devolving into a grab for one of the sour relish-laden crackers on the plate. "Haven't seen any of the Weyrleaders out," she notes, reminded by the junior weyrwoman's presence, a small, lurking sense of disapproval in her tone.
Bustling out of the kitchen a few whispering girls check the platters and carry off those that are empty or nearly so. Then they vanish into the busy kitchen where they will bring replacements from in no time.
Kazimir endures the air-kiss with his usual inscrutable charm: a blank look followed by a quick smile, then looking away, keeping the crowd in his weathered regard. But then, there is no shortage of reasons the Masterharper and High Reaches' former weyrwoman might not maintain eye contact. "It's a feeling I don't think I'm at any risk of having any time soon," he confesses to Lexine, his hand absently tilting his wineglass so the liquid within swirls. "And how does the new administration of Caucus suit you?"
"Ah, well," Lexine muses to Kazimir. "He does take quite the hand in the lives of the students, from everything I've seen. Blessedly, he's far less pompous than the last one." She casts a sidelong smile toward the Masterharper, wry. "There seems to be a true changing of the guard these days, though. Myself, Gans. Even my nephew," she muses, though a brief grimace crosses her features at that.
Coren already has one of those crackers, and he tilts it towards Issa in a display of approval for her good sense. "It's all about the show, Issa," he answers her disapproval, giving his cracker-bearing hand a vague wave towards the entrance. "It crescendos." Then he has to be silent for a bit while he crunches his cracker. Reyce has been somewhat distracted by the murmurings behind him, muscles bunching in his shoulders, but he brings himself back to participate just a little bit. "Been sick." Coren, forgetting his cracker, shoves it to the side of his mouth and lifts his brows. "Really?" Reyce shrugs. Coren considers him a bit, then chews down the rest of his cracker so he can smile without showing off his chewed-up snacks. "I was just guessing," he admits. "He was old buddies with your Ganathon," and he lifts his hand upside down, an automatically proferred apology for his ignorance of whatever name the ex-Weyrleader was going by. "Awkward questions, I would think."
"That hand," says the Masterharper, then is inexplicably and greatly reminded of his wine; maybe the swirling of it caught his attention. What he might have had to say about Sefton is waylaid in favor of glancing edgily over at the weyrwoman in all her finery, watery eyes suddenly sharp. "Your nephew misstepped. Weyrwoman, will you pardon me?" But she -must- pardon him, for Kazimir executes a quick little awkward bow and trods off into the crowd, clearly searching for someone and willing to risk being swamped by people along the way.
"Quite," Lexine murmurs to Kazimir, caught in the middle of a sip at her wine when the little man slips off. A brief smile tracks his wake, and the former weyrwoman returns to her pattern of tiny adjustments, pausing to inspect the vintages at the wine table.
The vintner by the wine allows one of the more impressionable young women at the little party to lead him away. As they go to find a quiet spot to talk he is expounding on the proper way to drink the vintage they currently enjoy. As they pass by a group of young men there is much elbow to the ribs and pointing at the girl.
Weather is indeed safe, unless you are talking to a nerd who will consider your question seriously and answer it kind. "But if they had started Caucus in the spring or summer, the students would then have to start their studies when the weather's good and they'd rather be outside," Yanesh reflects. "I think winter lends itself nicely to scholarship, though, precisely because it's unappealing. There's little else to do and reading helps keep one occupied productively."
A small group of former graduates have gathered at a table of their own. Their conversation discusses the way the weyr seems different than when they were around. There are some unfavorable remarks about a certain weyrleader who held a different position when they were students. Redheads do make impressions.
At the doorway comes another pair, a bit difficult to dismiss due to one of the person's impressive height, vibrant red hair, and generally predatory sort of smile. On the Weyrleader's arm is the Weyrwoman, though her own stature is impressive only via the generous bulge her midsection has become. They take the stairs together, Roa using a bit of R'vain's weight to help navigate steps that were fairly easy to hurry down some months ago. Once they reach the proper floor of the Living Cavern, R'vain glances down towards his Weyrwoman. She slides her grip away from his arm and offers a faint smile which seems to count as a release of sorts. The Weyrleader heads over to gather a few bites to eat, and then to move through the crowd. Roa keeps away from the food for now, her dark blue gaze moving through the people present before she does.
As the new guard arrives, the old guard fades away into the background. Lexine busies herself with the details of keeping a party running smoothly, leaving the politics and duties of greetings and polite conversation to the new Weyrwoman. Lucky, lucky Roa.
A hand on the table supports Issa as she shifts a bit uncomfortably in her seat, a move that presses her thigh more tightly to Reyce's and lets her lean further into the conversation. Which she adds to as soon as she's swallowed her dainty bite. "I thought I'd heard," she comments, of Anshuman, then pointing the rest of her cracker at Coren, "though I don't doubt that factored. I imagine it hit him harder than most." Light speculation for such a heavy and recent subject, and she shrugs it off, unwilling to delve into the unsavory at the moment. "Ah, there we go. Crescendo indeed," she remarks on catching sight, along with the rest of the cavern, of the Weyrleader pair now entering the hubbub, though her voice hasn't really lost the touch of disfavor for the fashionably late duo. She turns from watching them as soon as they split, instead returning to tracking the odd dignitary or two as she snags another cracker and pulls her punch closer.
This is where the weyrling bites down on her tongue. Yep. Not saying a word. While it might be the perfect time to comment on the scholarship or lack there of that exists amongst students Miniyal just shakes her head. "I would not know, I fear. The weather never determined the course of my own studies." This is her trying to behave. It means there's not much she can say, alas.
Having delivered his opinion on the matter, Yanesh keeps a polite smile ready (it has to be his default, for events such as this), but when it's his turn to speak again he clears his throat. "Ah, no, I imagine you are accustomed to the weather anyway. Excuse me, weyrwoman, I ought to catch my aunt a moment." Another bow, this one executeed as he makes his retreat back into the crowd. Must keep being social; it is his task.
Yanesh's route takes him, by chance, past the Masterharper; the latter excuses himself with an absent-minded greeting and keeps moving so as not to hinder the young man from Tillek in his social endeavours. Kazimir catches, no doubt, a glimpse of Miniyal - he might even have been aimed for her. But the rousing of the crowd gains his attention and Kazimir turns around, looking toward the source of the sound. Sources. He watches the tall redheaded one move into the crowd, his greying and tangled brows pulling inward, then starts at an unusually brisk pace for the smaller, pregnant-er member of the weyrleaders instead.
