Who Aignes, C'los, F'inn, K'zre, Th'ero
What Fort Weyr's Weyrlings Celebrate their Graduation!
When Winter - Month 13 of Turn 2718
Where Living Caverns, Fort Weyr

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Fort Weyr - Living Caverns
Decorated to celebrate the graduating weyrlings, the living cavern's high, domed roof is adorned with fluttering streamers of glittering metallic gold, the delicate lengths adorned with roses crafted from ribbons and swaying gracefully with the slightest breeze. Amidst the ribbons glows have hung on slender threads, creating a rainbow colored array of strobing light that reflects on the entirety of the cavern.

The tables have been arranged along the edges of the room, each of them covered white table cloths bearing a metallic thread that catches the reflected lights and casts it back toward the domed ceiling. Despite the season, glass bowls of fresh flowers (clearly brought in from elsewhere) have been set in the center of each table. The center of the room has been left been empty for dancing, a roped off area set aside for the musicians. Near the kitchens, long, linen-covered tables boast a vast array of food and beverages and an almost shocking amount of sweets.


With the living cavern all settled, the musicians present and getting themselves ready and the food set out, F'inn finally has a moment to relax. Grabbing a mug of klah, he settles against the wall, sipping it quietly while surveying his handiwork. There is something satisfying about the moment. Something that is completely outside of the fact that they are graduating and finally done.

K'zre has had plenty of time to clean himself up and get his head on straight. Or, as straight as it is likely to be given Yasminath's current situation. But he's trying. And he's cleaned up damn well. Outfitted in Gather-worthy attire in burnt-orange and earthy brown, he leaves his heavy coat and scarf at the door, gloves stuffed into the pockets. He stamps his feet to rid them of slush before proceeding any further. And while there are curt nods of acknowledgement to those that offer him greetings, it's clear in the searching sweep of his eyes that he's looking for someone in particular. Even the dessert table, with is wonderful variety of sweet treats does not call to him just yet.

F'inn has been waiting for K'zre to get back and immediately smiles when he spots him. Without a second thought, the mug of klah he had been holding is set on a table, his long legged stride carrying him over to drape an arm around K'zre's shoulders. "You look like Fall," he murmurs in low tones. "Suits you." Without missing a beat, he's guiding them toward the dessert table, well aware of the particulars of K'zre's brand of proddy. "Grab a cookie?"

Neither one to be fashionably late or awkwardly early, Aignes somehow manages to arrive into the living caverns precisely on time. Ignore extra-rosiness in her cheeks that may or may not have been added from lurking out in the winter chill until an appropriate time to enter. Her party-worthy outfit seems to be emerald-colored dress leathers which she's still smoothing as she heads towards the familiar faces of her clutchmates. "Hard to believe they're grown now."

C'los came in at some point, itching to get back in the kitchen but he's wearing his own best clothing and it would be poor form to get a stain on it so soon before graduation. Emerald eyes glance around the room, spotting Aignes and he offers her a nod of his head in greeting, fighting back a smile. Though it's hard, she is right after all. "I know, it seems like they just hatched out of their eggs yesterday. You blink and they're all grown up." Of course this greenrider can be happy about it. His dragon hasn't glowed yet.

In a party like this, is there a fashionably late or just always 'on time'? It's certainly an important event and one that Fort Weyr has seen numerous Turns over but never skimp on. Always a good boost to morale and mood when new weyrlings are being welcomed into the fold! Th'ero has been doing his rounds, quietly threading his way through the mingling crowds and sharing in a few brief greetings or low spoken, short conversations. He may not be as vibrantly outgoing as some, but the Weyrleader is in a good mood (even if that lacks in obvious display too). He's even dressed a little more formally this time, though Kimmila has seemed to fail this evening in convincing him to wear anything other than his usual sombre colors. At least there's a bit of silver accent to his outfit and he did compromise on an off-white tunic. Eventually he's freed from yet another conversation with a small group of Crafters, before he turns to find the table with drinks. Is it any wonder he's probably on the hunt for something alcoholic?

