Who I'rly, K'yan, Syn, Thys
What Turnover at Fort! Bye-bye, 2711 - hello 2712!
When Last evening of 2711.
Where Lake Shore, Fort Weyr


Fort Weyr - Lake Shore
This lake shares many features common to mountain lakes — a brilliant blue jewel nestled amongst the rocks. The waters are crystal clear, and the north shore slopes gently before abruptly falling away into the depths. This lake does have one significant differentiating feature, however. The south shore of the lake is a tumbled mass of rubble, rock and earth of an ancient rockslide smoothed only by the elements in the intervening years. This rubble, as well as the rather sheer east and west faces, makes for the north shore to be the only one easily accessible.

Rukbat is setting over Fort Weyr, leaving a rapidly fading golden-orange smudge across the sky that is sinking fast towards the horizon behind a bank of what look to be snow-filled clouds. Not that the threat of snow seems to make a difference to the Weyr's revellers, who have already begun to gather at the site of the Turnover festivities. The lake's shore has been shovelled free of snow, with a path cut through it leading up to the festive area to make it easy for partiers to arrive. All along the pathway, as well as the party area itself, is lit up with flaming torches, with a bonfire close to the water throwing off further warmth and light, while a warm glow comes from the fire pit beside it as well as from the coals within the heaters that are positioned strategically beneath the white marquees. There is a bar, of course, serving drinks both hot and cold, and buffet tables that are already heavily laden with delicious goodies, with the promise of more to come as meats and more roast over the fire pit. A band is just starting to play beside the makeshift dancefloor, and while no-one is dancing just yet there are already plenty of toe-tapping people gathered nearby, nursing their drinks and just waiting for the first brave couple to step boldly out and break the ice. All in all, it's a jovial, festival atmosphere, even if it's cold enough to see your breath while the rest of the Weyr lies beneath a blanket of snow.

It's cold. K'yan knew it was going to be cold, that's why he bundled up in two jackets and three pairs of gloves. It's Fort, it's winter, of course it's cold. The real question is why he's even out here. Okay, sure, there's Turnover festivities, those are… maybe a good enough excuse. Maybe. He's edging his way toward the fire pit, in the hopes if he stays near enough to it he'll manage to avoid becoming an icicle.

Lurking like a giant, ugly boulder, Kralkth looms. The weyrling dragon's breath steams magnificently — which he is definitely not enjoying the effect of. Except that he is. Tonight's I'rly is a good one: happy I'rly, possibly even smug I'rly. With a new-looking riding jacket and sturdy trousers , she looks relatively warm, and it's not even the liquor this time. Passing her dragon with a cheerful smack to the neck, Ibby makes for the buffet tables, pausing to grab a hot mug of cider.

Looking not at all bothered by the cold is Thys - though she's certainly wrapped up against it. In a made-for-winter dress - the bottom of which is already wet from the snow - and a fur-trimmed coat with a hood that's currently hanging loose down her back, she is standing near the fire pit, waiting patiently beside a man who's roasting chestnuts over the coals. Because who doesn't like hot, buttered chestnuts on a cold night such as this? She receives her scoop of delicious morsels and steps away to allow the next person to get theirs, moving towards K'yan as the brownrider seeks out the warmth she's currently soaking up. "Evening, K'yan! Happy Turnover! Chestnut?" The steaming bowl of treats is held out towards him, while the goldrider smiles brightly.

Lurking like a giant, ugly boulder, Kralkth looms. The weyrling dragon's breath steams magnificently — which he is definitely not enjoying the effect of. Except that he is. Tonight's I'rly is a good one: happy I'rly, possibly even smug I'rly. With a new-looking riding jacket and sturdy trousers (or two pairs, or three), she looks relatively warm, and it's not even the liquor this time. Passing her dragon with a cheerful smack to the neck, Ibby makes for the buffet tables, pausing to grab a hot mug of cider. Passing K'yan and Thys with a cheery wiggle of her fingers, the brownweyrling all but flounces. "Happy turnover! I think your hem's on fire." It's not. Why not start the turn with mischief, though? The cider's certainly not going to settle her down any.