Coren brings his hands together and flops them out, executing a lazy little flourish. "Ta-dah," he says, his predicted crescendo dutifully accomplished by the Weyrleaders. His eyes follow both of them around a bit, jumping across the room when necessary, while his brother remains grounded in his immediate locale. Reyce reaches out to snag a cracker, tossing a thin square of cheese on top of it. "You get your nap?" he asks Issa quietly. Very quietly, for Coren's right across the table and he clearly doesn't hear Reyce at all. "I always forgot how small the Weyrwoman is. Makes for a good tactic," he concedes with a note of dry humor, "since it means I can't for the life of me spy on her in this crowd."
It's not as if Miniyal were pleased to converse so she allows Yanesh to go with some quietly murmured farewell. Then she leaves her place nearish the wall and begins her trek towards the table where the wine is by a rather roundabout way. Not where she is headed at all. At all. Or maybe she saw the giant red one and the big bellied one arrive and figures she can escape now.
The arrival of the weyrleader and senior weyrwoman quiets some of the talks in the room. Others continue on and a few people seem to be breaking free to approach either of them. There are questions, of course, that simply must be asked.
A few of those questions are answered by the weyrwoman with nods or murmurs or, once, a joke. But then the Masterharper appears at a rather spry pace and Roa blinks up at him, offering a small smile. "Masterharper, good evening. How pleasant to see you again." She shifts her weight a little from one foot to the other.
The magic of social events is that there are women who seem to feel or understand that they're essentially obliged to flirt with the Weyrleader if he flirts first. And he does. But there comes a moment when one of the women with whom he's conversing asks him if he wouldn't like to get them all drinks, and while R'vain is gracious enough (after a moment's silent start) in inviting the ladies to go visit the wine table, his efforts to defy any of them that might want to bring him a glass are met with giggles. Giggles can't be trusted, so the redhead prowls off through a small cluster of Caucus-student bronzeriders, trying to get around the people gathered by the wine on his way toward whomever his next target might be.
Issa nods for Reyce while nibbling on the end of a quiche-like tart, using it to block her smile and her words from the outside world as she mutters back, "Wish I'd gotten it with you there, though." And though that might have meant less sleep for her, the hand that creeps over onto his thigh suggests she'd have been okay with that. Her hand stays, but she diverts her attention to Coren a moment later, commenting, "I doubt she's been able to move much. She isn't able to duck through as easily as she once was." Her eyes drift in the direction of the spot the Weyrwoman was last spotted while she swallows down another tiny bite of that tiny quiche. "You want to find her for any particular reason?" she asks, casually curious. A quick scan proves the Masterharper and Weyrleader unfindable as well, so she turns instead to focus on her food and the Bendenites close at hand.
An insistent looking older couple seem bent on intercepting Roa, but they fall back when they see the Masterharper there. Clearly, whatever they wish to speak about, or possibly complain about judging by their expressions, will wait.
The greenrider at their table is not the only one who focuses on those Bendenites. The whole table gets looks, whispers, and a few of the less mannerly even point as they whisper. Never quite loud enough for exact words to be heard, but enough to make it clear they are being spoken about.
Circuitous routes have the problem of bringing one near those they might otherwise not have wished to be by. And so Miniyal's path takes her past where the weyrleader flees those giggling caucus girls. Well, that is his own fault, isn't it? Yes! Still, while she notices him she does her best to not be noticed by him. Really, there are more interesting people to be noticed after all. She just wants a drink.
"Weyrwoman," replies Kazimir, offering a small bow to match Roa's small smile. "What a pleasant occasion for us to meet again." Pleasant as the occasion may be, the Harper with his forgotten wine in his absent-minded hand does not seem to be overly thrilled; what energy exudes from him should be blamed on the opportunity to have taken his own means of transportation for once. "Are there seats? It seems like there should be."
"I imagine so," the weyrwoman replies, her hands clasping lightly behind her back, "They're most likely near the tables. Shall we?" She turns to weave her waya round a few more people, spotting a few chairs that are not yet claimed and ehading over to them. She stands, one hand resting on the back of each of two chairs as she waits for Kazimir to join her.
Although he receives the tip with a nod and half a smile, Coren abandons his spying. "Simple curiosity," he answers, unconsciously voicing Issa's mood. "The way one gawps at ranking personages," is added with a bit of mimed bashfulness, Coren turning his eyes down to the punch he holds. His grin breaks the delusion, in case there was anyone fooled, but that too is washed away as he decides to take a drink. Reyce slides his hand down to meet Issa's, grasping it on his thigh - and since Coren has proved time and time again that he won't bother to take notice, Reyce isn't bothering to be subtle about it. Nevermind the gossipers who may pass behind him now and then.
"Min'yal." Hopes of being unnoticed, dashed. "C'mere." Hopes of getting a drink, also dashed-- for the Weyrleader's not getting any closer to those tables. He gestures a quick, one-pawed 'come along' and starts toward the ones that offer finger food instead. Maybe there's sweets!
Ignoring the gossipers only encourages them, of course. A few of the groups are quieted when more dignified people arrive to speak of more important things than what person is sleeping with what other person. Whispers come up every now and again about that girl bluerider and does anyone think she'll be out and about. She is something of a curious freak of nature and plenty of people would love to get a look at her after all.
Kazimir attends the weyrwoman with the awkward grace of a cattleman, not that he is ever particularly invested in exuding the grace of a harper. He comes to her side and puts his own hand down on the back of one of the chairs beside hers, looking sideways at Roa with a pointed look. A, 'let go of this chair so I can seat you in it,' look. "How's your weyrmate looking forward to getting no sleep?"
She could pretend to not have heard. It wouldn't be so hard to pretend she was unable to hear her name. Even though the conversations are not loud. However, she can always use him to deflect others. Or something. So Miniyal lets out a sigh. "You're not the boss of me," gets mumbled to the weyrleader's back. Still, she follows. Trying to behave. She'll regret it.
Roa's hand recedes as bidden, though Kazimir also gets a small smirk for that very pointed look. "He's quite enthused. Well, perhaps not about the lack of sleep, but the rest of it." She settles awkwardly into the chair once it's slid out. "I suppose it's evident what I've been up to, sir." She glances down at her belly and up again at the Harper. "What have you been filling your own time with?"
"Y'right, I ain't," R'vain says, perfectly content to be sassed back by their most junior weyrwoman. He stops by the food table and looks back over his shoulder to be sure of Miniyal's attendance with him, then simply waits until his looming figure causes an empty spot to be available by the piles of plates so he can step in and collect one. "But I'm th'boss of enough that it befits a weyrwoman t'humor me. Thanks f'bein' fitting." He snares a handful of tiny cubes of cheese and puts them on his plate. "You can't drink y'way through these anymore, y'know. Not just f'now. In gen'ral." Are people looking at him while he says such things to the junior? Oh well.
Once Roa's settled, Kazimir draws back his own chair and seats himself, angling the seat so he can speak more easily and intimately with the young weyrwoman. "Now that you've had such success," observes Kazimir with a face so straight that any humor that might be meant in his remarks is lost on the people nearest himself and the weyrwoman, leading to stares, "I'll assume you've started practicing other pasttimes. I've had a pleasant several days coming north, myself." Several days might be a couple of sevens, all considered: "I visited Ruatha and Nabol. Lord Sorel will be joining us, I'm assured, later during the celebration."
