Ista Weyr - Gather Meadow

Rough and amorphous, this clearing has been constructed to give optimum space while still keeping it relatively sheltered from the plateau and weyr beyond. The treeline has been trimmed back to give a clear view of the skies above, but daintily-cared-for saplings have been planted here and there throughout, one day promising plenty of shade. Pebble pathways wind amongst them from the forest's edge and have been formed betwixt skeletal stalls that are almost completely occupied on market and gather days.
Each path eventually leads to a huge, circular patch of gravel. Tables and food carts ring its edge, wine and alcohol predictably given a few of the choice spots. A large, festively-decorated gazebo has been erected at the far end, populaced with chairs and stands for Harpers and impromptu musicians. Tables are situated nearby, and a large wooden platform seems perfect for dancing. Otherwise, grassy meadowland prevails, perfect for picnics and playtime regardless of the season.

It's just getting on towards evening and things are starting to pick up. There's a flurry of activity near the Bakers pavillion. Strings of globe-shaped lights are coming on, swaying between Crafters booths and illuminating tables around the dancing square and a stage. Harpers in their color are warming their instruments while a group of boys joke and shove each other nearby. There's already a long line forming at the Vinters, where barrels of wine and ale are tapped and flowing. Everything seems to be gearing up nicely. In the middle of it is a teenage boy, looking overwhelmed and excited and striding around, checking in on everything with a confident grin and messy hair.

A blue dragon landed unnoticed in the weyr, letting his rider off before rising up to find a place to perch on the heights or the bowl rim while his lifemate made her way towards the Gather. Kimmila is dressed in a blue gown, as is fitting her dragon's color, though hers is a much deeper, richer hue than Varmiroth's powder blue hide. The halter top drops to a V neck, framing her two necklaces and hosting a small pin before the fabric is gathered to an empire waist with a black belt, adorned with some small crystals. The gown fits over her hips snugly before flaring to her ankles, loose enough so that she can move, aided by a slit that comes to the top of one knee. She walks smoothly, but her expression is a little awkward and uncertain, as if she's not sure she's worn the correct thing to this gather. She walks towards the center of the area, green eyes scanning for anyone she knows, and when she comes to a stop she lifts her hands to futz with her hair, which has been pulled back into a simple half runnertail.

In the evening skies above, there's a rush of air and the unmistakable sound of wings as a small group of dragons arrive. Among them is the pale, misshapen and well… just ugly bronze that is none other then Velokraeth and whose rider is the current Weyrleader of Fort Weyr. Joining him are a few Fortian riders, likely all here to take up some Istan hospitality and festivities as a much welcomed change from the otherwise grim days and months that have settled over Fort Weyr and it's surrounding regions. Landing with ease despite his stunted legs, the bronze waits only long enough for his rider to dismount before springing aloft again, joining the others among the heights and likely rumbling a greeting to those of his kin he recognizes. Th'ero is dressed in his most formal attire, the fabric lighter to suit the change in climates but dyed in subdued colors despite the brightness of some of the other Gather goers. It's simple but elegant, a black long sleeve tunic resting under a russet brown overcoat that falls just past his knees. A thick band of embroidered threat and fabric run the neckline, down the front where the clasps lay and around the base, as well as the slits cut into the shoulder sleeves. Black pants and knee high boots complete the ensemble, followed by his knot pinned to one shoulder and two pins resting just to the side of it. As he strides into the crowd with a reserved nature, his features are set into a neutral expression and his path seemingly unplanned. Dark eyes scan the crowds, searching but unsuccessful and often distracted as he pauses to offer as brisk a response to greetings without being overly rude about it before moving on.

Alistaur is making his way towards the rowdy boys near the Harpers. He spies the bronze and blue dragons arriving, tracking their ascension to the bowl rim before moving on. He spies Th'ero and nods sharply to Fort's Weyrleader. "Glad you could make it, sir," he offers him politely. He's not dressed nearly as elegant, in just a plum colored button-up and dark slacks. The Assistant Headwoman knot on his shoulder is brand new.

Kimmila drifts through the crowd until she spots the familiar form of Velokraeth. Rising on her tiptoes, the bluerider tries to keep track of Th'ero through the throng of people, but she quickly loses sight of him. Determined, however, to get to her Weyrmate, the Western rider moves in the direction where she last saw him, edging between people and nimbly slipping around some dancers as she cuts across the dance floor, soon coming close enough to both Th'ero and Alistaur to hopefully be noticed.

Th'ero turns his head to regard Alistaur with an unreadable expression at first until a quick glance to the man's shoulder confirms rank and station. Regardless, he doesn't exactly change to an outrightly friendly and open grin, opting for just the lightest of smiles, restrained and polite, like a man who isn't quite comfortable in such formal and large events, despite what knot he wears on his shoulder. "Of course," he drawls in a low and even tone, offering the new assistant a slight nod of his head. "Fort Weyr gives it's warmest regards to Ista." As if on cue, Th'ero straightens a bit, only to fidget subtly with his clothing. Definitely not comfortable. "The evening looks to be clear…" he adds, almost awkwardly. "And the festivities go well?" Conversation was never his strength, but Kimmila's arrival is both well timed and ill timed in one. Just as he goes to ask Alistaur his name, the words seem to stick and he has to hastily close his mouth or look the fool. But there's no doubt that the Weyrleader's attention has turned and he's pointedly staring at the Western bluerider. She's been noticed!

Velokraeth senses that Varmiroth reaches out to the bronze with a single emotion: smug.