Okay, he made it to the fire. A good start for K'yan! He fans triple-gloved hands over it, then turns to warm the rest of him… and also because he hears voices with his name in them. "Happy Turnover," he says back to Thys, with a test to make sure his mouth isn't frozen. It isn't, so he smiles! And reaches for one of those offered chestnuts. "Thanks." A grin. "Got to keep the stomach from freezing, right?" With that, he pops it in his mouth. Omnom… mmh? Is he on fire? I'rly seems to think someone here is. "…can't be. Fire's hot." And he's cold! Though someone probably should check, even so.

A flouncing I'rly is possibly a creature to be wary of, though Thys hardly seems concerned by the weyrling's comment about hems being on fire. Perhaps she's learnt by now, as she gives the young rider a raised-brow look, then laughs and reaches out towards her, stepping closer so she can link an arm through the weyrling's with a bright smile. "Happy Turnover, Ibby - and Kralkth! Faranth, he's huge now, isn't it?" The big brown gets a bowl of chestnuts waved at him since the goldrider has no free hand, and the contents of the bowl is then offered to I'rly. "Chestnut? As K'yan said, they're good from keeping the tummy from freezing… though K'yan, I'm sure you'll warm up shortly. It's practically boiling beneath the marquees - have you stood beside any of those heaters? They're throwing out more heat than a green with firestone, I swear."

Honestly, fire is just usually a good start, at least when you're I'rly. "Oh, you're better off down here than flying." The weyrling decides, nodding emphatically. She doesn't seem too perturbed that her mischief goes un-heeded — rather, her grin goes wider, and she laughs. "Thys is right. Those heater's'll boil your bits inside of three minutes." She agrees brightly, wriggling her snotcicle-free nose in demonstration and linking arms with the goldrider companionably. "He sure as shit is. He…says happy turnover." That's a big fat lie, if the look on the brownweyrling's face is anything to go by, but Kralkth is usually best not-repeated. Ibby pops a chestnut down the hatch and makes a happy face, crunching away contentedly. "S'good. You're right, warm. Nice." The brown, still looming and breathing fascinated patterns into the cold air, snorts. Humans.

"Abbey keeps telling me that," K'yan says in answer to Thys with a mournful edge to his tone that - to judge from the rest of his face - is mostly put on as an act. "She claims it's not so cold and I'll get used to it any winter now." He sighs, a puff of frozen breath in the air, and watches it drift away. "I'm still not convinced." He gives his head a bit of a shake, then smiles as the 'morose' just falls aside as if it was never there, because, really, it wasn't. He looks over, checking for the nearest heaters and seeing just how much cold he'd have to brave to get there. "Are we talking rolling boil, or just a sort of simmering one?" he asks I'rly, almost wistfully. How much warmth can he get, here? Well, there, but… nearby!

"Remind me please, K'yan, where you come to Fort from?" Thys somehow manages to pop a chestnut into her mouth despite still having her arm linked with I'rly - it's magic or something. And maybe she's keen on keeping her hold on the troublemaking weyrling to prevent her from skittering off and causing mayhem. "I grew up in Crom, so I'm quite used to the cold weather. I'd even dare to say it gets colder there than it does here - at least in my memory of it, anyway. But, I have to admit that I love winter. The snow, the cold… snowmen, snowdragons! All the hot drinks and the layering up to stay warm… the snuggling." She winks at I'rly, giving the girl a squeeze to pull her in against her side. "I love it. And Turnover is my favourite day of the Turn."

In Soviet Fort, trouble finds you. Syn arrives on the scene at the fire pit, and it's sudden, breathless, a giggling whirl of fur and scarves, moving entirely too quickly for someone wielding a crutch more like a weapon than for its proper use. "Hide me," gets trilled in place of a proper greeting, though gloved fingers are waggled at those present. Though I'rly is barely taller, the blonde sidles up into the brownie's space, slamming her hood down over her hair as she takes up the girl's other arm, giggling quietly at her own private amusement, or perhaps to make her seem like she was merely enjoying a joke one of the trio had told. A man storms past searchingly, one eyebrow very clearly seared off and looking none too happy for it, but moves on shortly. Giggling still, Syn peeks out from the depths of her hood, arm unlinking from around I'rly's to proffer a wad of various and sundry-shaped wires caked in a suspicious-looking black powder towards K'yan, Thys, and Ibby, all. "Sparkler?" A beat, and then. "Ooh, are we building snowdragons? We should. Morizanth would love to pose for one." Sure she would. And where is the prissy, witchy wonder? Probably inside, where it's warm, but who knows. Maybe there's more doom to come!