"I can not attend them, you know. In general." Miniyal can certainly plan on not attending them. "I was just here because you were late. As was Roa. Someone had to be here, yes?" Proper. It's the proper thing to do. Even if she made no effort to be social. She was present. That had to suffice. "Besides, I can hold my drink better than you. I would have no trouble." So, there. She peers at the food, ignoring any odd looks his words or hers have brought her way. She's gotten enough of those anyway in the last months. No plate is picked up and nothing is taken, not even tempting looking sweets. "Now that you have waylaid me is that all? I promise, I've been on my best behavior." Which is the sort of statement that used to have her smirking at the Weyrleader. Or, more rarely, grinning. Possibly even sounding like she teases. Now, it's all just words that get said because one has to speak words to converse and conversing is proper and so must be done when initiated by someone else.
If the Masterharper keeps a straight face, the corners of the weyrwoman's lips twitch precariously. Roa settles her hands on the table as she half-twists to better face Kazimir. "On occasion," she allows. "But a great deal of practice goes into keeping a single skill honed. Dilligence, and all of that." She glances down at her hands, clearing her throat softly. "I'm glad to hear Lord Nabol will be paying a visit. How did you find Ruatha?"
Issa hitches her smile idly higher for Coren's answer, and it stays firmly put as, when she looks up to scan the crowd, a snooty holder lady minces by, giving her and her dome of a belly a condescending glance. The greenrider blinks mild surprise in return before proceeding to stare down the woman with a sweet smile, watching her until she continues on her slow promenade down the aisle toward her daughter and the Caucus girls surrounding her. "You know, I feel right famous around you two," Issa comments with a feigned innocence in her voice. "I'm not sure if a little ol' greenrider like me can take it." And now it's a hint of sarcasm creeping into her tone, while she glances down the table over a sip of her punch, towards the whisperers down the table now avoiding looking in their direction.
"/He's/ here," rumbles R'vain, leaning toward Miniyal so that he can tip up a jerk of his chin toward a cluster of Caucus students. Sefton's arrival is either long past or else was so thoroughly muffled by the barrier of his favorites around him that he's effectively snuck into the gathering. "You didn't have t'be. But-- " He pauses in gathering up a meatroll and tips a wary, twisted grin toward the junior weyrwoman. "Th'Weyr was represented. So. Thanks." /That/ apparently is what he waylaid her for. Well, that and delaying her access to the booze.
Kazimir regards Roa with an amazing determination of straightfacedness. "I have generally found Reaches' leadership to be as diligent as could possibly be due. - Ah, Ruatha. Crisp this time of turn." More is to be said, but something in the Masterharper's peripheral vision steals a fraction of his attention away from the weyrwoman and after a series of blinks Kazimir drags his focus back to Roa. "My dear," he says, shuffling forward in his seat so he can get his boots back flat on the ground, "I must go speak with one of your - hosts. Will you excuse me? I'm sure we can meet again - soon."
She would not drink! She is not allowed. And who knows if and when D'ven might wander in. Not to mention the floozy will be about somewhere. Or someone willing to inform either of them that the weyrling weyrwoman was drinking something she shouldn't have been. So, clearly he needn't have distracted her as Miniyal would not be drinking. "You're welcome." No need to acknowledge Sefton's existence. "I'm happy I could do some small thing to be of assistance. I should be on my way now, sir. Things to do. Schedules to obey and all."
"Ah, but you see? It's because of all the practicing," Roa replies. She listens with interest as Ruatha begins to get described, but she blinks with mild surprise at the sudden need for departure. "Of course. I am not quite up to travel for the next little while, but soon, I am sure. Take care, sir." Her own chair is already inching backwards.
Reyce has gotten past bristling at the gossiping and staring that the increased holder presence at this party has engendered for him, and is now washed in a kind of dark, cynical haze. And so it's a blank, utterly impassive stare that follows the judgmental lady headed towards her daughter. But some of that flatness - if not the ill-will behind it - rebounds onto Issa, whose comment he answers with a simple, "You can." Coren has kenned onto the air of disapproval that surrounds his companions, and twists a look over his shoulder to look for the source. The holder lady has blended in with her daughter's crowd by now, but Coren pops a grin anyway. "It's heartening, really, that there are still people who expect good manners from Benden." He grabs a small slice of cheese and pops it in his mouth.
"Same t'you, Min'yal." R'vain plops the meatroll onto his plate and straightens from his food-grabbing stance into a weyrwoman-watching-off one-- and when Miniyal's gone, R'vain puts down the plate wholesale on the buffet table and prowls off himself toward a collection of young women most likely attending Caucus for its marriage prospects; they're scoping the floor and talking among themselves about this or that student's father or uncle or whatever in attendance. The Weyrleader will just go interrupt.
"I'll be here long enough, you don't need to travel." Kazimir flashes Roa a smile, which is the worst sort of omen after a statement like that, but he means it well: apologetic for having been easily misunderstood, perhaps. Then he's slipping out of his chair, brushing down his clothes, and starting off through the crowd. Moments later he's among the students that surround the Headmaster - and that crop of students is steadily thinning as the future Lord Fort and Masterharper converse.
The wiser parents have been keeping their daughters close. Watching them and making sure a certain Weyrleader gets nowhere near them. Some of them even usher innocent young women out of the living cavern. Socializing and such can wait until it is safer. Other parents are either not here or not so concerned. Or too busy gossiping still about that woman at the table monopolizing the time of two good prospects for their own daughters. Really. Some people don't know their place at all.
The weyrwoman shoves herself upright and glances around the crowd. Weyrleader busy with fluttery girls. Miniyal hiding amid the masses. The Masterharper and the Headmaster exchanging stories, and Issa surrounded by Bendenites of all sizes. Things seem just about right, so with another small nod and quiet comments to those that approach, Roa keeps her visit brief and discreetly sneaks back up the stairs and out into the bowl.
Issa's fingers under the table tap down into a tighter squeeze on Reyce's leg, but a moment later it peels away. It lifts to her mug, joining her other hand as she tips it back for a swift swig of punch. "Well, I should let you two uphold the pretense, at least," she comments lightly, her eyes remaining on Coren as she adds, "Mingle with me?" before she turns to the lesser prospect and the one who needs more convincing. Face upturned to Reyce, she waits primarily for his response, her mug, now empty, placed blindly back on the table.