Alistaur laughs self conciously. "As well as a Gather planned by a teenage boy can go," he admits. "Which means I had to find a Harper at the last minute because ours is sick, and I had to handle a few Crafters who didn't like their assigned spots in the vendors area. But, hey, otherwise…" he swings his arms apart and grins. "But actually, I'd better go move those boys along before one of them gets shoved into the dance floor and trampled." He glances behind him to spot Kimmila and grins. "Ahh, enjoy the gather, sir."

Varmiroth senses that Velokraeth reaches back with more emotions then one, but the top most being respective but admiring. «Yours is quite the attraction of the night.» he drawls in his honeyed and mellow tone.

Velokraeth senses that Varmiroth is still smug and pleased. « She is beautiful. »

Kimmila blushes when Th'ero stares at her, glancing down briefly before she's looking up once more, straightening her shoulders and walking forward again. "Evening," she says to the Weyrleader, reaching out her hand towards him even as her eyes turn towards Alistaur. "Hello. You planned this?" Color her impressed, as she gives the teen a second look. "It's quite good. I used to be an Assistant Headwoman," she adds, glancing around again. "I never could have planned anything like this though. What's your name?"

Teenaged boy? Alistaur may find himself under closer scruitiny now as Th'ero turns his gaze back on the new assistant, eyes studying him thoughtfully and likely silently berating himself for not picking up such a detail. "Quite the undertaking. I can only imagine all the work and planning involved." And does the Weyrleader sound a touch sympathetic? Perhaps. He's familiar enough with trying to wrangle a large group of folks together, all who may not mesh well at all. "I won't keep you but perhaps we'll cross paths again." Having not noticed Kimmila's blush for having turned his head away, Th'ero does look down as her hand reaches out and in a very formal and polite gesture, he takes it gently in his and half bows respectfully. He's going to get flak for that later and likely the kiss to her hand as well. "Evening," he drawls softly as he straightens and gently pulls her closer to his side, so long as she doesn't resist him.

Varmiroth senses that Velokraeth huffs mentally with a voice now rich with mirth as he picks up on the obvious smug and pleased nature of the blue. «Of course she is beautiful! She will catch many an eye tonight.»

Alistaur laughs a little and nods. "Well, we all have talents, right? It wasn't a big deal, it's all in who you know." He clears his throat and smiles wider at Kimmila. "I'm Alistaur, and it's lovely to meet you, miss." He offers her a courteous bow and nods again, "Weyrleader, any time you want to talk, I'd be honored." And then there's a crash behind him as one of the boys tumbles onto the pavillion and takes out a cymbal. "Oh for the love of firelizards…" he sighs and sets off with a trot.

On the contrary, the formality has Kimmila quite pleased, as she lifts up one side of her skirt and drops into a light curtsey. "Well met, Alistaur," she says, lips quirking up into an amused smile when he calls her 'miss'. Not a bad thing to hear when your 30th turnday is approaching. As he hurries off she chuckles, and then turns to fully face the Weyrleader, slipping her other hand into his other as well. "You look very nice," she says, leaning back so she's able to get a good view of the Fortian Weyrleader, top to bottom.

"Indeed." Th'ero replies to Alistaur's laugh and remark, the corner of his mouth quirking up into another short lived and faint smile. "Th'ero," he begins to correct the teenage assistant, noting a little too late how blunt his interjecting can be taken as and softens it a little with a clearing of his throat and a sheepishly added, "If you please. No need for the strict title only." Seems only fair, after all, as Alistaur gave his name even if not directly to him and to Kimmila instead. There's a wince as the cymbal crashes and as the assistant moves off, the Fortian Weyrleader is free to turn his attentions wholly on Kimmila. Her studious glance of him earns an awkward shifting from the bronzerider, as he becomes all too conscientious of his appearance. "I find it cumbersome," he mutters, already voicing his dislike of being dressed so fine and formal. Give him his riding leathers and worn, well broken and comfortable clothing and boots and he's a happy man. This? This has him feeling stiff and uncomfortable. But two can play the compliment game and he quickly turns the tables on Kimmila, "And you look stunning. Perhaps I should have brought my sword, to fend off would be suitors." Th'ero smirks a little, to show he's teasing her before suggestively lifting one of his arms, bending it in a silent offer for her to take it. "Shall we?" he asks. This is, after all, more of her night then his.

Kimmila laughs, shifting her body to set the skirt swishing, the slit up the side revealing some skin. "And I feel half naked," she admits, though from her grin perhaps that's not /such/ a bad thing. There are benefits to wearing dresses, after all! "Take the jacket off, then," she suggests. "You should be comfortable, Gather attire or not." She eyes him again. "Perhaps we should have a nice set of new riding leathers made for you. That's perfectly acceptable formal attire for a dragonrider. Tailored well, high quality materials, and then it'd be the best of both worlds." Since when does she know anything about fashion? His compliment has her glancing down and blushing a bit. "Thank you," she murmurs. "Varmiroth really liked it. So did the sales lady…" Then his joke falls rather flat, the bluerider looking up at him and then eyes flick to his side, ever so briefly. She tries to cover it though, by stepping in close and slipping her arm through his. "Where to first?"

