For Inri's 34th
Who Doktah, Inri, Jeltje, Rulayn, Vossrik, Th'ero Leimna, Sygni, Thys, Metan
Cameos Zhirayr, Tiye
What For Inri's 34th turnday, Thys made the candidates plan a party. Here's what happened.
When Summer, 2711
Where Shenanigan's Lounge, Fort Weyr

add your own icons there are SO MANY of you, try to stick to the order up there ^

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Fort Weyr - Shenanigan's Lounge
The natural walls of this cavern haven been completely covered and replaced by straight and sometimes curving walls of brickwork. There's method to the madness of covering stone with stone. It's as simple as the electric buzz in the room. New grade electric lights dot the fancy brick worked walls, with wires cleverly hidden behind, allowing more focus to be centered on the rest of the room rather than the numerous strings of wire needed to operate the lighting. Each bulb roosts in a bronzed metal flowering fixture, giving the room a rich atmosphere. Still, the walls are not the only place which has stone on stone appeal. The floor has been run smooth, the surface now slate rock, creating an imperial cast.

Beyond the actual foundations of the lounge, the luxury continues. High backed wooden chairs with padded white seats have been stationed all around the room. Between the individual chairs are benches fashioned out of the same rich wood with pillows made to flatter the cushions. There are low lying coffee tables or end tables near the individual chairs, while there's larger dinning room sized tables with chairs to match scattered as well, giving much variety to those who find themselves in the room. Decorative hangings and framed artwork has been neatly hung around the room, but to offset the meticulous method of the room, there's some pieces that give a sporty feeling to the room - such as a fishing rod or a snow shoe.

Of course, the final appeal of the room comes in the form of it's purpose; athletic competition. There are several games of darts lining the walls, various decks of dragon poker cards available, a large velvet lined pool table centered to one side of the lounge, a mat area surrounded by ropes, and an area that keeps track of all the runner races around the world via radio signal, giving constant updates on the status of the runners. Lastly, there's a bar here, small and built with brick as well. There's usually a bartender on duty willing to mix drinks during the evening hours.


It's Inri's turnday! Or at least it's whatever day the candidates have been told to celebrate it. It's the early evening, just when everyone is finishing with chores and duties, with no obligations left to get in the way of a relaxed celebration. The candidates have gone all out: there's a band of Harpercraft apprentices providing music, and a space has been cleared out for dancing. The decor is even more festive than usual, with a 'HAPPY TURNDAY WEYRWOMAN INRI' banner hung prominently above the bar. All manner of liquor flows freely for those not bound by the rules of candidacy, and a variety of delicious foods are available including a large birthday cake.

The guests are just starting to trickle in, but Doktah has been here for hours getting everything in order. She's even dressed up for once, wearing a blue gather dress she picked up from somewhere. She looks more stressed than usual. "No, no, the fireworks aren't supposed to be for another…" She's grumbling to herself, making furious notes in one of her binders at the bar.

Inri even showed up to her own party! Wearing some swingy-skirted elegant dress that dances at her ankles and is cut in a way that displays her decolletage without being any less than elegant. She has her hair swept into an updo, with wispy loose curls framing her face — not that she's dressed up any more because it's her turnday than she would have for anyone else's. This is just Inri. "Funny place to hold it, though not the first," she murmurs to herself more than anyone, amused. "Well," louder, to the candidates, "This looks incredible."

Something about the way in which the fabric of Jeltje's long, black and white dress falls suggests that it either doesn't fit her quite right, or used to fit her better. Either way, she's attempted to do something about the situation by pinning a sash around her middle with a silver broach that she keeps absently tracing fingertips over, her arms knotted low around her waist as if she has something to hide. Perhaps she's just that awkward when faced with social gatherings. Still, even if her posture screams out her uncertainty, she moves through the room with a confidence that belies it, moving to collect one of the non-alcoholic drinks at the bar. "You're not going to have any fun if you stay here with that all the time," she murmurs to Doktah, angling a nod at the binder. When Inri lifts her voice, she lifts her chin, dark eyes settling on the weyrwoman as they sweep up and down to give her a rather obvious onceover.