Reyce's reluctance barely has time to register, because Coren - who has been tamely keeping tabs on his brother the whole time - jumps at the chance to /move/ finally. "Of course!" he announces cheerfully, getting right to his feet. He reaches across the table to slap Reyce on the arm, encouragement that gets knocked off with a roll of the elbow. "Come on, if someone steals our seats we'll find new ones. You can say nothing just as easily standing up as sitting down." Tease delivered, the re-energized Coren turns around to survey the room, while his reluctantly motivated brother grunts and gets up. "What do you want to do?" he asks Issa dutifully, reaching down to take her elbow and steady her as she stands.
The table will be swooped upon once it is made available. Prime real estate. Or, well, a place to sit and there's not a whole bunch of those available. They will become less available as the end of the gathering meets the beginning of dinner and more people than there is room for will be vying for seats. A few of the more determined mothers whispers to sons, husbands, other male relatives. With the Bendenites on the move perhaps they can remove the greenrider from them. That would give daughters and nieces time to swoop in.
Where: Living caven
When: Late afternoon on day 2, month 12, turn 3 of the 7th pass.
What: The Caucus anniversary celebration kicks off with a welcome to the weyr social.
6/7/2007
At High Reaches Weyr, it is late afternoon on day 2, month 12, turn 3 of the 7th Pass.
While the last couple of days have seen people arriving for the celebration of the Caucus' tenth anniversary this afternoon appears to be the day everyone is expected to be here by. A little reception has been arranged in the living cavern. Nothing fancy really, but there doesn't need to be fancy things to get the point across what with all the important people now mingling together. Weyr residents venture in and some remain, but many of them sneak to the food tables and then see themselves back out. The conversations range from the weather to the latest gossip to all the news that has come out of High Reaches lately. Near the fire a string quartet plays quiet music. The kind meant to travel under conversation and not deter it.
In the cavern crowded with dignitaries, Reyce has found a rarity: a table that's not yet full. Somewhat near the back, granted, but away from the entrance and the cold winter weather it brings. Issa is absent, or else has undergone some dramatic changes, for the only person with him is a man about his age, somewhat similar in appearance but not at all in nature. The man - whom some will recognize as Coren, Reyce's half-brother and more importantly one of the Benden Bloods - is actually /cheerful/. His laughter pipes up briefly, carrying across the crowded cavern, but he quickly quiets to answer whatever it was Reyce said.
It is, quite possibly, the last place one would imagine Miniyal being. After all, any sort of event celebrating the institution she wishes would go away and never come back is hardly somewhere she is likely to have a good time. And still, she comes in from the bowl raking fingers through her hair in some vague attempt to get it to appear as if someone didn't just hack it off. Which someone did. Once she's out of the way of anyone else trying to come inside she pauses to get her bearings. Or at least to look around and figure out where anyone she most definitely wants to avoid might be. Then she considers the table where the food and wine are at. Not that she might go for the latter. Nope.
The youngest of the Nabolian brood are all present, the last four brothers of the erstwhile Lord Odern. Sakher, of course, is splendidly dressed for the occasion--never mind it's not 'fancy'--and he gives his two older brothers (the eldest of them, Zanjian, graduated as part of the first Caucus class) and one younger sister a tour. There's quite the family resemblance amongst them, in looks, in their bright and fashionable dress, and in the cheerful, noisily light-hearted demeanor they cast, all chattering as Sakher leads them around and introduces various friends to them, and as all of them catch up to old acquaintances: between them, they seem to know almost everyone--or at least everyone worth knowing.
Neatly dressed but fidgeting with her clothes all the same, Issa resurfaces from somewhere in the lower caverns, pregnant as ever and unchanged indeed. Once her tunic is settled satisfactorily, her hands move to her hair, tucking a strayed curl back into her low-lying bun. Buffeted by a few milling people, she hesitates halfway between her seat and the food tables, deciding a second later to head for the latter. A hand falls to her belly as she weaves heavily through the people, as if she could hold it in, make it a smaller obstacle for others to dodge. In the end she just ends up sidling past a pair of cooing ladies from High Reaches Hold, smiling indulgently at their praises, until she finally reaches her goal and her expression drops subtly into annoyance as she bends over the trays laid out. A plate is slowly filled with an abundance of fingerfoods, each picked gingerly from the rest.
There are plenty of ladies to coo over the pregnant Issa. One of them at the table near her doesn't quite go so far as to pat the pregnant belly, but she comes awful close. Before she's led away by a man, presumably her husband. Some of the older esteemed visitors have congregated around the fire, listening to the music and soaking up the heat into old bones.
Despite the perfect opportunity for mingling, the Bendenites stay put. Most likely because of Reyce's noted dislike for these sorts of things; Coren is usually more outgoing at these sorts of things. As it stands, he has to settle for just hallo'ing folks as they walk past, and the most recent victim is one of Anshuman's sons, Yanesh. A bookish lad who graduated from the Caucus some time ago, Yanesh flits a smile at Coren and ducks his brother - apparently a new face to him - a deft bow. Murmurs are exchanged across the table, hands are shaken, but Yanesh makes polite apologies and dutifully continues to circulate. His path takes him near Sakher's little bundle, though he's stopped along the way by an effusive Seacraft Journeyman.
Rather than move once she's considered the relative location of everyone Miniyal decides to sort of remain where she is. Not quite out of the way, but not in any way encouraging people to converse with her. Even still, she can't duck all the attention that comes her way and so she just does her best to ignore it. Lalala. No weyrling weyrwoman is present. This is not the person you are looking for.
The Masterharper arrives, today, without the attendance of apprentices or even the other dignitaries with whom he somewhat regularly makes appearances: the Mastersmith has so far not appeared, nor Lord Tillek, who is hardly even expected by those most in the know. But Kazimir does arrive with someone trailing behind him, a lad from the stables who's holding the master's coat with an air of dazed disorientation. After a few paces in the Harper turns around, heaving a put-upon sigh, and says, "Over there." One aged hand lifts a finger to point to hooks and racks where garments may be hung. There is an exchange of some fraction of a mark and the boy dashes that way, leaving Kazimir to finger-comb his disorganized hair and pat down his clothes to smooth them, or brush off dust. He wears, to this supposedly quiet event, trousers. A long-sleeved shirt buttoned up. A vest. And riding boots. These do something not altogether bad for his height.
Near the wine a master vintner expounds on the various high and low points of the offerings at this little gathering. The only ones really listening are a pair of young girls here visiting with an older cousin attending Caucus on behalf of the farmcraft. Most of the others who come to look over the bottles and skins just ignore the man who is over sampling everything already.
Issa flashes a bright smile at the lady who would touch her belly, but her eyes are snapping with a syrupy dislike. When the offending woman is dragged away, Issa concludes her grazing quickly, stepping aside to eye enviously the wine array while scooping up three small mugs of punch by the handles. Any unwanted attention is thoroughly ignored as she makes her way toward the back again as she maintains a not entirely feigned preoccupation with the arrival of the Masterharper. She doesn't stare, but merely flicks several interested glances his way, of the same examining sort she begrudged earlier when they were directed at her belly. "I brought back refreshments," she announces as she edges up to the section of table belonging to Reyce and his brother. The plate and cups are deftly slid onto the tabletop while she nods in the general area of the entrance. "Kazimir's arrived, did you see?" she asks, eyes turned first on Reyce before she turns to include Coren as well.