Th'ero wisely keeps himself from commenting on her remark of feeling half naked. There are many things he'd say to that and none that are appropriate for a public gathering. "It's not so much a jacket as simply an elaborate second shirt," he tries to explain, grimacing a little as he plucks again at the overcoat and then leaves it be. "Riding leathers? In Istan heat?" But the idea strikes him as favorable all the same, to judge by his thoughtful frown and sudden silence. Then he shakes his head, "Perhaps for another Gather. I had this… selected because of the climate here." Looks like Kimmila weren't the only one who went and commissioned some Weavers. His gaze turns distracted again, first when she swishes her skirts and second for the blush she gives to his compliment. "Varmiroth has good tastes," Th'ero remarks with another faint smile and a hint of amusement in his tone. It falters though, noticing that quick and brief glance to his side. As her arm slips through his, it tightens subtly around hers and he lowers his head in close to murmur to his Weyrmate. "I'll be fine. Enjoy yourself and don't worry." Straightening, the Weyrleader then adds in a normal tone. "The stalls, perhaps?"

Kimmila reaches down to lift up the hem of her skirt just a tad, her other arm staying looped through Th'ero's. "Sounds good," she agrees, walking with him towards the stalls. "Is there anything you're interested in finding at this Gather?" she asks, pausing at a pottery stall and admiring some of the glazed dinnerware on display.

Alistaur finishes up with the fiasco, which involves bullying some of the boys to move and guards to remove the ones who are a little more belligerant about it. He leans against the stage and massages the bridge of his nose briefly. It's only brief though before he's being waved over to the Baker pavillion. He speaks with a big Master with an even bigger moustache and emerges from that with a skewer of seasoned meat, nibbling on it as he sits down at a table to rest and look around, perhaps hoping to catch sight of his friends.

Th'ero walks along side Kimmila, with his arm firmly looped about hers. "Not particularly," he admits and while she may be examining and admiring the glazed dinnerware, the Fortian Weyrleader's attention seems to drift more often to her rather then the wares until he smartly corrects himself. Ahem. As they drift from stall to stall, he takes some interest in the items offered, though seems genuinely more curious in what the bluerider is reacting to. Occasionally he'll scan the crowds as well, mostly out of idleness but partly from ingrained habit.

High above, a brown dragon bursts from Between, and while he was always a paler shade of brown, he now looks positively blond with age, making his bright pink straps stand out all the more. As he comes down to drop his ride off, one can see that she is getting older as well. Probably in her 50's, short and just as dignified as ever, despite the gray in her long braided hair. Alistaur pops up as soon as the dragon arrves, meeting the older woman on the ground. "Ma! You came!" he says, clearly thrilled. She arches an eyebrow at him and smiles. "Of course I did. I wasn't going to miss this!" He helps her with her jacket and asks careful, "Pa?" but she shakes her head and lays her hand lightly on top of his head. "No mind, Alistaur. You know your father is busy." But the teenager just snorts. "Right. Busy drinking." He quells under her stern look and sighs. "Sorry. Hey look, there's someone I want you to meet!" And he hauls the older rider off towards the stalls.

Th'ero turns back to Kimmila and gives her a long look for her choice of small talk. "Fort is doing well," he says a touch too stiffly. Perhaps it's not a topic he wishes to discuss? At least… not here, not now and not in greater detail. As they approach the weapon's stall though, the Fortian Weyrleader's mood improves and he actually chuckles softly, as if completely unsurprised by the bluerider's choice. "See anything you like?" he asks, while inspecting a few choice pieces with delicate care. As another dragon bursts from Between, Th'ero's head turns upwards almost by habit, trying to catch enough of a glimpse of the dragon's hide to perhaps know in advance of the newest arrival. No such luck and soon the bronzerider's focus turns back to the weapon and smith work. Velokraeth will fill him in shortly on who has joined them.

Kimmila glances sidelong at her Weyrmate, grin tilting up crookedly. "Plenty," she admits, admiring a few of the smaller daggers. "Though I hardly need any more knives. Do you have any bows?" she asks the Smith with a warm smile. The man's eyes gleam with a knowing look and he begs their pardon for a moment, vanishing behind some boxes - presumably to bring out his finest bow. While he does that, Kimmila also looks upwards at the new arrival, chuckling at the pink straps. "Think Velokraeth would like that color?" she asks teasingly.

The dragon is Adinaeth, of Xanadu, and his rider is L'alie, once-Weyrsecond and retired Weyrlingmaster, and now mostly just a glasscrafter with an eccentric dragon. And yes, he's very eccentric. He's got a mindvoice like a bubblegum pop symphony, black and white and pink all over. No, mostly pink, and he's not afraid to show it. Alistaur is still dragging his mother down the stalls towards the glasscrafters tent. "My friend, Kiralyn, she's a Candidate here. She makes figurines too," he tells her excitedly. "Alis, slow down, dear. We'll get there soon enough." — "Sorry, ma," Alistaur says breathlessly. "I just need to get back to work, but I wanted to —" But L'alie is shaking her head and patting his hand gently. "No, dear, that's alright. I promise I will still be here. Go do what you need to do." So the teenager nods reluctantly and leaves her to stroll while he weaves back towards the Harper stage.

It's getting on in the evening, and the dark is fully upon them. Strings of round globes have been strung between tents to light the stalls, the dancing floor, and the tables around it. The Baker Pavillion is open, and the smells coming from it are enough to make anyone's mouth water. The Harpers are playing a lively tune and dancers are swinging to it. The line at the Vinters has not gotten any shorter, and the many pink faces and loud laughs all around are evidence that they're doing a lively business tonight.

If Th'ero wants to question Kimmila's question to the Smith over inquiring of his bows, the Fortian Weyrleader keeps his comments to himself. Instead, he muses softly, "One can never have too many knives." At the mention of pink straps, the bronzerider snorts sharply. "He would likely give some scathing remark and then politely refuse them if we even so much as wandered anywhere near to him with the intentions of having him wear pink leather straps." Th'ero drawls and chuckles dryly. Currently, he is standing by a Smith stall, with Kimmila at his side. While he no longer has his arm linked with the Western bluerider, he does keep his arm loosely around her, fingers lightly resting on her lower back. The Fortian Weyrleader is dressed formally, riding leathers exchanged for lighter fabrics and all in his usual taste of somber and neutral hues though they seem to suit him well.