In the corner of Shenanigan's, seated far away from any dancers or any place that might cause unwarranted hazards, is Rulayn. The dragonhealer has been permitted the time to leave the infirmary for the party, on the condition she doesn't do anything -too- crazy. She's managed to dress herself in a long, light yellow gown befitting a gather, with a white trim around the hem of the skirt, the collar and sleeves. Her hair has been combed for once, and although it's been made into a wavy style, it's ruined by the fact there's a large bandage wrapped around the girl's head, as if someone tried to disguise her as a mummy then gave up halfway through. In her lap is a little green firelizard, sitting and watching the people already dancing from her comfortable spot between Rulayn's palms. The young woman herself is sipping from a clear glass of water, having opted for the non-alcoholic route this evening. She looks a little miserable, but who wouldn't be after such an injury?

The rest of the dragonhealer staff are, for the most part, here as well, so it isn't as if Rulayn is missing anything! No dragon health emergencies anywhere, please. As for the regular infirmary, while there is no sign of the Weyrhealer, her daughter is there under the watchful eye of the Steward, who is overall supervising and refusing to otherwise interact with anyone, just watching because … candidates throwing an event is going to be a supply and budgetary concern, no doubt.

Doktah looks up at the sound of Jeltje's voice, raising an eyebrow slightly. "This is an assignment. I'm supposed to make this party run smoothly and effectively. 'Fun' does not enter into it. Besides, I've never really been the type to be the life of the party." She takes her own non-alcoholic beverage of choice, having a swig. She can't help but sigh a little afterwards. "Maybe once things are underway…" Then Inri's entrance catches her attention and she sits up a little straighter. "Ah. The guest of honor." She looks back to Jeltje. "We should present her gift. Would you like to do the honors, since it is your handiwork?"

Leimna is either very bold, or very stupid. We will go with stupid. Everybody else might have put in the effort to dress appropriately, but Leia is still sporting her Th'ero get-up: clothes are the darkest blacks, she's dyed her hair black (and re-dyed it) and pinned it up to capture the length and wavy-ness of Th'ero's, she's donned a cape, and she's got a mustache and facial hair to boot - all clearly borrowed from somewhere but we don't wanna talk about it (Voss might though, he woke up inexplicably beardless today). "TH'ERO'S HERE!" she announces, not to be outdone by the-woman-herself, who gets a winning smile from Lei'ero as the candidate sidles past the Weyrwoman with her best Up-To-No-Good wink. "You look incredible. Have Th'ero's babies." She's shameless, this one. Absolutely shameless, grabbing a drink on her way over to Doktah and Leia leans, trying to see into that binder. "Alright, Sparky?" she inquires, adopting her cousin's given nickname before looking over to Rulayn and her half-bandaged head. One, two… "YOUR HAIR LOOKS PERFECT, ROO!" Leia calls out, just before blue eyes shift to Jeltje. FINGER WAGGLE.

In return for the onceover, Jeltje gets a bright smile from Inri. Any kind of attention gets that from her, even negative attention; she's pretty easy to get smiles at. Overhearing Doktah on fun and assignments, she wrinkles her nose a little and is about to turn to obtain herself a free (alcoholic) drink and maybe brush her fingertips along the arms of a couple bar-sitters when, instead, her eye is grabbed by Leimna. And it's a good thing she wasn't holding a drink, because it would have spilled everywhere as a result of these peels of laughter. "I can't remember your name," she tells Leia honestly, "But you're incredible nonetheless."

Rulayn can't help but flinch at the scream aimed her way. Thanks Leimna, but you're not getting anything out of the young woman today, since -you're- the reason why she's wearing this bandage in the first place! Looking up past the eccentric Th'ero-wannabe, Rulayn's eyes fall upon Doktah and Jeltje, and she can't help but appreciate the effort they've put in. That, of course, is completely blown away by Inri's entrance, who earns a smile from the injured girl. Too far away to call out a happy birthday, the girl bides her time and continues to sip at her water instead, occasionally glancing around to her fellow dragonhealers. Tiye made for good company, but where were the other Candidates? Late?

Doktah does her best to bring Jeltje up to speed. "That's Leimna. Vossrik's girlfriend. Or something. She says she's Th'ero, but she's not. She may or may not be the saboteur that is seeking to destroy all technological progress in the weyr." Very important information indeed. Down goes more drink. She takes a quick, slightly worried look in Rulayn's direction before her attention goes back to Jeltje. "Shall we give Inri her gift? Then you can go back to… I don't know. Doing whatever one does for fun at parties. I understand the general concept, but the specifics are all things I'm bad at. I'm just hoping this doesn't wind up a total disaster." She's rambling now, her speech starting to speed up.