What appears to be rather disapproving parents watch as a young woman brings a young man forward to introduce them. The young man, someone's distant cousin, swallows heavily with obvious fear. He maintains a distance from the young woman who brought him forth and she looks with some exasperation from young man to parents.
"Issa, you're a marvel," Coren says, playing up the exaggeration with the cheesiest grin in his repertoire. There is genuine appreciation for the thought, though, and he swoops up his glass of punch for a quick drink while heartlessly abandoning Reyce to make his own answer. "Saw," he confirms, shifting aside a bit. There's plenty of room for Issa to sit next to him, anyway, but this way seems more inviting. He lets his drink wait and lifts an arm up to scoop her in. "By himself," he remarks, glancing at the well-dressed harper. "Mastersmith's not here. Saw Tillek's son, that's it." "Yanesh," Coren reminds him, stopping his drink to be mildly reproachful. "I don't think his father is coming," the other Bendenite muses as he reaches out to see what finger foods Issa has assembled.
It takes him a while to disentangle himself from the effusive seacraft, and when he does Yanesh appears - for a moment - visibly relieved. Duty demands that he not ignore the crowd entirely, ever, but he can at least seek out a less demanding companion (or perhaps that's just wishful thinking), and his eyes eventually alight on one quiet but well-ranked young woman hanging at the back. That would be Miniyal, to whom Yanesh offers another of his well-executed, but awkwardly swift bows as he arrives in front of her. "Weyrwoman, my respects. I am -" his hand flexes at his side, a nervous habit obviously quashed - "Yanesh, son of Lord Anshuman."
There are a handful of people to whom the Masterharper is immediately obliged to make hellos. Harpers posted to instruct at Caucus slip free of their circles of conversation and form a new one around their craftmaster, but Kazimir is not a verbose casual speaker and after a few words of approval for this or that of his masters, he remarks to them that he will be trying to speak to each of them in turn about their classes 'here at High Reaches' while he's visiting the weyr - and, having dropped that little bomb, Kazimir goes in search of something to hold in his hand and forget to drink.
Is it so hard to go unnoticed? Apparently so. Well, it's not like any of the weyr's leaders bothered to show. Damn them. It would serve them right if Miniyal caused some kind of disturbance. However, she makes no move to do that at all. Instead she turns a carefully, if politely so, neutral gaze upon the intrusion. "Ah, it's nice to see you, Yanesh. I hope your father is well?" Pausing a moment her head tilts to the side. "If you're looking for an out of the way spot the one near the kitchen door is best. A lot of movement by those working and few people willing to risk a cook's ire by being in the way just to be social."
Conversation near to where the Blood of Benden sits drifts ever so momentarily to the fact that one of them has knocked up one of the riders here. Yes, that one sitting with them. Really. Female voices drop to speculate on if the bastard will see to his own and what whomever is chosen for his future wife will think of it.
Lexine breezes into the cavern, a rich gown of deep gold and white fur as fine as her garb ever was in her heyday. If she isn't nearly so imposing as she used to be, she still pauses here and there to make tiny adjustments. A tablecloth here, the set of a glowshield there, all the details are scrutinized and settled before she accepts a chilly glass of Tillek white to survey the people.
Caught. Yanesh pulls back his lips: it's meant to be a smile, it even shows some teeth, but it doesn't make it there. "He's doing very well, yes. Thank you. And your Peloth?" No surprise the bookworm already has the weyrling queen's name memorized. After he's spoken, he trails his gaze to the side to watch his aunt breezing by. "Thanks," he adds to Miniyal in an undertone, carefully pitched so it won't carry past her ears. "But I prefer being out here." It's a lie, but it's delivered with determination and a peppy smile that would make it just heartbreaking to contradict. Really.
Kazimir is not so far yet from the drinks himself, having just found someone to put a glass into his hand so he can commence ignoring it while listening to other people talk, and having not yet been resurrounded by those of his harpers posted at Caucus to teach, he steps up beside the former weyrwoman High Reaches. With the riding boots, he's almost her measure of height. "Weyrwoman," he remarks in his small and creaky voice, for that title, at least, will presumably be always hers. "Do you approve?"
"Of course," is Miniyal's reply. "Yes, me too. I enjoy being out here so much." A trace, the slightest little trace, of sarcasm slips out. But she gives her head a shake to clear it. "Peloth is well, thank you for inquiring." Her gaze slips past him to tour the room. Once more she eyes the tables and more importantly the wine, but while she might have gone there something once more keeps her away. Clearing her throat she casts about for some topic, looking about the room for inspiration. "I think people would have preferred if they had started the Caucus in the spring or summer. Winters here, even in the early stages, tend to be disagreeable." The weather, yes, safe.
"Masterharper," Lexine greets with a warm smile, leaning over to brush an air-kiss along the man's cheek. "Such a pleasure when you stop by." She sips again, gaze raking in momentary sharpness over the arrangements. "And yes," she admits with a soft sigh. "Much to my dismay," she drawls, wry, "I must say I approve. I almost feel as though I may have done my job well enough to leave off for a bit. A very strange feeling, and one I don't advise, really."
"Yes, I know," Issa counters Coren, a sweet smile furnished for the cheesy grin she's given. She has an ear cocked back over her shoulder as she slides easily into the spot Reyce has created for her, and whatever it picks up turns the corner of her smile higher with wry amusement before the Bendenites' observations bring her back into the conversation. "Is he sick or something, do you know?" Issa asks Coren for the observation he's made of Anshuman. Her gaze falls elsewhere though, ravenously observing the mess of important people; Kazimir gets the lions share of her glances, and when he sweeps up to Lexine she gives them a little point, the gesture devolving into a grab for one of the sour relish-laden crackers on the plate. "Haven't seen any of the Weyrleaders out," she notes, reminded by the junior weyrwoman's presence, a small, lurking sense of disapproval in her tone.
Bustling out of the kitchen a few whispering girls check the platters and carry off those that are empty or nearly so. Then they vanish into the busy kitchen where they will bring replacements from in no time.
Kazimir endures the air-kiss with his usual inscrutable charm: a blank look followed by a quick smile, then looking away, keeping the crowd in his weathered regard. But then, there is no shortage of reasons the Masterharper and High Reaches' former weyrwoman might not maintain eye contact. "It's a feeling I don't think I'm at any risk of having any time soon," he confesses to Lexine, his hand absently tilting his wineglass so the liquid within swirls. "And how does the new administration of Caucus suit you?"