Ierne Weyrhold, sad to say, is not the kind to support a great feast of parties and festivals, well, nothing so grand as this. If anything, the place is full of private parties to take in the Turnover. A'dmar therefore has taken advantage of the public invites to any Turnover parties, as there ought to be something interesting to see, if not hear. The bronzerider settles into an easy pace around the grounds, bypassing the vintner line to take into the bakery tent. Victory comes in a individual sized bubbly pie and a bag of goodies for the ride home. The man is wearing stylish grey slacks, paired with a loose cloth vest of the same color underneath of which a black and purple shirt like, purple layered under black. Over it all, he has a powder blue scarf that wraps about his neck once and hangs free. Leather made bangles with beads upon them criss-cross over his wrists, while his hair is neatly combed as if he spent hours making sure of it. Careful not to get squirting juice dribbling down his sleeve or onto his shirt, A'dmar pauses off to the side of the throng to bite into that bubbly, while dark eyes skim across the faces in the crowd and ears become attuned for anything spoken of interest.

Kimmila laughs at the mental image of Velokraeth in pink straps, but her attention is pulled back to the Smith when he returns with what's probably a bow. It's hard to tell, because it's wrapped in black fabric. He hands it over to the bluerider with a wink, and then goes back to his work. What, she gets a free bow? Kimmila holds it carefully as she turns, stepping away from Th'ero's touch - but it's only so she can hold the cloth wrapped package out to him. "This is for you," she says with a little smile. She's dressed in a halter top blue gown that fits her body rather closely, but a slit up one side of the skirt gives her plenty of freedom of movement. After she hands the package to the bronzerider, her eyes flick around the gather, a vague smile on her face. A'dmar's bubbly has her grinning, looking longingly towards the Baker's tent.

Fort's Weyrwoman isn't dressed impressively, no dresses but at least she's in her finer leathers. She, however, is alone rather than venturing in on the arm of a friend or date. What she seeks is anyone's guess as well as the woman is taking her time at each both, thoughtful, searching but moving on quickly when the item of her search is not found. She does, however, pause as she stops at a Tanner's booth, looking over the wares. She lingers far longer there, but, unfortunately moves on, even with the deals offered to her. When her gaze leaves the stalls, she notices Th'ero and Kimmila, then Ad'mar. A brief pause before Dtriae shrugs and moves on, eventually making her way to the Smiths. Her destination is found, it seems as the woman begins to inspect the knives and other sharp objects offered and all their attempts to draw her attention towards the jewelry is for nothing, it seems.

Alistaur climbs up onto the gazebo stage, and the Harpers lower the music. He clears his throat, waiting for attention to turn to him. "Oh! Well. Hello everyone. I just wanted to say, thank you for coming to the Gather, and Happy Turnover!" Some people in the audience clap and whoop, and he lets them finish before going on. "Yah, haha. Whoo. Yes, so, I especially wanted to thank MasterSinger Fidero and his delightful apprentices," he turns sideways to gesture to the older gentleman in Harper blue who's been occupying the stage, "who generously saved my bacon by filling in. Ah, also to MasterVinter Ainette, who has been pouring out cups all evening, and Master Bendell, who personally oversaw the menu for tonight and who has never cooked a bad dish in his life." Somewhere, a big man with a mustache guffaws and blushes. "And, a big thank you to all the other marvelous Crafters who have made the journey too. Most of all I'd like to thank our Weyrleaders, Cenlia and P'rel, for being such gracious hosts, so if we could have some applause for everyone —" he joins into the cheering and then, laughing, says, "And well, I guess that's it! Do we have the time —" he looks around and one of the harper apprentices leans in to murmur in his ear, "Excellent! Are you all ready for some fireworks?"

The exotic looking bronzerider, with his deep sienna touched skin and dark features, apparently catches the eyes of a passing Weyrwoman, his gaze following after her out of curiosity more than interest as a man to a woman. This, this was simply a political inspection, observing and weighing the woman as she passes. Setting the bubbly aside on a (magical) bar high table, likely to really be some display piece for the baker but his trays are gone, A'dmar looks to fish something out of his inner pocket. It's a small notebook with a pencil. Immediately he sets to work jotting something down or perhaps drawing, but his eyes flicker the way Dtirae went regardless. Then, just like that, he slides the book back into a hidden pocket underneath all his thin layers. As for the applauding and the speech up front, his eyes are dodging faces to seek out specific people when mentioned. It doesn't seem to keep his interest, all the applause and the whooting and hollaring. Instead, snatching back his bubbly, he's gliding around people in quiet steps, coming alongside that Smithy tent that Dtirae stands at. Casually enough, he starts to consider one of the blades for sale, picking it up in his hand to turn it over, looking at the make of the hilt and the material used to make it.