"Seems like a good time to take a visit to Ista." Ibby advises, sagely, gesturing grandly with her cider. "Beaches, as far as the eye can see!" They might not be particularly warm just now, but…not covered in snow? "Rolling. Pop a sausage in without holes and —" BOOM, mimed colorfully. "Boil. Warm ya right up." Until you explode. Like a sausage. Theoretically. This is I'rly telling tales. At least Thys has the good sense to keep her from challenging somebody to a dance battle on the 'floor. "Shells. Crom is Faranth's-betweened-bits cold." There's a vague twitch, like that might just be too cold, but Thys is warm and cuddly and the brownweyrling is more than happy for cuddles, winking gleefully. "You make a good case for the winter, weyrwoman." She starts, and might continue, except Syn is spilling her cider and Ibby is laughing even so, caught by the slightly shorter girl. Putting on her best Fight Me face in case the interloper wants to press the issue — but no, no, he doesn't, and sparklers! "Ooooh. These look great. You guys should try them, they really work." As…possibly evidenced by No Eyebrows Jones over there. Cough. "Might keep you warmer!" You know, by advent of. Catching on fire, but who needs these details?

"Ierne," K'yan answers Thys. "Where the summer's hot and the winter's warm." He grins a bit. "Impressed in Telgar, spent a few turns there, decided it was too cold for me and left. So, of course, I ended up here instead." He shrugs, with a sort of what-can-you-do look. "The winter's pretty…" he at least admits. He'd just much rather appreciate it from a nice warm distance! Or a nice warm boiling and melting down into his constituent pieces, as I'rly suggests. "Sounds like home." Ahh, back in the good old tropical days! Back before he moved up to this climate with its temperate zone mood swings and its wandering explosives-purveyors. He looks curiously to Syn as she joins them, then hehs at the offered sparklers. What's a bit of explosive potential between friends? …acquaintances? …near strangers who just came by? Nothing but opportunity for learning and warmth, and so he takes one in careful glove-swathed fingers for a closer look. "Thanks."

"Ierne! No wonder you find it cold here." It all makes sense now, and Thys gives K'yan a sympathetic look. With Syn approaching - and hiding - the goldrider slips her arm from I'rly's with a little squeeze, just to make it easier for her to be able to eat another buttery chestnut, and so that she can reach out for a sparkler, too, which she keeps hold of for the time being without lighting it. "Chestnut, Syn? And why are you hiding?" She looks warily at the greenriding weyrling, then shakes her head and rolls her eyes. Why even ask? "K'yan, have you met weyrlings I'rly and Syn formally yet? I'm sorry for not introducing you earlier - must've left my manners in my weyr tonight." As for snowdragons? "If Morizanth would care to pose for us tomorrow, I'll be happy to make a snowdragon based on her, Syn. Not tonight, though. Tonight is for dancing, drinking, eating and enjoying good company."

Syn, shameless. Does she care that she's gone and spilled Ibby's drink - likely all over herself? No. No she does not. She has the worst set of priorities, and right now they're entirely focused on mayhem and destruction and— "Ierne." Said with as much wist and wonder as one can infuse a single word with, lower lip pushing out. "Shells, I miss Ierne. We could be in bathing suits drinking something cold and pink out of a straw with a paper flower wrapped 'round it," is added with much lament and commiseration towards K'yan, hand lifting towards him in a toasting gesture when he takes a sparkler. "Lucky us, yeah?" But she doesn't seem to be suffering, not beneath the weight of a scarf that might well be a mile long, unspooled. Instead, she snatches up an offered chestnut, popping it into her mouth around a muffled "Thanks, Boss!" and a sparkle-eyed, "Might've set someone on fire a little bit. They'll be fine after their eyebrow grows back." Really, one day she'll stop asking. Until then, poor Thys'll have to endure rampant, mischievous smiles and an awkward crutch-ridden curtsey towards K'yan for the introduction. "A pleasure." The pyrotechnics are brandished I'rly's way next, brows bobbing towards the particularly questionably-shaped one like 'you know you want it' before something Thys says registers. "You gonna dance with me then? I promise not to squish your toes with my walking stick. At least not on purpose." Beam.