K'zre has eaten more cookies over the past two days than he has in the entire rest of his life. And not just cookies, but cupcakes, and brownies, and straight-up frosting from the tube. Because cravings are real and he's definitely got them. So despite having cleaned out the kitchens of cookies just that morning… he's still going to have another one when it's offered to him. "Thanks," comes in a low mumble, though it's unclear whether it's gratitude for the sugar, or for the compliment on his attire. He's casually nibbling on the edge of his chosen treat, tucking himself in against F'inn as though he might want to fuse with his side, when familiar voices draw his gaze. "It's been over a Turn…" he points out, frowning. "We've done a lot of blinking." Don't mind him. He's just going to chew his way through the dessert table before attempting any sort of reasonable conversation. And then? Then he'll go for the wine.

F'inn doesn't have to worry about his dragon glowing— a fact he is impossibly relieved over— and flashes a lopsided smile at the approach of Aignes and C'los. "Easy for you to say," he laughs. "Nymionth was as big as houses in a blink." Spotting Th'ero moving through the crowd, he watches him for a moment, his arm remaining comfortably draped over K'zre's shoulders since the proddy greenrider is currently fused to his side. He's relaxed, clearly, if not a little tired. It's K'zre's response that inspires a wry laugh and a mild shake of his head. "The cupcakes have extra frosting on them," he asides with a nod toward the table. "Have any of you been tapped into Wings yet," he asks curiously.

Aignes slips over closer towards C'los and lowers her voice just a tad, but the stress she's placing on the words makes it not exactly quiet. "Kez. Is. Eating. SWEETS!" Not just a single cookie. piles and piles of sweets. Her eyes may be as wide as one of those dessert plates if it was physically possible. F'inn's question has her straighten up from her not-quite-whispering and give a tiny headshake. "Not yet. But since I am, was?, am a weaver, I think I know where I'll end up? Not like search and rescue needs emergency tailored garments."

While it's probably not on the menu, someone had the sense to at least keep some Black Damnation on hand, knowing full well the Weyrleader would be out and on the prowl mingling. Th'ero murmurs his thanks as he's served the usual pint of the poisonous-red tinged black ale he's enjoyed since discovering the brew. Holding off on savoring the first sip, his gaze will be drawn to not one, but four former-weyrlings to be. That, of course, has him approaching and nodding respectfully to them. Salutes? Clearly not too formal an event for tonight to warrant it. "Enjoying yourselves?" he murmurs dryly, quirking just the vaguest of smiles.

Yup. K'zre is definitely eating sweets. A helluva lot of them. And he knows it's weird. But he can't stop. And he doesn't wanna. And F'inn is an enabler, and is encouraging him, so… he's gonna eat the sweets. And when Yasminath goes up, and all that lust for sugar stops, he'll run his laps and do his pushups and try really, really hard to pretend it never happened >.>. Ahem. For now, it is a cookie. But the mention of cupcakes (with double frosting!) definitely perks him up and casts his gaze toward the tray in question. Later. "Do you /want/ to remain a weaver?" Not quite what Kez meant, and he seems to consider his words and their implication because after a pause, he tries again with, "You don't have to fly in Haast if you'd rather fly somewhere else…" And it's a good thing salutes are not expected because Kez? Yeah. He totally forgets. "I… yes…?" he decides at last, for whether or not he's enjoying himself. He's at least enjoying the cookie? He's enjoying being smooshed up against F'inn. So that counts, right?

Never happened until the next time Yasminath goes up. >.> And, F'inn is a bit of an enabler, but really? Who could possibly resist the opportunity to see K'zre, of all people, gorging on sweets? Not F'inn, that's for certain. He does, however, smirk at Aignes' 'stage whisper', pale brows rising and falling in an amused lilt. "He's calm right now," he provides. "You should see what he does to an unprotected bag of frosting." It's criminal, really. Th'ero's approach earns an easy, lopsided smile, his chin tilting up in a nod in response to the question. "Relieved to be at the end of the road," he admits with a relaxed smile.