"Ah, well," Lexine muses to Kazimir. "He does take quite the hand in the lives of the students, from everything I've seen. Blessedly, he's far less pompous than the last one." She casts a sidelong smile toward the Masterharper, wry. "There seems to be a true changing of the guard these days, though. Myself, Gans. Even my nephew," she muses, though a brief grimace crosses her features at that.
Coren already has one of those crackers, and he tilts it towards Issa in a display of approval for her good sense. "It's all about the show, Issa," he answers her disapproval, giving his cracker-bearing hand a vague wave towards the entrance. "It crescendos." Then he has to be silent for a bit while he crunches his cracker. Reyce has been somewhat distracted by the murmurings behind him, muscles bunching in his shoulders, but he brings himself back to participate just a little bit. "Been sick." Coren, forgetting his cracker, shoves it to the side of his mouth and lifts his brows. "Really?" Reyce shrugs. Coren considers him a bit, then chews down the rest of his cracker so he can smile without showing off his chewed-up snacks. "I was just guessing," he admits. "He was old buddies with your Ganathon," and he lifts his hand upside down, an automatically proferred apology for his ignorance of whatever name the ex-Weyrleader was going by. "Awkward questions, I would think."
"That hand," says the Masterharper, then is inexplicably and greatly reminded of his wine; maybe the swirling of it caught his attention. What he might have had to say about Sefton is waylaid in favor of glancing edgily over at the weyrwoman in all her finery, watery eyes suddenly sharp. "Your nephew misstepped. Weyrwoman, will you pardon me?" But she -must- pardon him, for Kazimir executes a quick little awkward bow and trods off into the crowd, clearly searching for someone and willing to risk being swamped by people along the way.
"Quite," Lexine murmurs to Kazimir, caught in the middle of a sip at her wine when the little man slips off. A brief smile tracks his wake, and the former weyrwoman returns to her pattern of tiny adjustments, pausing to inspect the vintages at the wine table.
The vintner by the wine allows one of the more impressionable young women at the little party to lead him away. As they go to find a quiet spot to talk he is expounding on the proper way to drink the vintage they currently enjoy. As they pass by a group of young men there is much elbow to the ribs and pointing at the girl.
Weather is indeed safe, unless you are talking to a nerd who will consider your question seriously and answer it kind. "But if they had started Caucus in the spring or summer, the students would then have to start their studies when the weather's good and they'd rather be outside," Yanesh reflects. "I think winter lends itself nicely to scholarship, though, precisely because it's unappealing. There's little else to do and reading helps keep one occupied productively."
A small group of former graduates have gathered at a table of their own. Their conversation discusses the way the weyr seems different than when they were around. There are some unfavorable remarks about a certain weyrleader who held a different position when they were students. Redheads do make impressions.
At the doorway comes another pair, a bit difficult to dismiss due to one of the person's impressive height, vibrant red hair, and generally predatory sort of smile. On the Weyrleader's arm is the Weyrwoman, though her own stature is impressive only via the generous bulge her midsection has become. They take the stairs together, Roa using a bit of R'vain's weight to help navigate steps that were fairly easy to hurry down some months ago. Once they reach the proper floor of the Living Cavern, R'vain glances down towards his Weyrwoman. She slides her grip away from his arm and offers a faint smile which seems to count as a release of sorts. The Weyrleader heads over to gather a few bites to eat, and then to move through the crowd. Roa keeps away from the food for now, her dark blue gaze moving through the people present before she does.
As the new guard arrives, the old guard fades away into the background. Lexine busies herself with the details of keeping a party running smoothly, leaving the politics and duties of greetings and polite conversation to the new Weyrwoman. Lucky, lucky Roa.
A hand on the table supports Issa as she shifts a bit uncomfortably in her seat, a move that presses her thigh more tightly to Reyce's and lets her lean further into the conversation. Which she adds to as soon as she's swallowed her dainty bite. "I thought I'd heard," she comments, of Anshuman, then pointing the rest of her cracker at Coren, "though I don't doubt that factored. I imagine it hit him harder than most." Light speculation for such a heavy and recent subject, and she shrugs it off, unwilling to delve into the unsavory at the moment. "Ah, there we go. Crescendo indeed," she remarks on catching sight, along with the rest of the cavern, of the Weyrleader pair now entering the hubbub, though her voice hasn't really lost the touch of disfavor for the fashionably late duo. She turns from watching them as soon as they split, instead returning to tracking the odd dignitary or two as she snags another cracker and pulls her punch closer.
This is where the weyrling bites down on her tongue. Yep. Not saying a word. While it might be the perfect time to comment on the scholarship or lack there of that exists amongst students Miniyal just shakes her head. "I would not know, I fear. The weather never determined the course of my own studies." This is her trying to behave. It means there's not much she can say, alas.
Having delivered his opinion on the matter, Yanesh keeps a polite smile ready (it has to be his default, for events such as this), but when it's his turn to speak again he clears his throat. "Ah, no, I imagine you are accustomed to the weather anyway. Excuse me, weyrwoman, I ought to catch my aunt a moment." Another bow, this one executeed as he makes his retreat back into the crowd. Must keep being social; it is his task.
Yanesh's route takes him, by chance, past the Masterharper; the latter excuses himself with an absent-minded greeting and keeps moving so as not to hinder the young man from Tillek in his social endeavours. Kazimir catches, no doubt, a glimpse of Miniyal - he might even have been aimed for her. But the rousing of the crowd gains his attention and Kazimir turns around, looking toward the source of the sound. Sources. He watches the tall redheaded one move into the crowd, his greying and tangled brows pulling inward, then starts at an unusually brisk pace for the smaller, pregnant-er member of the weyrleaders instead.
Coren brings his hands together and flops them out, executing a lazy little flourish. "Ta-dah," he says, his predicted crescendo dutifully accomplished by the Weyrleaders. His eyes follow both of them around a bit, jumping across the room when necessary, while his brother remains grounded in his immediate locale. Reyce reaches out to snag a cracker, tossing a thin square of cheese on top of it. "You get your nap?" he asks Issa quietly. Very quietly, for Coren's right across the table and he clearly doesn't hear Reyce at all. "I always forgot how small the Weyrwoman is. Makes for a good tactic," he concedes with a note of dry humor, "since it means I can't for the life of me spy on her in this crowd."
It's not as if Miniyal were pleased to converse so she allows Yanesh to go with some quietly murmured farewell. Then she leaves her place nearish the wall and begins her trek towards the table where the wine is by a rather roundabout way. Not where she is headed at all. At all. Or maybe she saw the giant red one and the big bellied one arrive and figures she can escape now.
The arrival of the weyrleader and senior weyrwoman quiets some of the talks in the room. Others continue on and a few people seem to be breaking free to approach either of them. There are questions, of course, that simply must be asked.