Th'ero is distracted again and likely by Velokraeth informing him of other arrivals, some of the names unknown to him but one in particular catching his focus and dark eyes drift upwards for a glimpse of pale gold hide. It's only when he realizes Kimmila has turned to face him, something large and wrapped in her hands that he glances down again and surprise is clearly writ across his features. "For me?" he echoes, reaching out almost uncertainly for the gift. When it's exchanged, he holds it almost tenderly as if he expects it to shatter any moment. Flushing a bit, the Fortian Weyrleader is then reminded all to well where he is and suddenly a touch embarrassed, he clears his throat. "Thank you, Weyrmate." He murmurs softly, likely for her ears only and seeking to draw her into an almost chaste embrace against his side. At her longing look to the Baker's tent, he chuckles dryly as he regains his composure over the sudden gift. "Hungry?" he asks her with a wry smirk. Glancing again towards the tents, he then spots A'dmar and Th'ero frowns as recognition starts and then fails. Where has he seen that bronzerider before? He would have remained staring, or subtly trying to, for a few moments longer but then Dtirae wanders closer to one end of the stall. "Evening, Weyrwoman," The greeting is called out, formal and a little brisk and followed by a polite nod of his head. He'll otherwise leave her to her browsing, as soon Alistaur's voice is drifting from the stage and as all attention turns to him, so does Th'ero's. He's not among the cheering, though the Fortian Weyrleader manages a slight smile. Does he /ever/ unwind? At least he joins in the gestures of respect to the names given, especially of the Istan Weyrwoman and Weyrleader as hosts. Then he's blinking, "Fireworks?"

Kimmila nods, "Yes, and a bit overdue," she says, brows furrowing a bit when he just…holds it. Who just holds a present? "Open it," she urges, slipping in against his side and looping an arm around his waist. Then there are others approaching, and the Western bluerider smiles. "Evening, Dtirae. Hello," she adds to A'dmar when he also approaches the weapon stall. "Nice blade, there," she remarks, nodding her head towards the one the bronzerider holds. "And a little hungry," she says up to Th'ero, "but open your present first."

Dtirae looks forward for the announcement, paying attention to who speaks and smiling but nothing more. If only because the knife has her attention more than anything else at the moment. Even the fact that she's slipped in near her Weyrleader and his weyrmate. The greeting does draw her out of her trance of shiny stabby things and she offers a grin to the man. "Evening, Weyrleader. Good to see you." It's entirely pleasant as she inclines her head towards him before she's fetching another knife. The hilt of this one has a more intricate design than the last and appears to be more for display than for use. She flags the attention of the Smith and then, shortly, both knives are being packaged for purchase. The woman is entirely pleased. "Hello Kimmila." Though, her greeting to A'dmar draws her attention back towards the man. "Hello." Apparently, she hadn't noticed him, either.

Up on the stage, Alistaur is grinning broadly as the more vocal in the crowd shout their agreement to tonight's entertainment. Well, his friends DID ask him how he was going to top his last party. Now they'll know. "So, is everyone looking forward to the new Turn?" he says conversationally. A few people groan and jeer and he holds up his hands. "I'm only teasing. Calm down. Here they come! In 10… 9…. 8….7…. 6…. 5…. 4…. 3…. 2…. — cover your ears! — 1!" Two white pillars of light and smoke shoot up above the treeline with a shriek before exploding with a crackling boom overhead. Showers of gold spray outwards, ending in a sizzling hiss as they fall earthward.

The way that A'dmar is holding the blade and how he promptly sets to dancing it between hands to feel the weight of it, making a few rolls of his wrist to test it out, makes him seem as if he's adept at using one. Kimmila's remark to him, was it to him - he looks around to make sure - has him placing the blade back down with a dismissive shrug. Something about it didn't meet his standards, or he's using the advantage of regarding the blades to see if anything of interest is happening? Maybe? Or maybe he's just really looking for a knife. He pulls up a larger one, hooked back and showing a bit more design to the blade. This his fingers creep across, pulling it up to his nose to glance down the shape of the blade. Near black eyes chance over his shoulder at the second 'hello' … clearly this time they were indeed trying to greet him, so he responds with as much zeal as he can make his voice give then, which, is slightly better than deadpan, "Evening." Certainly he noticed the Weyrwoman purchasing two knives and the pleased expression because of said decision to buy them, though he says nothing and settles the curved dagger back upon the table after a few test bounces in his palm. Not quite there yet. Loitering until the instant of the first pop, which has his head swiftly turn over his shoulders. "Skies above…" he curses, losing interest as he notes the fireworks, "look at that… how high they can go…" and then explode. Hum.

Clearly a bad entrance time for Inyri and the brown & rider she's come with; of course they touched down /just/ before the fireworks display, and so just after dismounting both members of the pair are somewhat shook up and startled. It shifts quickly to being impressed, and then to — applause, as typically boisterous Inyri calls out, "Okay, /that/ was incredible! Who did that?" loudly enough that maybe not just the people she came with or the people who might recognize her voice will be able to hear her. She doesn't actually seem interested so much in the weapons as she is in first the fireworks and then the food, so wherever her companion went, he's been abandoned in favor of getting something to eat.

Th'ero just holds a present, that's who. What did Kimmila expect? He's awkward in the best of times and more so when surprised and taken off guard. Blinking, he looks sheepish again when she has to urge him and gives her an apologetic smile. "Sorry. My mind is everywhere." Not entirely an excuse! So while she turns to greet the others, he begins to carefully unravel the covering, revealing a bow carved from pale wood, unstrung and with a leather grip, unadorned of any decorations. It looks well fitted to his strength and size as well. "It's beautiful," he remarks, turning it in the lamplight to better examine it and his touch is light and gentle. "And well crafted." Which means the Fortian Weyrleader loves it, even if he barely shows it. Wrapping it carefully again, this time he does show some affection towards his Weyrmate and bends to give her a quick kiss, not lingering long in the public display of affection. That is not his style, it seems. A'dmar's vicinity to the stall is noted again with another lingering glance but again the Fortian Weyrleader loses his chance to greet the bronzerider as the countdown begins. Which means… "Shards, already?" And then Th'ero is wincing slightly at the sound of the fireworks, but he holds his ground and watches the display with a mix of awe and uncertainty. "Loud is what they are." He grumbles perhaps in response to A'dmar, likely not overheard with the din of the crowd. "But remarkable."