"Ierne." I'rly choruses in time with Syn, sighing wistfully. "When can we *between*, again?" That's directed at either proper-rider, expression just shy of pleading. "Are my nieces going to be walking before I can visit?" This is rapid-fire, but Ibby's got the cogs going, freezing temperatures or no. The cold doesn't seem to dampen her enthusiasm at all. Squeezing Thys cheerily, Ibby does take another chestnut, crunching away happily as she watches the sparkler-drama play out. "Well met, K'yan! It's turnover. Manners can stay inside where it's warm." She does snatch a sparkler — only to toss it into the fire, whooping. FIRE. WOO. Any resultant hissing and explosions seem to concern the weyrling about as much as the cold. "She's lyin'. She'll squish all your toes and then take out your kneecaps, too." The betrayer betrays, grinning broadly and dancing out of the way of the hobbly weyrling's crutches. PFFT. "Reckon they know any good square dances here?" Because what could ever go wrong there.

"I've managed to adjust somewhat, but… yeah." Adjustment, in K'yan's case, means that he's at least outside… even if he is bundled up in multiple layers and still complaining of the cold. He nods to Syn's description of Ierne. "I remember when ice was just a thing in drink glasses and crushed with flavored syrups." Oh, those halcyon days in the tropics. How he misses ye, just… not enough to actually leave and go back there. Even if he is tempted every winter. I'rly's question has him re-directing any gaze she gives him right back to Thys as the only one here with anything like authority! When greetings are made, he tips his head in something between bow and nod back to the weyrlings. "I'm K'yan, brown Khaneth's rider." And he watches sparkler-'splosions too, with interest and maybe a risk assessment of whether he'd rather get blown up or be cold. …yeah, that one's obvious. He stays right where he is!

Amidst such enthusiasm for warmer climes, Thys laughs. "Oh, Faranth, give me snow over sand any day. Beaches are fine once or twice a turn, but if I had the choice I don't think I could live somewhere beachy. Sand gets everywhere… at least snow melts." There's a server passing by with a tray of drinks, and she calls him over to share his wares with the four of them - glasses of fortified mulled wine. "Go on, if you want one," she says to the weyrlings, winking at them. "I won't tell if you don't." Of course she takes one for herself, slipping the empty bowl that used to contain chestnuts onto the tray to be taken away. "You'll all have a few months to go yet before you go between, though you'll have to be completely healed," looking at you there, Syn, "before you can." As for dancing and square dancing? No answer - just a quirk of her brows that could mean anything. "Does Ierne have any special dances that you can share with us, K'yan?"

Syn snorts for I'rly's mention of nieces, scooting back into the younger woman's space, if only to give her a solid elbowing. "Shells, with parents like my aunt 'n your brother, they're gonna be walking, talking, and causing mischief before we ever get there." It's said with a touch of dramatic woe, especially considering Thys's reveal of their timeline. "Months? Shells. Mori's about to burst out of her skin. She wants airborne now," she drawls through a laugh, then shrugs. "And I'm healing just fine. Healers even said so, otherwise why would I be here?" Cue shifty glancing, and a quick snatch of a mug of mulled wine to hide behind, the smile that goes along with too-wide, too-bright to be trusted. Did she sneak out? Is she just disguising the fact that she's about to start jamming the end of her crutch into the ground around I'rly's feet in the hopes of mashing the brownie's toes? Probably both. Poke. Poke poke POKE of her stick towards the dancing Ibby's feet, and a bright smile for K'yan. "Alas, syrupped drinks. Still, it's almost as fun being able to walk out your front door, gather up a cup of snow, and pour some stuff on that. Much less effort, and less expensive, too. It almost makes the transition worth it." Almost.

"I'rly, brown Kralkth's." Ibby automatically supplies, cutting a glance back to the young dragon; who has stopped making smoke-plumes, and is extending both wings over the fire, entirely too close. Neither he nor I'rly seem inclined for him to move. "If you ever go back, Syn has a shop. It's the one with the bits-shaped sparklers in the window. She has the best fireworks." The Ibby giveth praise, and taketh it away. Or something. Promoting her cousin's wares is second-nature, at least, as she barely pauses before grinning in Thys's direction. "It melts! And then you can mud wrassle." She waggles her eyebrows, over-dramatic, snickering under her breath. It looks for a moment like she might completely ghost over any mention of not getting to see family for a few months — but then she sighs, dramatic, taking the wine with a little bit of shiftiness herself. Booze. How she's missed thee. "I hear they're already causing it. Without us! We're supposed to teach them that." She grumbles, shuffling feet absentmindedly out of the way for the poking. TRY HARDER, BUDDY.