A few of those questions are answered by the weyrwoman with nods or murmurs or, once, a joke. But then the Masterharper appears at a rather spry pace and Roa blinks up at him, offering a small smile. "Masterharper, good evening. How pleasant to see you again." She shifts her weight a little from one foot to the other.
The magic of social events is that there are women who seem to feel or understand that they're essentially obliged to flirt with the Weyrleader if he flirts first. And he does. But there comes a moment when one of the women with whom he's conversing asks him if he wouldn't like to get them all drinks, and while R'vain is gracious enough (after a moment's silent start) in inviting the ladies to go visit the wine table, his efforts to defy any of them that might want to bring him a glass are met with giggles. Giggles can't be trusted, so the redhead prowls off through a small cluster of Caucus-student bronzeriders, trying to get around the people gathered by the wine on his way toward whomever his next target might be.
Issa nods for Reyce while nibbling on the end of a quiche-like tart, using it to block her smile and her words from the outside world as she mutters back, "Wish I'd gotten it with you there, though." And though that might have meant less sleep for her, the hand that creeps over onto his thigh suggests she'd have been okay with that. Her hand stays, but she diverts her attention to Coren a moment later, commenting, "I doubt she's been able to move much. She isn't able to duck through as easily as she once was." Her eyes drift in the direction of the spot the Weyrwoman was last spotted while she swallows down another tiny bite of that tiny quiche. "You want to find her for any particular reason?" she asks, casually curious. A quick scan proves the Masterharper and Weyrleader unfindable as well, so she turns instead to focus on her food and the Bendenites close at hand.
An insistent looking older couple seem bent on intercepting Roa, but they fall back when they see the Masterharper there. Clearly, whatever they wish to speak about, or possibly complain about judging by their expressions, will wait.
The greenrider at their table is not the only one who focuses on those Bendenites. The whole table gets looks, whispers, and a few of the less mannerly even point as they whisper. Never quite loud enough for exact words to be heard, but enough to make it clear they are being spoken about.
Circuitous routes have the problem of bringing one near those they might otherwise not have wished to be by. And so Miniyal's path takes her past where the weyrleader flees those giggling caucus girls. Well, that is his own fault, isn't it? Yes! Still, while she notices him she does her best to not be noticed by him. Really, there are more interesting people to be noticed after all. She just wants a drink.
"Weyrwoman," replies Kazimir, offering a small bow to match Roa's small smile. "What a pleasant occasion for us to meet again." Pleasant as the occasion may be, the Harper with his forgotten wine in his absent-minded hand does not seem to be overly thrilled; what energy exudes from him should be blamed on the opportunity to have taken his own means of transportation for once. "Are there seats? It seems like there should be."
"I imagine so," the weyrwoman replies, her hands clasping lightly behind her back, "They're most likely near the tables. Shall we?" She turns to weave her waya round a few more people, spotting a few chairs that are not yet claimed and ehading over to them. She stands, one hand resting on the back of each of two chairs as she waits for Kazimir to join her.
Although he receives the tip with a nod and half a smile, Coren abandons his spying. "Simple curiosity," he answers, unconsciously voicing Issa's mood. "The way one gawps at ranking personages," is added with a bit of mimed bashfulness, Coren turning his eyes down to the punch he holds. His grin breaks the delusion, in case there was anyone fooled, but that too is washed away as he decides to take a drink. Reyce slides his hand down to meet Issa's, grasping it on his thigh - and since Coren has proved time and time again that he won't bother to take notice, Reyce isn't bothering to be subtle about it. Nevermind the gossipers who may pass behind him now and then.
"Min'yal." Hopes of being unnoticed, dashed. "C'mere." Hopes of getting a drink, also dashed-- for the Weyrleader's not getting any closer to those tables. He gestures a quick, one-pawed 'come along' and starts toward the ones that offer finger food instead. Maybe there's sweets!
Ignoring the gossipers only encourages them, of course. A few of the groups are quieted when more dignified people arrive to speak of more important things than what person is sleeping with what other person. Whispers come up every now and again about that girl bluerider and does anyone think she'll be out and about. She is something of a curious freak of nature and plenty of people would love to get a look at her after all.
Kazimir attends the weyrwoman with the awkward grace of a cattleman, not that he is ever particularly invested in exuding the grace of a harper. He comes to her side and puts his own hand down on the back of one of the chairs beside hers, looking sideways at Roa with a pointed look. A, 'let go of this chair so I can seat you in it,' look. "How's your weyrmate looking forward to getting no sleep?"
She could pretend to not have heard. It wouldn't be so hard to pretend she was unable to hear her name. Even though the conversations are not loud. However, she can always use him to deflect others. Or something. So Miniyal lets out a sigh. "You're not the boss of me," gets mumbled to the weyrleader's back. Still, she follows. Trying to behave. She'll regret it.
Roa's hand recedes as bidden, though Kazimir also gets a small smirk for that very pointed look. "He's quite enthused. Well, perhaps not about the lack of sleep, but the rest of it." She settles awkwardly into the chair once it's slid out. "I suppose it's evident what I've been up to, sir." She glances down at her belly and up again at the Harper. "What have you been filling your own time with?"
"Y'right, I ain't," R'vain says, perfectly content to be sassed back by their most junior weyrwoman. He stops by the food table and looks back over his shoulder to be sure of Miniyal's attendance with him, then simply waits until his looming figure causes an empty spot to be available by the piles of plates so he can step in and collect one. "But I'm th'boss of enough that it befits a weyrwoman t'humor me. Thanks f'bein' fitting." He snares a handful of tiny cubes of cheese and puts them on his plate. "You can't drink y'way through these anymore, y'know. Not just f'now. In gen'ral." Are people looking at him while he says such things to the junior? Oh well.
Once Roa's settled, Kazimir draws back his own chair and seats himself, angling the seat so he can speak more easily and intimately with the young weyrwoman. "Now that you've had such success," observes Kazimir with a face so straight that any humor that might be meant in his remarks is lost on the people nearest himself and the weyrwoman, leading to stares, "I'll assume you've started practicing other pasttimes. I've had a pleasant several days coming north, myself." Several days might be a couple of sevens, all considered: "I visited Ruatha and Nabol. Lord Sorel will be joining us, I'm assured, later during the celebration."
"I can not attend them, you know. In general." Miniyal can certainly plan on not attending them. "I was just here because you were late. As was Roa. Someone had to be here, yes?" Proper. It's the proper thing to do. Even if she made no effort to be social. She was present. That had to suffice. "Besides, I can hold my drink better than you. I would have no trouble." So, there. She peers at the food, ignoring any odd looks his words or hers have brought her way. She's gotten enough of those anyway in the last months. No plate is picked up and nothing is taken, not even tempting looking sweets. "Now that you have waylaid me is that all? I promise, I've been on my best behavior." Which is the sort of statement that used to have her smirking at the Weyrleader. Or, more rarely, grinning. Possibly even sounding like she teases. Now, it's all just words that get said because one has to speak words to converse and conversing is proper and so must be done when initiated by someone else.