"You know, I think that to successfully pass an assignment as regards a party, everyone has to have some measure of fun. Even the person organising it." Jeltje takes a sip from her drink and is arrogant enough to reach behind the bar to collect up the box containing Inri's gift without asking another soul. "Even people who don't like parties," she adds, downing the rest of her drink as if it were alcohol. For a moment, she cannot help but stare at Leimna, brow furrowing a little while she tries to work out what an appropriate reaction is, but all she's left to do is give a tiny, stilted wave of her own in return. Maybe she wants to laugh. Perhaps she won't let herself. Anyway, she has a task assigned her and so on she goes, abandoning her empty glass to approach Inri. "Weyrwoman Inri? May I present this gift on behalf of Fort's Candidates." With both hands, she offers over the small, square box, tied only with a pale yellow ribbon.

The box's contents:

On a heavy, silver chain of links patterned in a sequence lies a large pendant in the shape of an upside down teardrop, its shell and shape created by the manipulation of thin lengths of silver. In its centre sits a druzy agate, bright flecks of gold born at the gem's heart from pure white, the contrast stark and easily seen from a distance. From the silver encircling it, elegant vines loop and curl inward to fan slim, golden leaves around the jewel's centre, each much paler than its more vivid sparkle. At the topmost curve of the pendant, more leaves sit at the base of a swirl of further silver vines, from which the whole affair hangs from its chain. Its clasp is a simple hook, adorned with a multi-faceted citrine.

Look at those innocent doe eyes, Inri. LOOK AT THEM. "Me? Weyrwoman Inri, I am but your humble and well-assetted Weyrleader - Th'ero." And just before Leimna takes a sip of her drink, that expression melts into something much more sly and communicating clearly: Silly woman, who else would I be? There's a stifled laugh, moments before crinkled eyes turn to Doktah for the duration of the explanation of just who she is (infamous would have sufficed), nodding her head for every single detail that's provided before pressing a hand to her chest. "You keep flattering me like that, Doktah, and I might be your girlfriend instead." You wouldn't want that, which is communicated in a sideways glances towards Jeltje just as the candidate makes off to gift presents. Leia goes on the tips of her toes, sneaking just a little closer to see THE UNWRAPPING. Torturing Roo will have to wait.

"Hi hi hi hi sorry sorry sorry I'm late sorry sorry sorry." There's a scrabbling slide as Vossrik, dolled up and nude-faced, skids into Shenanigans. The dust cloud behind him isn't really there, but it's strongly implied by the comical wheeling of his arms and the speed of his stopping. "How did she like the necklace?" Good job.

It would be an understatement to say Inri squeaks; no, that is definitely more of a delighted giggle-squeal when she sees the inside of the box's container. And a little bit of staring, before she beams at Jeltje with a slightly incredulous, "Did you make this? This is — absolutely amazing, has Thys seen it," if she hasn't she's going to soon, and have to hear about how talented the other Smith is and maybe they should work together sometime! "I should really put it on right now, if you don't mind." Oh, Vossrik, you get a giggle. "Quite a lot, thanks. None of you had to … none of the other candidate classes have gotten me a gift."

Congratulations on all of your promotions to Inri's Personal Favorite Group of Candidates.

And you're not even her candidates.

We are in our hearts.

Rulayn just sits there, dressed in her yellow dress and with the bandage on her head, sipping at her water.

Doktah gives Leimna a sort of worried side-eye. She can't think of any possible reply to that threat which doesn't carry the risk of getting her into even more danger. So for now, she keeps her mouth shut. Besides, there's present-unwrapping to be seen! She smiles, obviously relieved at the reception it gets. "You're very welcome. It's a gift from the entire class, but Jeltje is the one who actually made it. She deserves the credit."