Aignes may as well be a specialist in dubious looks and she gives F'inn one now. "Why do you have unprotected bags of frosting laying around? Actually… nevermind…" She waves the very mention away. No need to know that much about their personal life. As for not being a weaver, the weaver does pause. "What else would I be? Can you imagine Czarduinath getting dirty on a regular basis with what all Thunderbird does?" And clearly Aignes' perfect timing doesn't extend to conversations since that comes out right as the weyrleader arrives. It might not be a formal event, but she's saluting anyways. "Did I see wine? I thought I saw wine…." At least the turning around to grab a glass of red from one of the nearby platter is a distraction, even if it doesn't take her more than a few steps away.

"You sound uncertain." Th'ero zeroes in almost immediately on K'zre and though his expression barely shifts, there's enough of a change to his tone that it's clearly his way of teasing. Which could be entirely lost, given few here know him well enough to parse it. There's a quiet sound of understanding in regards to F'inn's answer, along with a lower spoken: "As is the goal of any weyrling. You should all be proud of what you've accomplished. So few get to experience this, these Turns." Smaller clutches, mean fewer riders. Aignes' remark was overheard but he says nothing, save to lift both brows and merely peer at her sidelong. Mention of wine has him recalling his own drink, to which he sips at.

"They were—" but no. Kez will allow Aignes to wave away that question and not follow it with any sordid details. Even if the end of his statement was likely to be 'IN THE KITCHEN' and not something scandalous. He'll just eat his cookie and look a little bit gloomy at being described as 'calm right now'. Because he could be a whole lotta NOT calm if he wanted to be. Huff-huff-grump. His gaze passes between F'inn and Aignes for the discussion of wings, a little frown given for the idea that Czardi wouldn't do Thunderbird because she might get dirty. Is Kez surprised? No. Disappointed? Of course! It wouldn't be a conversation with Kez if he didn't look disapproving about something. And it wouldn't be a conversation with Kez if teasing didn't fly right over his head. Subtle or blatant it doesn't really matter. He doesn't catch it. Which is why he's turning to regard Th'ero with a guarded look and a long silence as he struggles with how, exactly, he's supposed to answer that question that's not a question. Eventually, he settles for the blunt and honest truth: "Yasminath is proddy. It's hard to enjoy that." Impossible to enjoy it, actually. And now that his cookie is gone, he's eyeing the wine as if he might want to partake in that, as well. It's the memory of what happened last time he drank that has him refraining and reaching for a cupcake instead. Stomach ache over hangover, apparently.

"Hey," F'inn laughs. "I don't do sugar any more." He's clean! "Look at him," he notes with a tilt of his head toward the greenrider nestled under his arm. "He's small and sneaky." It's the mention of Thunderbird that has him smiling broader. "That's where I want to be," he admits. "The Weyrsecond from Monaco is going to teach me to repell from dragonback." Which, really? It doesn't get much cooler then that. "Course, I have every intention of figuring out how to dismount with skiis, as well." Cause really? Search and Rescue in Fort? Skiis are going to be necessary. Glancing back at Th'ero, he flashes a ready smile, a hint of amusement shining in his eyes. "I'm very proud of what I've accomplished," he assures. "I was mess when I was searched." And that? Just the simple truth. Now, he eats well, exercises fanatically and has a rocking set of abs. It's K'zre's response to his VERY LITERAL weyrmate that has F'inn stepping momentarily away to snag a glass of wine for them both. When he returns, he presses one of the glasses into K'zre's hand before his arm returns to draping over his shoulder. "It's fine," he assures at K'zre's trepedation. "No one here is going to start lighting things on fire." Course, that means, Kez is two fisting a cupcake and drink, but hey.

"Who, me? I'll always be a weaver," Aignes looks around as if Th'ero could mean her and then relaxes when clearly it's the other greenrider being addressed. K'zre clearly has all the reason to be uncertain as he mentions Yasminath's current state, she winces sympathetically. "I had thought she was looking a little… bright. Hopefully she'll make it quick?" As if that's better? She's still wincing and turning to her wine. Wine is safe. There's an eyeroll for F'inn's future skill-building plans. "It sounds like you're going to keep trying things until you break your neck.