K'yan takes a glass of the mulled wine for himself, with a nod and murmured thanks for the server. As for the dancing? "There's that one with the grass skirt," he says. "But I'm not getting into costume for it. Not even under the heaters!" Too much exposed skin, he'd turn blue and spend the rest of the winter in the infirmary. He looks somewhat dubious at Syn's claim that the snow makes up for the lack of sand, though… "I will admit, the cold makes me appreciate my klah more." Small silver (or, well, murky brown) linings. He has a sip of that wine, then hmms to I'rly. "I'll keep it in mind. I do go visiting sometimes." He grins. "When I can't stand the cold anymore, or when someone there gives me an excuse."

"You'll be flying long before you between, Syn… did I see some of your fellows trying their wings out the other morning? I could've sworn I did - or maybe I'm just imagining it." Thys runs a hand through her hair as she ponders that, then shrugs. Not really the most important piece of information, therefore not worth wasting brainpower on. "If you two are missing them so much, why not arrange for them to visit? If you don't have anyone to offer them a ride, I'm sure we can politely request someone from Haast goes to collect them." She gives K'yan a look and a grin. "Perhaps they could pick up some grass skirts while they're gone, so that K'yan can demonstrate that Iernian dance when the weather's more agreeable." Wink wink. "I find Ierne pleasant in small doses, but anything more than that is overwhelming. It's just so… excessive. Too party-focused for me. Too much frivolity all the time… I honestly don't understand the way that X'ndr runs the place."

Syn snorts and snorts hard into her mug at K'yan, blue eyes lighting up with a fey glimmer. "Aww, c'mon! That'd be so worth it. Here, drink more, I'm sure we could get you there," she says, taking a drink from a random person's hand and extending it towards the brownrider with a broad grin. It's all in jest, though - the cup might linger a second, the blonde briefly ignoring the 'Hey!' of protest from the woman she stole it off of, but after a second she relents, returning the cup to its owner with a wink. "Sorry, here you go." As for bringing their people here: "Do you really want more of my family descending on Fort? The first time you got us. The second was your flight. The third time, the barracks caved in. I think we've brought enough ill luck to this weyr," Syn drawls with a good-humored wrinkle of her nose and then a shrug. "If Mori is ever satisfied, I'll eat my scarf." An impressive feat. "And Ierne's trying to best Ista at party-throwing. If I didn't know better, I'd say it was doing a pretty good job at it, too." Eye-twinkle, and then a sigh is heaved. "But alas, I must ask you all to excuse me. There are pyrotechnics that need evaluating before the advent of Turnover. It was a pleasure meeting you, Skirt." A nod towards K'yan. Mental image, forever memorialized in a nickname. "Boss, save a couple dances for me. And you." Her stick lifts to jab at Ibby's middle with a crooked grin. "Me, you and Leia have business later." And then with a blown kiss she hobbles back off into the crowd.

"Aw, come on. You put more skin out, you get warmer, faster." Ibby points out reasonably, sipping her wine and not even sort of removing any of her layers. Look, she's stick thin, she'd freeze in a quickness. "It's two streets past the crazy guy with the shears and the popcorn." The weyrling directs, cheery. Probably best to avoid I'van the terrible barber. Thys, though, Thys gets a rueful kind of look; Syn's explanation, however, is far more fun than 'they're too small'. "Yeah. We'll have the whole place coming down on your heads. Can't have that." Ibby grins, sharky and sharp — better than going fleeing off into the wild blue bowl just for the joy of being able to? Probably. Sipping her wine and drifting a little closer to Kralkth (who has, also, shifted closer since the advent of the sparklers), I'rly huffs, wrinkling her nose. "You've gotta let go some! Put on a grass skirt and do a little dance. The sand can only getcha if you let it." Right. Because that makes sense. "It's still in one piece, anyhow." Shaking a foot at Syn's departure, the taller weyrling laughs, rolling her eyes. "I know! I ain't forgetting. Break a leg!" She's hilarious. Honest.

Skirt, huh? K'yan swishes his hips to Syn in answer to that nickname. It doesn't really have the same effect when he's bundled up in winter wear instead of a grass skirt, but hey. "When summer comes around, I will dance for all of you," he promises. "But only if you keep me from freezing for long enough to get there." He can barter his dignity away for warmth. He doesn't need that pride anyhow! "I'll even set up a coal pit for firewalking. We can find out which of you are snow-monsters in disguise by seeing if you melt." He gives Thys a suspicious look, though he follows it up soon enough with a grin, though I'rly gets a dubious look of her very own. "Is the warmth before or after the toes start falling off?"