Kimmila watches Th'ero closely when he first sees the bow, and she at least seems pleased by his reaction, rising onto her tiptoes to return the kiss. "I'm glad you like it." She made it herself, he damn well better like it. Wrapping her arm around his waist, she stays at his side as the first firework goes up, and she jumps, swearing under her breath. "Pretty, but…"

Dtirae is peeking over at the blade in A'dmar's hand, interest is certainly there. Apparently, the Weyrwoman can't get enough things to stab and kill with. Though, she already has a curved dagger. And it's certainly a good thing she doesn't have a knife in her hands as the first bang goes off as the woman does end up jumping slightly, grey eyes wide. A string of swears leaves her mouth and then she relaxes for a moment before looking skywards. "That Doesn't seem safe. Likely why the dragons are all landin' elsewhere." With her mind at ease, she's already looking for another knife. Well, then Th'ero's opening his present and the woman hums with appreciation for the bow. "That's a nice one. Reminds me that mine broke, now that I think about it." An idle thought as her gaze returns to the knives, likely because she hasn't had much of a change to actually use a bow lately.

The next round is five shells. Two of them burst and fall as waterfalls of silver sparkles. The other three start as balls that whiz and zig across the sky, leaving a purple trail that fades slowly, leaving a smoke impression in the sky. The next boom is a single firework, large enough to fill the same amount of sky as the last five together, blooming first gold and then again with a red inside. There's a brief pause and then a dozen white trails go up all together, bursting in a frenzy of hissing sparks that shower down and crackle and spray outwards. Before they've cleared, a second dozen shoot up into the sky, replastering the night air with more color that dazzle the eyes and ring the ears. When the end, the silence is more stunning than the sound before it, the smoke the only thing left of the display. Alistaur hops back on stage and says, "Well that was something! That was from the very talented Master Ivon and Journeyman Sytara, who specialize in pyrotechnics at the SmithCraft. Anyway, thanks again everyone for coming out, and I hope you enjoy the rest of the evening!"

All these sharp and glistening pointy things and still not one good enough for the cranky old greenrider. Ta'sin takes a deep breath, crossing his arms over his chest as he peers down at the selection with his lips pressed into a thin line. Tired eyes slowly pan from each item to the next before he moves a foot back, preparing to leave. The fireworks? He doesn't seem to notice them or give them any thought. While people are distracted, it's a good time to take a good look at the wares without getting elbow checked by a large auntie or person of questionable gender. This is Ista, there's plenty of questionables. Likely due to turns of people who partake of the alcohol a little too liberally. "Hrm? Oh? Right, Janneth. There were lovely, dearest." At least his green watched the entire show intently. What she possibly made out of it is anyone's guess.

The movement of the unwrapping catches in the corner of his eye, but A'dmar doesn't turn to gawk. Something, tells him not to eye the couple directly. He'll pretend indifference as his chin lifts up and his eyes follow the trail of smoke toward the burst of energy and the subsequent bursting stars everyone calls fireworks. Any further opion about them is held concealed, turning his gaze upon Th'ero, who was heard in the din of the crowd. There's an acknowledging bob of his head for the summation of what the fireworks are. At this point, he can't help but pick up the conversation drifting from Weyrwoman to Weyrleader about the bow and he notes Dtirae's continued appreciation of the knives. "This one-" he has his back on the sky to revert to the knives yet again, picking up a blade that was emblishing along the blade itself, with a straight edge that dips down into a sudden nasty curve. There's an rather interesting design engraved into the blade, almost celtic and certainly done with tribal inspired designs. The hilt, the hilt is actually made from an animal's antler, carved to hold the sturdy blade. The weight would suit Dtirae and it wasn't too elaborate that it could be confused with a girls dagger. He passes it to her, hilt surrendered, "This one, it's not just for decoration-" he notes as he touches the sharp point with a pad of his finger tip, nodding at her for her to take it and see for herself. Then all those fireworks are popping alongside behind them, to which he turns back to consider them yet again.

Of course he likes it! His true reaction is likely far more then just mere 'liking' but Kimmila should know that Th'ero would be reserved in public and held back. Gift or not. He's lucky that his reaction didn't back fire and cause strife between them. "It's a very thoughtful gift. Practical… and with meaning." A connection, he means but he fumbles his words again and then for once seems relieved that the fireworks have distracted all. As she jumps, the Weyrleader pulls her closer, holding her to his one side and the bow safely at the other. "Loud." Th'ero echoes again with a chuckle as he finishes for her. "Wonder what is in them…" To Dtirae, he catches snippets of her words over the din of the crowd and adds in his drawling tone. "I'm sure it's safe enough or they'd not allow it… And I don't know about Zuvaleyuth, but Velokraeth is fascinated rather then alarmed." Indeed, the pale bronze is watching it all with an almost vorcacious hunger, his curiosity and interest is so strong. Luckily the Weyrleader is occupied or he'd insist to /know/ the meaning behind it all right that very moment. Then the sky erupts in a dazzling display of sound and light and Th'ero watches it all, though he still winces slightly at the louder booms and the unexpected ones. As the last fade away, the Weyrleader gives a slight whistle that follows his exhale. "Did not have any idea the Smithcraft dabbled in such things. I know Western had them, but never learned which Craft…"

Kimmila leans subtly against Th'ero's side, smiling and content that the gift was well received. Watching the fireworks, she shakes her head. "I've never seen anything like it," she admits. "It's really quite striking. Varmiroth is entranced." Then her eyes are drawn to the blade that A'dmar offers Dtirae. "That's a nice one," she remarks.