Where was C'los? Slipped off from the fray to raid the tables and he returns with a platter in his hands. What's on it? Nothing more than a little dark molden confection, coated with powdered sugar, topped with a heap of ice cream and smothered with a generous drizzle of caramel. The greenrider is just going to hum a little song, tilting his head from side to side while he takes his fork and pushes it into his dessert, spilling molten hot filling from within across his place. He scoops up a bit of the cold stuff with the hot stuff and he takes a slow and appreciative bite, simply purring. "I've gotten away with cookies so far, but this cake is the best." Green eyes spot the wine and he pauses mid scoop, chewing on his lip while he debates for a moment, then the man merely shrugs. There's hot klah brewing, anyway. "Can't wait to get back into the kitchen. I miss baking."

Hello bluntness, my old friend. Th'ero's no stranger to it and dishes enough of it out that he's hardly rocked by K'zre's return comment, though he does clear his throat slightly. "How unfortunate," Now he's just being a bit of an ass, but that's right up to par with the Weyrleader too (and tends to happen when he's feeling awkward, which is IS). Thankfully, either Velokraeth already knows about Yasminath's 'condition' and is behaving himself or is too busy fawning over another near-proddy green and Faranth spares him this time. Regardless, Th'ero's gone and walled up THAT tidbit from the bronze and he won't be getting tipped off via him. To F'inn, he vaguely smiles again and inclines his head. "You all have Turns to look forwards to now. Freedom, in a way but always changing goals to achieve if you seek them out…" He tips his pint to Aignes as if to agree with the words she shares as well, drowning a little more of that ale. There's a glance given to the room as a whole, briefly noting C'los in there as well, before the Weyrleader exhales heavily. "If you'll all excuse me? Enjoy your evening and congratulations, again!" And then he's off, weaving back through the shifting groups to one smaller knot of folk who're trying to gain his attention.

Small and sneaky. "I can still kick your ass," mumbles K'zre, looking slightly more himself when he glowers very briefly at the cupcake in his hand. Small and sneaky, but MIGHTY. Or something. The loss of F'inn for the acquisition of wine gets a peek, and then Kez is lifting that cupcake to swipe at the frosting with his tongue. One lick. Two. And it's cleaned of its topping and reduced to being just 'cake'. The wine glass gets a glance, and then F'inn, a question in his gaze before he seems to decide to take his word for it and help himself to the alcohol available. "He won't," comes in counter to Aignes's assertion that F'inn will break his neck, the healer-weyrling issuing a stubborn, "I won't let him," as if he had the power to prevent injuries by willpower alone. Have we mentioned that Kez might be a TOUCH irrational? A sip of wine, a bite of cupcake. They either complement each other, or he just doesn't care. "It is," he agrees with Th'ero, entirely missing the sarcasm or smart-assery that might be embedded in that comment. A nod of his head chases the Weyrleader's departure, a bit of cupcake (chased by a sip of wine) coming in lieu of formal goodbyes. When C'los returns to the group with that molten monstrosity, K'zre's eyes immediately find it. That. He wants that. Suddenly his cupcake's not looking so great. "Ugh. I hate everyone." He doesn't.

F'inn just grins at Aignes, the expression alone making it clear that he has no valid arguement for her. He takes a lot of risks, but he loves it. He does, however, offer "Hopefully it'll be a leg or arm rather then my neck." Course, he's got K'zre to put the brakes on for him, clearly. "He won't let me," he assures with another easy smile. Glancing at C'los, his smile broadens as he notes. "I think /everyone/ misses you baking." Glancing at Th'ero, he inclines his head, his expression turning serious for a moment. Excelling? Something both he and Nymionth are particularly good at. "And I can toss you over my shoulder before you can blink," F'inn asides to K'zre with a cheeky smile. It's the reaction to the molten cake C'los is sporting that has him exhaling a quiet laugh, his arm sliding down to lightly nudge K'zre's shoulders. "Go get one, it's a party, you are allowed."

"Tell that to gravity," Aignes mutters into her glass her own opinion for Kez's sheer willpower approach to keeping F'inn's neck unbroken. Same glass is getting a lot of utility since she raises it in a semi-salute as Th'ero makes his departure from this cluster to the next. As C'los arrives bearing the work of cake-art, she smiles slightly. "Looks like the kitchen staff may have stepped up their game while we were in weyrlinghood? Have any new recipe ideas you've been stewing on for the past turn now that we're free?"