"I blame Am'ry and A'ster entirely for bringing your doom upon us all," Thys says with a roll of her eyes - it is very true that things haven't gone super-smoothly for her or the Weyr since the terrible trio's arrival. "Come find me later," she says to the departing Syn, before cupping both hands around her cooling mug of mulled wine and sighing contentedly. "Things seem… ok, though. For now, at least. Tonight's going off without a hitch, at least?" The way she says it, it's as if she's expecting something to go wrong… which possibly has something to do with her dreadful record of party-throwing. Doesn't something always go wrong? Thys looks around with a quick, furtive glance, then fixes her gaze back on her company, from one brownrider to the other. "K'yan, I cannot wait for summer to see you dance, even if I might melt away by walking on coals - which sounds crazy, by the way. How much do you have to drink to manage to do that?" And speaking of drinking, she raises her mug to her lips, finishes her mulled wine, and waves for some more to be brought over. "I imagine that after a few more drinks, I could quite happily dance in a grass skirt in tonight's temperatures. Not all night, mind, but… maybe a dance or two. If I knew how to do it."

Oh, no. Now you've upped the ante, and Ibby can't just let that go. "I know a guy who can teach you fire-eating." She offers, eyes too-bright and gleeful for potentially lighting her feetsies right on fire in addition to her mouth-parts. Woe, sanity. "The only thing that'll be melting is underpants." The weyrling tosses in a big wink, and a wild cackle — at her own wit, at the underpants they'll melt off, who even knows. She pretends to consider the question of time-spans for their toes, but: "After. Everything goes numb, then hot." She explains, brightly, taking a sip of the wine and tossing a slightly less insane smile at Thys. "The party is great, weyrwoman. Don't you worry. We're starting the turn off right." Which. Might not actually be real comforting, coming from one of the terrible trio. Ibby even diplomatically doesn't take the low-hanging fruit of A'ster's glorious ability to cause trouble, instead waggling her eyebrows for the goldrider. "Don't you worry. You just wait, I'll bring you those drinks. Somebody ought to be getting more drunk than I can. You too, K'yan. It'll do you good. I've got just the thing…" Because clearly, what tonight needs is more grass skirts and nonsense. Ibby's got people to bribe of their bottles of good brandy. She'll be back, eventually.

"See, you call firewalking crazy, and then you turn around and suggest dancing around here in a grass skirt," K'yan replies to Thys with a grin and a shake of his head. "At least the coals are only underfoot! They're not over your whole body." Different insanities for different folks! Though I'rly does have some fascinating suggestions for further craziness, and K'yan laughs at the mention of fire-eating. "Haven't done that one myself. I prefer drinking my fire!" And he has another swallow from his mug of alcohol, because he's using fire in the metaphorical sense where it means booze. Mm, tasty booze. He takes a look around the surroundings, then back to Thys with a nod of agreement with I'rly about things turning out well. Maybe not who he should be agreeing with, generally, but hey. He can live dangerously tonight! He's already out in the cold and has promised to show off grass-skirt dancing. What's a bit more? …and hey, I'rly will even act as an enabler! K'yan grins. "I'm looking forward to it."

"Fire-eating?" Thys sounds… intrigued. Up for it, too. "We'll chat later, Ibby. I might need a new hobby in 2712. Why not fire-eating?" She gives a nonchalant shrug of her shoulders, then waves the weyrling off. "They're a real handful, this weyrling class," the goldrider says to K'yan when it's just the two of them, "but for all the shenanigans… I can't help but like them." Grinning, she raises her mug to clink off his in cheers. Just because. "Oh, I can tolerate the cold for a little while. Not as well now as I could maybe 10 turns ago, but a half hour or so it doable, especially here when there's all the heaters around." Her contented sigh appears as fog in the crisp air, and she sips from her mulled wine happily. "So tell me. What does this grass skirt dance involve, other than funny-sounding clothing?"