"Hm?" The Weyrwoman's gaze drifts over towards A'dmar and the blade he shows holds her attention, likely lost from her sight because of all the others around it. The hilt is taken, and the woman hums once, testing it in her hand before examining the blade. "Decorative and useful, somethin' worth addin' ta my knives I actually carry." Her index finger tests the blade as she speaks and the corners of her lips twitch upwards in a pleased smile. "Good find." This is likely why the Smith has yet to return with her packaged things, what with her eyeing the blades as if she may purchase another. "I'd like ta get this one, too." She indicates to the smith, the blade handed over without a second thought before attention returns to the bronzerider. "Dtirae. You are?" Th'ero is speaking and attention turns to the Weyrleader. "She's tryin' ta find the right words ta describe it. She's likin' 'em, though." And it is likely she's drowning out her lifemate's long descriptive confused words as she tries to accurately portray the fireworks. There's a wide grin towards Kimmila and a nod of agreement for the blade, now added to her purchase list.

Irelanth projects to Velokraeth . o O ( Mine says to tell yours that we are arrived, with K'drozen. Mine wishes to know if nanny duty would be a suitable punishment. Perhaps the weyrbrats could help keep an eye on him during the day? )

Duties done, Alistaur mingles into the crowd who are moving back to other pursuits. The Harpers strike up a lively tune and everything gets back under way. While searching for his mother, he comes upon all of the riders around the knife stall and lifts his eyebrows. "Gosh, maybe I'll just have a knife party next time and invite everyone to come play with sharp things instead," he teases the group at large.

"Except me," chirps Inyri in response to Alistaur's quip; /she/ is enjoying a glass of wine and food just in earshot. "I think I'm the odd one out not all over it." Not that she hasn't been amusing herself watching everyone else enjoy the sharp things; the fish gutting knife she's got is really enough for her, and it's odd enough that she even has that on her when going out. Then again, it seems that her tiny, always-attached firelizard, at this point, won't let her be without it as he is presently sitting on her boot and pawing at it. "Though, I mean, even my /firelizard/ is in love with the shiny knives," she adds as she notices, "so I think the problem must clearly be with me. My interests lie in the wrong places. Like the wine. Which is exquisite, by the way!"

A'dmar studies the woman as she appraises the value of the knife he found, though, it's hard with the snapping crackling fireworks behind him to not allow his attention span to slide back that way. In the middle of drawing his eyes back to Dtirae, he notes that she's purchasing the knife as an addition to the first two. He gives a nod to her name, at least this time, a Weyrwoman was decent enough to wear her knot and not pretend she was someone she wasn't. "A'dmar," he returns his name back, loud enough to be heard through the buzz of the festival firework aftermath.

Irelanth senses that Velokraeth responds after considerable pause. «Too easy. Mine says he's to be demoted as Wingrider, stripped of his rank and wages. And it's back to Weyrlinghood for him, until he learns proper respect.»

Irelanth projects to Velokraeth . o O ( Mine says that means he should be sleeping in the barracks? )

Velokraeth projects to Irelanth . o O ( The weyrling barracks? Perhaps. There are the guard barracks too and the brig there. At least that door locks if the rider is foolish enough to attempt a coup. )

Irelanth projects to Velokraeth . o O ( Mine needs a yes or a no, please. )

Wine? After finding that nothing really peaks his interest, Ta'sin sighs heavily and turns towards the mentioning of wine. He's had more than enough, but you never know when a fine turn comes out of the wood work when those stingy Vintners decide to open up their private stores. "I wonder if I could trade some of my knives for wine, rather than bringing home more to just collect dust in my weyr." A long croon sails across the grounds as the abstract patterned green lifts her head and opens both wings for a little bit of stretching. Janneth rumbles before curling up once more, offering a little bit of cheer to make up for her grumpy riders lack thereof.

"I think they must be considerably rare and if so… expensive." Th'ero points out to Kimmila, giving her a bit of a bemused look. "There were some in Western once. But not as many as tonight." The Weyrleader then turns to glance over to where Dtirae is checking the wares and the fact that A'dmar is now closer and giving council has the bronzerider frowning slightly, mostly out of interest towards the other's motives. Truthfully, given all Th'ero has been through he can't be entirely blamed for his suspicions, but as the Weyrwoman doesn't seem to mind, neither does he. Plus, she is her own woman and he knows she can take right care of herself. "Seems all the dragons are taken by it." Th'ero drawls, shaking his head a bit. As Alistaur approaches with his teasing comment, the Weyrleader flushes a bit and perhaps in embarrassment in the fact that well… it's true. A quick glance about the stall has him noticing that in fact they have all gathered around one spot and it's then he spies Ta'sin there as well. "Ah, well… common interests tend to draw folk together." He tries to explain, clearing his throat slightly and feigning innocence. "The display," And he points to the now dark skies. "Was fantastic, by the way." And then he's giving Kimmila another look and a very subtle squeeze to his side to gain the bluerider's attention. "Did you still want a bite of food?" he asks her, glancing up as Inyri steps in to join Alistaur. He doesn't recognize her, though his gaze may linger on her knot if she's wearing it.

Irelanth senses that Velokraeth snorts mentally and drawls with a bit of a sarcastic tone. «If yours insists so: then yes. Guards will be needed of course as it shouldn't be left to the weyrlings themselves to watch over him.»