While C'los shovels in the last little mouthful of molten cake, he taps his lips with a finger, eyes looking about a little innocently. "There should be some out there. Just make sure you get a hot one, it's the best." As for the kitchens? It's entirely possible, he might or might not have written letters and had them sent via firelizard here or there… "Oh, well… I do have this hot buttered rum cheesecake. Just imagine it going down so silky with a cookie crust, just saturated in a brown sugar-rum sauce. I should probably start ordering raisins."

Toss him over his shoulder? "You…" Wouldn't. But the second word just doesn't come out. Because Kez remembers what happened last time they had this discussion, and it's enough to have him glowering and flushing and looking like he might want to set something ON FIRE with his righteous anger. So instead he consumes that cupcake, shoving the rest of it into his mouth and somehow managing to chew it without flashing bits of half-masticated food at everyone. It's a skill. Or it was just a small enough cupcake to fit in his mouth. So while he glowers at Aignes and her 'grativy' mutter, there is no argument because… talking with your mouth full is rude and Kez doesn't want to be rude (even if he kinda sometimes IS rude, accidentally.) A nod of his head for the 'go get one," and he hands over his glass of wine to F'inn for safe keeping before slipping out of his embrace to do just that: hunt down that caramel-cake-ice-cream-molten-awesomeness. Probably a good thing he's out of earshot when C'los starts talking about delicious, delicious cheesecake. Seriously. Kez has a sugar problem the likes of which Fort has not seen since Phineas became F'inn.

F'inn is doing his level best to tune out the description of the dessert. He's off sugar and he's determined to stay that way. He does, however, slant a look at K'zre when he begins to protest, the quirk of one brow and twitch of his lips making absolutely clear that he would. At the reaction, he exhales a mellow laugh, taking a swallow of his wine. All to happy to hold K'zre's glass for him, he rolls his shoulders in a slow stretch before chuckling. "I cannot express how satisfying it is to see him consuming sugar like air." Really, it's almost karmic in it's glory. "But, on a more serious note," he adds with a glance to Aignes. "We're doing the dragonhealing thing and hopefully going Search and Rescue. I lucked out and met the weyrsecond for Monaco when he was visiting Fort. He's gonna be a great source for training." Which clearly, F'inn is excited about.

Aignes should probably get some of that sugar, but she's going to stick to only having one thing in her hand at the moment. That one thing is still the wine glass. Drinking on an empty stomach always turns out so well. She nods along with F'inn's plans while occassionally taking small sips of her drink. "Sounds like you have things planned out." Shock and horror considering pre-Impression F'inn, but she's had a turn to get used to New-F'inn (TM). "But Monaco… are you thinking about transferring there? We just graduated. Or are you also going to be getting training with our Weyrsecond? F'INN!" Aignes actually reaches out a hand toward her bronze-clutchmate's even as her jaw drops a bit in disbelief. "Are you thinking about being weyrsecond someday? ALREADY?" Someone may have had a glass to drink before the graduation party actually started…

Kez is out of response-range when that mellow laugh comes. Probably for the best. He's distracted by cake and caramel and all things sweet. So he's definitely too far to hear those comments about his consumption of sugar and it's apparently satisfaction for the bronzerider. Because Kez would glare at that. And glare a LOT. And potentially wounded. But no. He's currently eyeballing all that sugar, and then slowly wandering back toward the group while eyeing the rest of the options. That molten monstrosity is going to take some time for him to consume. And he MIGHT just be full at its conclusion. He does return in time to spy Aignes reaching for F'inn, and comments about Weyrsecond, both of which give him pause and inspire a frown (which might look a little awkward, since he's got a fork in his mouth). "What… what are we talking about?"