"Yes, ma'am, I did," Jeltje promptly responds to Inri, inclining her head a little in a manner that has her trying to be professional, but the faint hint of pink that colours her cheekbones gives her away the tiniest bit. "I don't believe she's seen it, no. Weyrwoman Jajen… has seen some of my work." And perhaps the less said about that, the better. Stepping back, she makes to give Inri more of her own space back, folding her hands before her. "If you would like to wear it now, please do," she invites. "As Doktah says, it's from all of us. Everyone has worked on something, after all."

Even Leia's stunned into momentary silence by the contents, as if she hasn't seen it before; regardless, that only lasts so long before Leia is clapping and smiling and punching Vossrik in the shoulder because you never ruin a lady's surprise. Also, your beard fount a new home. On Leimna's face (it was for a good cause and free to a good home). "Wear it tonight for Th'ero. I have a present of my own for you." INAPPROPRIATE. She doesn't care, she delights in it, laughing as she winks at Doktah (RUN) and then presses a kiss into Voss' cheek on her way out. WHERE THERE'S A SMITH, THERE'S A PSYCHOPATH. "Have fun, everybody! I have a weyr to run!" And OUT SHE GOES. VAMOOSH. CAPSWOOSH. Faranth help the Weyr.

Leimna gets a half-smile, then a longer look as Vossrik reaches up to touch his chill-prone face. "Yeah, it WOULD have been you, huh?" he murmurs as she breezes past, petting his former scruff-patch with a sigh. "Hey, Roo, you feeling better? Lemme know if you need me to get you anything. OH YEAH!" Patting his pockets, he pulls out a small jar and sets it in front of the mummy. "Here. Put this on your bruises. Should draw 'em out from what they said. Do you need me to help put the necklace on, ma'am? Jeltje's intensely talented. Where'd you get that big ole… um whassit, the yellow shiny bit? It's neat."

From her seat across the lounge, Rulayn is still able to catch a glimpse of the twinkling, shiny gift that is bestowed upon Inri on behalf of the Candidates. While having no hand in constructing the beautiful piece, Rulayn still smiles at the creation and moreso to Inri's reaction of it. Of course, Leimna's behaviour earns her an eye-roll from Rulayn, but for now, the dragonhealer is still happy to just sit here with her drink. And her bandaged head. "Yeah.. Had a banging headache though." She shakes her head and gladly takes the jar offered, glad for any solution that might ease the pain or, even better, make the purple bruising vanish. "Don't worry about me anyway, today's for the weyrwoman." And so, after repositioning the firelizard in her lap, Rulayn sits contently watching the gathered folk and in particular, those dancing to the collective Harper's sweet melodies.

If Inri's briefly open mouth that then closed again was to make a comment about Jajen, the moment passes before she actually makes it. It's not a secret that sometimes Inri and Jajen get along, as they had the closest beginnings as goldriders, but there are definitely things the younger rider does that make her shake her head. A lot. Like interacting with most other humans, though her upbringing is usually at fault. Inri's upbringing makes her chatty, effusive, upbeat … this. "That's so kind of you, Voss … rik," she didn't completely forget his name, just had to make sure she had it right! "I'd appreciate it." The chain is passed toward the other smith candidate in order to reach up and clasp it around the goldrider's neck. "You are all wonderful and I promise not to cry."

Doktah looks a little stunned by the rapid exit from Leimna. But given the threatening winking and such, it's probably a good thing for her immediate safety. Besides, things are going well! "Please, enjoy the rest of the party, Weyrwoman. For the next couple hours we'll have music, drinks, food, and dancing. We can have your cake served whenever you like. Once it's dark enough outside, we'll be moving to the bowl for a fireworks show courtesy of candidate Syngi." And hopefully not cataclysmic destruction of the weyr by fire. Doktah takes another worried glance at Rulayn, then leans towards Vossrik. "Can you keep an eye on Roo, Voss? I think she may be a little… she could use a little kindness." And Doktah, for whatever reason, is not the best equipped to provide that. Then it's back to Jeltje. "Thank you for your hard work on that."

Vossrik gives Doktah a double thumbs up as he reaches up his legendary thick fingers to delicately pinch the thick chain at the clasp and loop it around the weyrwoman's throat. "Not a problem. Here, is it right side up? I'd look but um… but I won't." A charming blush colors his apple cheeks. "And shush, Rulayn. We were all scared shoeless when you guys cut the… when the power went out and you were on the floor. You wouldn't believe what the jam looked like in the dark. Only got one of you around and we really would rather not lose our one of a kind Roo. Weird nicknames and all."