"Sometimes they grow on you," K'yan says. "The troublemaking sorts. Depends on why it is they're causing trouble, really. And just how charming they are to make up for it." He grins, clinking his mug back to hers, and taking a long swallow to follow it. "I suppose you can build up a tolerance to the cold. I mean… I can stand a good hour these days, if I'm properly bundled up!" Such great feats of temperature resistance he can manage. As for the grass skirt dance? "Swaying, mostly." He grins. "Some waving of hands. Some moving in circles. It's, ah… most popular with the tourists when being done by attractive young ladies."

"I see," is the response to the comment about grass skirt-wearing young ladies. Thys grins, then laughs. "Isn't that always the case, though? You could wrap a pretty young thing in sackcloth and someone would be pleased to see her." An amused roll of her brown eyes follows, and she then sips her wine before continuing. "Perhaps you ought to try a different outfit for the winter months. Have you got anything with angora lining? Rabbit wool is the warmest, and it's super-soft, too. If you can tolerate wool against your skin, then I absolutely recommend it, otherwise you could always pad out your jacket or gloves with a wool filling. I can recommend a Weaver to you, if you'd like?"

"True enough, that," K'yan says. He has another sip of his wine, because really, what more does he have to say about the matter? People like what they like, and as for him… hmm. "I… don't know, honestly." He gives a little laugh. "I have a combination of what looked warm in Ierne - terrible, most of it - and what Abbey's given me when I complained about some part or other being cold." He grins. "So it certainly might be, but… I'd have to ask a Weaver's opinion to know for sure. If you know a good one… I certainly wouldn't mind having a talk."

Thys winks. "The benefit of working primarily in Craft liaison is that I know the best Weavers to speak to for any clothing requirements. I'll send you a list of my recommendations tomorrow, when I'm in less of a having-fun mood." Her mulled wine mug is once again empty, and she's already waving for a replacement to be brought over. Another perk of being in her position; service on demand, which she's not shy to take advantage of. "Where is Abbey tonight? Is she around somewhere, or does Th'ero have her working? A'ster is on duty… you'd think that being in the senior ranks would enable you to jig the schedules around in your favour, wouldn't you?"

K'yan laughs. "That would make sense," he agrees about those crafters. "But yes, don't let me drag you into work tonight. I'll come by tomorrow - just let me know when you've got the meeting you want to be late for." He grins, still finishing his own mug at a somewhat slower pace. "As best I've been able to figure it, senior ranks usually mean you feel too responsible to actually take the time off for yourself and stick someone else with it." He grins, with a shake of his head. "Abbey's supposed to be around at some point, though. As long as nothing's gone wrong elsewhere while we've been holding on here, anyway." As things so often seem to do, around here!

"Oh, there are no meetings tomorrow! Turnover is a holiday, after all. I think the Weyr needs it at this point, too. It's been a rough turn for most of us." Thys' brow creases just slightly, before she shrugs it off and smiles. "Let's keep fingers crossed that nothing will go wrong - Faranth knows trouble seems to like to find me. Did you know I was throwing a surprise turnday party when the weyrling barracks collapsed on us? And the turnday girl wasn't even inside!" She rolls her eyes and sighs, heavily. "We've still not got that figured out, actually. But at least tonight we're outdoors and nothing— oh!" What's that that's startled her into silence? Snow! There's snow falling from the sky, gentle flakes that disolve on the goldrider's glove when she holds out her hand. "Snow! Oh, this is just perfect!" She's excited, giddy even - clearly a winter baby.

"Mmh," K'yan agrees with a nod. A moment of solemnity for a difficult turn! "Well… here's to hoping the next one's better," he says, with a lift of his nearly-empty mug before he drains it like those last minutes of the old turn, slipping away. Like snowflakes falling from the sky! Which… at least Thys is happy about. K'yan is a bit more dubious, because that snow is associated to the cold, but it is at least pretty. He watches for a moment, then hehs. "I think I'm going to go search for Abbey and drag her out here." Before something else happens! "Make sure she spends at least a little time enjoying herself, you know?" He grins before he heads off to do that, assisted by brown-dragon conspiracies. "It was nice seeing you. Happy turnover!"

"That sounds like an excellent plan, and one I will implement myself to drag A'ster's arse out of work shortly. Please tell Abbey I say happy Turnover when you see her? And happy Turnover to you to, K'yan - may 2712 be a wonderful one for us all!" Thys raises her new mug of mulled wine to the departing brownrider, then goes on a mission of socialising herself. There are people to see, dances to dance, drinks to drink and cream cakes to eat, and saying sayonara to 2711 was certainly worth celebrating to the fullest.

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