F'inn exhales a laugh as he smiles at Aignes and shakes his head. "I'm not leaving Fort," he assures. "My whole family is here. S'van is coming here to teach me a few things is all. And… Well.. Yeah, I am." He admits a bit more seriously. "Who knows, I could be Weyrleader someday." It could happen. Shockingly, he'd probably be good at it. "Right now, I want to focus on Search and Rescue, though," he admits as he takes a swallow of his wine. "Monaco is to…. easy going for me," he admits. "They're very relaxed about formalities." And he finds he doesn't care for that, at all. "S'van's a great resource, though. He's on top of things." Which is great in F'inn's opinion. Aware of the fact that Aignes is tipsy, F'inn takes another sip of his wine before setting the glass down on the table behind him. At K'zre's return, F'inn smiles and reaches out to draw him back in against his side. "My future," he assures. "Aignes was worried I might be transferring out."

That hand basically flies back to clutch at Aignes' non-existent pearls at F'inn's confession. "Weyrleader? But they're still so small!" Czarduinath is at least small, even now that she's full grown. As for Kez's question she just gives a sigh. "It seems like F'inn here is planning for someday like it might be tomorrow. Not even tapped into wings yet and full blown plans. Although apparently transfering isn't one of them." She gives a nod, and then goes to take another sip of her glass to find it empty. There's a sad frown as she tips it further as if not quite sure, but the fact is the glass is still empty. Trip number two (or three!) to the wine table is made just as quickly as the first.

"Well, Nymioth isn't that small and he doesn't have to sit behind a desk. I think F'inn will do fine in a higher role. He was always looking at the bigger and brighter side of things as long as I known him." C'los chuckles a bit and watches Aignes over out of the corner of his eyes. « She'll be fine, Czarduinath will take care of her. I will escort her to the ledge. You be pretty and eat sweet things. » The greenrider snorts, putting his platter down on the table nearby.

K'zre is trying to keep up. He's also trying to eat his newest obsession. It's a struggle on both counts. There's a wrinkle at his brow, and caramel on his fingers, and he's peering between F'inn and Aignes like they might be in collusion. "Plans?" comes first, following a second bite of his dessert. And then, "Future?" as if they weren't one and the same. Plans for the Future. And then C'los is joining in, with rather obvious but pointedly true facts about Nymionth's size and his role in that Weyrleader relationship (i.e. not behind the desk). Tucked back up against F'inn, he can think of no comment to add to the conversation, and settles for another forkful of caramel cake and ice-cream instead.

"Plans are important," F'inn notes with a mellow smile. Nymionth? Not so small. In fact, he's massive. But that is beside the point. "Nymionth chose me for a reason," he points out. "He absolutely deserves my giving two hundred percent at all times." Nothing less will do in F'inn's opinion. At C'los' words, his smile broadens, a hint of a pleased flush coloring his cheeks. "Thanks, that means a lot to me, C'los. I mean, I /hope/ so, certainly," he admits. "I'd hate to disappoint any of you." Which is nothing more then simple truth. Glancing down at K'zre, his expression softens, his hand raising off the greenrider's shoulder to smooth over the length of his neck. "Is it good?" In the wake of the question, he nods to the cake. Clearly it's good. And in reality, there is a small part of F'inn that would love to swan dive into that molten goodness. He refrains, however, content with watching K'zre enjoying the sweet.

Aignes laughs at the idea of Nymionth and desks, a fact she tries to hide behind the little cocktail napkin she obtained with her latest drink. "It'd have to be a very big desk if Nymionth were expected to do any of the paperwork. And he might need an entire tree to make his pencils." This continued mental picture elicits another giggle before she's wincing and shifting. "I don't know about you guys, but I need a seat. These shoes were not my idea." They may technically be boots, but they have plenty of heel to satisfy her fashion-forward lifemate for them being appropriate for such a momentous occasion as graduation.

You know, if they all play their cards right and pitch in, a Nymionth-sized desk could totally happen. It can be delivered on his ledge! C'los wanders off for a moment and he returns with two steaming mugs and a tall glass of water. The water is passed over to Aignes, as well as one of the mugs, and Care keeps the other for himself. Washes down that lava cake just fine~ "Yeah, when I get home, the fuzzy slippers are definitely going on my feet. I miss my old broken in boots, these new ones have a long way to go."