Whose knives collect dust? Kimmila looks around with a little frown at whoever uttered /that/ comment. For shame! "Very lovely, Alistaur," she says to the young man with a little smile. "I'm famished," she tells Th'ero. "I want to eat a whole lotta something. Take me away from the knives before I buy something small and deadly. I can't hide anything in this dress anyway," she says with a crooked grin, patting the fitted gown. "Is the wine good? Maybe I'll have some of that instead of the ale," she muses, half talking to Ta'sin and half talking to herself. Green eyes flick back to A'dmar, considering for a moment, though she says nothing.

Inyri's knot is, in fact, actually on — and visible, now that the firelizard has chosen her shoe to rest on over wrapping around her arm. "The — uh, well, the food is good," is her greatest contribution, as everything she has tried seems to have properly met her approval. At least she handles her clueless flub gracefully, with a delicate smile. "And I've only just got the one knife, but if I could trade /ale/ for wine, that I would be looking into."

"You could, depending on who you talk to. I know a bluerider in Eastern Weyr that works as a uh, shards. What did he call himself? He goes to inns and larger kitchens, setting up their menus and pairing wines with certain foods. He does alot of bartering and is somewhat of an entertainer as well. I'd start with him. I trade rugs and other weavings to him for certain wines if they become scarce." Ta'sin has enough knives stocked up in his weyr, one would think he was preparing for the end of the world! Or, more likely, he kept misplacing one so he bought another, feeding into that vicious cycle… "D'ion. Bluerider. That's it."

Alistaur looks sideways at Inyri and smiles charmingly at her. "I'm glad you like the wine. I will have to take your word for it. I'm not old enough to drink yet." He dips an acknowledging nod to Th'ero. "As I said, it's all in who you know." And apparently, he knows some very fancy people. "Well, I hope you all are having fun, I promised a dance to a friend, I should find her." He glances once more at Inyri and says, "There's ale. This is Ista, darling. There's 4 bars just on the other side of the plateau, and those are just the ones I know of." Who knows what's around here that the underage teenager doesn't know about.

Dtirae does manage to her Alistaur's teasing, laughing with delight. "Of course, my weakness is shiny things that can be used to stab other things." A wink is given towards the young man, "I'll be done shortly and look to see what else there is." Inyri is then heard and the woman lifts a hand in greeting towards the barmaid before her fingers are dipping down and fetching the appropriate amount of marks that are then traded for her blades. The smith is given a wide grin in thanks before attention settles back on A'dmar. "Well met, A'dmar. Good ta meet others who happen ta know their stuff." There's a brief glance back at Th'ero, either for the fact that she's noticed him looking or she's checking his progress. A grin is flashed in his direction as well as Kimmila's for the talk of food. Or, what she could make out of the conversation, at least. "Hm. A drink is actually soundin' good right 'bout now."

Th'ero's glance turns downwards when Kimmila pats the fitted gown she wears (and not just because of the gesture) and then he's chuckling, looking up again to cast his gaze across to the tent that has the food and seating. "We'll go and partake in some of the fine food then. And wine, is it?" He hadn't caught that comment, but the question is asked broadly to all in hopes that the original voice of it speaks up again. As to the knives, the Fortian Weyrleader is already taking a few small steps away and steering the bluerider with him. No more temptation! "One night won't hurt," Th'ero teases his Weyrmate over her lack of any knives on her person. Already though, he's likely plotting a quiet revenge for the surprise of the gifted bow. Inyri's comment has him focusing back on her and noting her as one of Fort's residents, he doesn't seem wholly surprised. "Any recommendations on food?" he asks her in passing, curious to see if the girl has any and perhaps just to strike up a quick conversation so that he doesn't simply breeze by her. Another time perhaps, he'll cross paths and speak more then just a quick opinion over the Gather hosts menu. To Alistaur, he simply nods and there's a ghost of a smile upon his lips. "Of course," he murmurs and then with a hasty nod to Dtirae, he adds, "Perhaps I'll see you later. We're off to take in some dinner before the night grows too late." And then he's wandering off, with Kimmila by his side if the bluerider chooses to follow.

Dtirae gets a humble nod from A'dmar as he steps away from the knives, leaving them be on the booth surface despite a certain frown from the smithy. You can be sure that the smithy is counting his blades left unsold, to make sure he wasn't shorted by anyone. Fast fingers and all. A'dmar replies easily enough to Dtirae, "It happens that a wanderer must know how to hone his blade lest it be used on him first." He notes that she's eager for a drink but he doesn't offer. She has enough marks by her given status to pay for her own drink - call this man cheap if you would. "The vintner line is quite long," he says instead, "Though I'm confident a person of your status will not fail to stay in line too long." He shifts, but only slightly away from the knives, regarding the others that have crowded around the Fortian folks. Or maybe they were all Fortian?

Far off in the distance in one of the clearings as of yet unoccupied by people, an unfamiliar dragon lands, crouching low to allow her passenger off, who does so with some difficulty but manages not to fall upon touching the ground. Nodding his thanks, Datsun moves quickly away from the dragon as not to get caught in her wings, straightening his clothes. The teenager wears a royal blue tunic and black pants along with heavy boots and several knives donned to his belt, approaching the Gather in general. He pauses for a moment at the fringe, casting his eyes about as he considers where to go next.

More poses follow, but player's log ends here…

'The World of Pern(tm)' and 'The Dragonriders of Pern(r)' are copyright to Anne McCaffrey (c) l967, 2000. This is a recorded online session, by permission of the author but generated on PernWorld MUSH for the benefit of people unable to attend.