If the Masterharper keeps a straight face, the corners of the weyrwoman's lips twitch precariously. Roa settles her hands on the table as she half-twists to better face Kazimir. "On occasion," she allows. "But a great deal of practice goes into keeping a single skill honed. Dilligence, and all of that." She glances down at her hands, clearing her throat softly. "I'm glad to hear Lord Nabol will be paying a visit. How did you find Ruatha?"
Issa hitches her smile idly higher for Coren's answer, and it stays firmly put as, when she looks up to scan the crowd, a snooty holder lady minces by, giving her and her dome of a belly a condescending glance. The greenrider blinks mild surprise in return before proceeding to stare down the woman with a sweet smile, watching her until she continues on her slow promenade down the aisle toward her daughter and the Caucus girls surrounding her. "You know, I feel right famous around you two," Issa comments with a feigned innocence in her voice. "I'm not sure if a little ol' greenrider like me can take it." And now it's a hint of sarcasm creeping into her tone, while she glances down the table over a sip of her punch, towards the whisperers down the table now avoiding looking in their direction.
"/He's/ here," rumbles R'vain, leaning toward Miniyal so that he can tip up a jerk of his chin toward a cluster of Caucus students. Sefton's arrival is either long past or else was so thoroughly muffled by the barrier of his favorites around him that he's effectively snuck into the gathering. "You didn't have t'be. But-- " He pauses in gathering up a meatroll and tips a wary, twisted grin toward the junior weyrwoman. "Th'Weyr was represented. So. Thanks." /That/ apparently is what he waylaid her for. Well, that and delaying her access to the booze.
Kazimir regards Roa with an amazing determination of straightfacedness. "I have generally found Reaches' leadership to be as diligent as could possibly be due. - Ah, Ruatha. Crisp this time of turn." More is to be said, but something in the Masterharper's peripheral vision steals a fraction of his attention away from the weyrwoman and after a series of blinks Kazimir drags his focus back to Roa. "My dear," he says, shuffling forward in his seat so he can get his boots back flat on the ground, "I must go speak with one of your - hosts. Will you excuse me? I'm sure we can meet again - soon."
She would not drink! She is not allowed. And who knows if and when D'ven might wander in. Not to mention the floozy will be about somewhere. Or someone willing to inform either of them that the weyrling weyrwoman was drinking something she shouldn't have been. So, clearly he needn't have distracted her as Miniyal would not be drinking. "You're welcome." No need to acknowledge Sefton's existence. "I'm happy I could do some small thing to be of assistance. I should be on my way now, sir. Things to do. Schedules to obey and all."
"Ah, but you see? It's because of all the practicing," Roa replies. She listens with interest as Ruatha begins to get described, but she blinks with mild surprise at the sudden need for departure. "Of course. I am not quite up to travel for the next little while, but soon, I am sure. Take care, sir." Her own chair is already inching backwards.
Reyce has gotten past bristling at the gossiping and staring that the increased holder presence at this party has engendered for him, and is now washed in a kind of dark, cynical haze. And so it's a blank, utterly impassive stare that follows the judgmental lady headed towards her daughter. But some of that flatness - if not the ill-will behind it - rebounds onto Issa, whose comment he answers with a simple, "You can." Coren has kenned onto the air of disapproval that surrounds his companions, and twists a look over his shoulder to look for the source. The holder lady has blended in with her daughter's crowd by now, but Coren pops a grin anyway. "It's heartening, really, that there are still people who expect good manners from Benden." He grabs a small slice of cheese and pops it in his mouth.
"Same t'you, Min'yal." R'vain plops the meatroll onto his plate and straightens from his food-grabbing stance into a weyrwoman-watching-off one-- and when Miniyal's gone, R'vain puts down the plate wholesale on the buffet table and prowls off himself toward a collection of young women most likely attending Caucus for its marriage prospects; they're scoping the floor and talking among themselves about this or that student's father or uncle or whatever in attendance. The Weyrleader will just go interrupt.
"I'll be here long enough, you don't need to travel." Kazimir flashes Roa a smile, which is the worst sort of omen after a statement like that, but he means it well: apologetic for having been easily misunderstood, perhaps. Then he's slipping out of his chair, brushing down his clothes, and starting off through the crowd. Moments later he's among the students that surround the Headmaster - and that crop of students is steadily thinning as the future Lord Fort and Masterharper converse.
The wiser parents have been keeping their daughters close. Watching them and making sure a certain Weyrleader gets nowhere near them. Some of them even usher innocent young women out of the living cavern. Socializing and such can wait until it is safer. Other parents are either not here or not so concerned. Or too busy gossiping still about that woman at the table monopolizing the time of two good prospects for their own daughters. Really. Some people don't know their place at all.
The weyrwoman shoves herself upright and glances around the crowd. Weyrleader busy with fluttery girls. Miniyal hiding amid the masses. The Masterharper and the Headmaster exchanging stories, and Issa surrounded by Bendenites of all sizes. Things seem just about right, so with another small nod and quiet comments to those that approach, Roa keeps her visit brief and discreetly sneaks back up the stairs and out into the bowl.
Issa's fingers under the table tap down into a tighter squeeze on Reyce's leg, but a moment later it peels away. It lifts to her mug, joining her other hand as she tips it back for a swift swig of punch. "Well, I should let you two uphold the pretense, at least," she comments lightly, her eyes remaining on Coren as she adds, "Mingle with me?" before she turns to the lesser prospect and the one who needs more convincing. Face upturned to Reyce, she waits primarily for his response, her mug, now empty, placed blindly back on the table.
Reyce's reluctance barely has time to register, because Coren - who has been tamely keeping tabs on his brother the whole time - jumps at the chance to /move/ finally. "Of course!" he announces cheerfully, getting right to his feet. He reaches across the table to slap Reyce on the arm, encouragement that gets knocked off with a roll of the elbow. "Come on, if someone steals our seats we'll find new ones. You can say nothing just as easily standing up as sitting down." Tease delivered, the re-energized Coren turns around to survey the room, while his reluctantly motivated brother grunts and gets up. "What do you want to do?" he asks Issa dutifully, reaching down to take her elbow and steady her as she stands.
The table will be swooped upon once it is made available. Prime real estate. Or, well, a place to sit and there's not a whole bunch of those available. They will become less available as the end of the gathering meets the beginning of dinner and more people than there is room for will be vying for seats. A few of the more determined mothers whispers to sons, husbands, other male relatives. With the Bendenites on the move perhaps they can remove the greenrider from them. That would give daughters and nieces time to swoop in.