For a moment, K'zre looks like he might want to object to that two-hundred-percent. His lips part, a breath is taken, all the hallmarks of a person preparing for speech. But instead, he just lets it go and turns back to the dessert on his plate. He seems to have nothing verbally to contribute, though he's obviously listening to the exchange, flashing a glance to F'inn for the response to C'los' observations, then over to Aignes for her giggling (GIGGLING?! Aignes?!) about dragon-sized desks and tree-sized pencils. A snort and he decides, "There isn't enough lead to fill a pencil that size," in a tone that suggests he's being entirely earnest in that observation. Seriously, he's not joking. He's thinking through the logistics of creating a pencil the size of a tree — and deciding it's impossible. "F'inn can do the writing." And Kez will do the cake-eating. The touch of fingers earns a glance, the question a muted, "It is," that is quickly followed with another (modest) forkful of cake into his mouth. It's amazing. It's fulfilling all of those sugar-cravings that have been driving Kez up a wall. And it's almost gone. "Then why did you wear them?" Fashion? Not something K'zre understands any better than he does sarcasm and flirting. But he does urge her to, "Sit. Or take them off?" This, for C'los and Aignes both.

"Well, you look fantastic," F'inn assures Aignes. "Czarduinath has great taste in clothing." He does, however, incline his head toward the nearbye table in invitation. "It's so nice being out of the barracks," he admits in the wake of C'los' words. "Even with having to wait until our bed is finished." Furs on the floor? Not so bad. It's K'zre's directness that inspires a warmer smile, the adoration in his gaze clear. "You can't break them in so they are comfortable if you don't wear them," he points in warm tones. "And they look nice," he points out. "Like your shirt. Or mine." Which, really? That shirt he's wearing? Fits like a glove. Pausing a beat, his head tilts to the side, his gaze going distant in the telltale sign that he is talking to Nymionth. When it clears, he offers the group an apologetic smile. "Would you excuse us for a bit, there is something we need to do. If," he adds with a glance to K'zre. "You're almost finished?"

"Pencils aren't actually lead. They'd be way too heavy. But you can make the marky part with wax and pigment or clay and pigments or charcoal and pigments…" Aignes just trails off with a wave of her hand like making dragon-sized pencils is really that easy. And sit she will do, making a beeline towards the nearest table. The shoes might not be the most comfortable thing, but they're not slowing her down any. "Look, you don't want to know how many hours I spent going through my entire closet to come up with something that Czarduinath deigned appropriate for today. And I kinda need her to get down from our weyr, so it was either these shoes or miss everything." She shrugs and has no problem excusing F'inn. now that she's seated, she's focusing on trying to massage her foot through the boot. Not that it's very effective, but taking a shoe off in the living caverns would be unacceptable.

If those boots come off, they're not going back on and Care is not about to brave the outdoors with feet that have to get accustomed to the chill all over again. Last thing the man needs is a cold weather injury when he needs to be on his feet all day. C'los takes another sip from his mug, chuckling a little at the feat of giant pencil making. "I should probably hit the traders up for some good aprons, I'm gonna need them. Maybe something a little frilly for Kaseimarlyeth." « … » That pause is accentuated by the roar of erupting flames but the greenrider only smirks towards the entrance way and the flames do die down a little bit. « The only one the frills are going to be for is YOU. »

K'zre does not think that's a good excuse. But then again, he's lifemated to Yasminath and not Czarduinath. Yas? Very easy in comparison. Even when Proddy. So rather than argue, he just shoves that last bite of cake and ice-cream in his mouth, licks the caramel from the tines of the fork and gives serious contemplation to licking the damn plate itself before he simply sets it aside. "We… what?" They have something to do? This is news to K'zre, who takes a moment to nibble at the remaining sweetness on his thumb before deciding, "I'm finished." Because he is. "What… are we doing?" And as they are apparently leaving, he'll murmur a polite enough, "Good luck with your feet," to Aignes and a "thanks for the cake," to C'los. Even if the other greenrider wasn't technically responsible for that molten-amazingness, he's gonna get the credit.

"It's a surprised," F'inn notes mysteriously. Course, it's a surprise that has him more then a little tense. It could go sideways so very easily. He's good at hiding that, though, flashing a lopsided smile as he guides K'zre toward the lower caverns. "We'll talk to you guys later," he assures before they vanish out of sight.


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