When the power innocently went out, which involved exactly no one here in any way, and definitely not anyone now in a Th'ero costume.

With another little bob of her head, Jeltje quietly excuses herself and drifts back towards Doktah, collecting up another drink en-route. "Happy to," she tells her, earnest through and through, even if the low cast to her voice makes her response sound drawled. All told, she truly does seem pleased that Inri likes the gift, not smug, but something has eased, the line of her shoulders not so tense. She's stopped messing with the broach holding her sash in place too. "I'm glad it all worked out. Gifts are always so much more complicated than commissions." For the moment, she seems content to lean against the bar and people-watch, and if her gaze drifts back to Inri every now and then? Well.

No objections from Inri; she likes being looked at. Either because she's trying not to make it potentially awkward or because she just isn't noticing, eye contact never passes between her and Jeltje regardless of the fact that she, too, people-watches at times. "It's just fine, Vossrik," that must be his name for real, he didn't correct her, "thank you. You've done an excellent job, the lot of you, and fireworks," has her bouncing on her heels just a little. That's like the twinkly lights on her ledge but about a thousand times better.

Rulayn does as she's told, and simply shushes after that. Nursing her water, the young woman tenderly sips at her glass every few minutes whilst her other hand gently caresses Petite, who is now dozing in her lap alongside the jar Vossrik had provided her with. It's not long before the glass is empty and Roo awkwardly has to lean to one side in order to rest the glass against the floor, rather than taking it back to the bar. She's glad to see Inri just as excited about the fireworks, although there's a nagging voice of concern in the back of Rulayn's head about whether these fireworks will go off smoothly. Still! That was yet to come. For now, Rulayn simply gazed down at Petite and continued to pet her little green companion, with the occasional smile to a fellow dragonhealer she's already acquainted with.

With the first bit of awkwardness out of the way for the evening, Doktah likewise drifts back towards the bar. She snags herself a drink she finds unattended. Alcoholic? Who knows. Not Doktah. This way she has plausible deniability. For a moment she seems tempted to return to her ledger, but a thought stops her. Maybe, just maybe, Jeltje was on to something earlier. And it's so rare for DOktah to be in this sort of situation, much less dressed up as she is now. So, away from one awkward moment straight into another. "Would you like to dance?" She asks Jeltje abruptly, without bothering with any smooth segue or charming lead in.

With a minimum of muttered half-cusses, Vossrik manages to secure the clasp around the weyrwoman's neck and, gently, pats her hair into place and steps back. "There. Don't think it'll come undone too easily. The clasp was made with activity in mind like flying and what-not. Y'know, all that stuff that the queen rider on the go does. Whatever that involves." A passing waitress hands him a goblet of white with a wink that has him turning pink again and looking at his feet as he swivels to plunk into a chair with a surprising minimum of liquid splash. "Oh geez, I forgot about the fireworks, though they SHOULD go off without a hitch. I mean, it's not like we're THAT much of an accident prone group." The lights flicker, oh so briefly, as if in disbelief, but remain on.

Jeltje pauses with her glass halfway to her lips. Evidently, she was not expecting the invitation that she finds herself bound to answer, and though she continues on to take a drink, she puts her glass down and idly smoothes at the skirts of her dress. "Okay," she agrees easily enough, even if those two syllables are not as steady as she might like. It's a touch abrupt, how she offers her hand to Doktah or asks for one of hers by reaching, but she manages it, even if it's just to be led or lead away from the bar.

From all the time spent sitting tonight, it's no wonder Rulayn won't be escorted back to the Infirmary with a sore arse to boot! Alas, she remains where she is, occasionally touching at the bandages covering her head and wincing as she applies just a little too much pressure to the bruised area beneath. Her eyes wander, eventually picking up on the nearby basket filled with colourful crackers. "What are those?" She asks aloud, for anyone whom might be paying attention. She'd get up and look, but her head is still sore, and moving too quickly would risk sending her into a spinning rendezvous with the floor.

"That would be the fireworks, I'm guessing," Oh look, it's Tiye. Making sure Rulayn is still alive and all that. "Heard there were fireworks." That's the reason she's here, because Tiye isn't much of a party girl, but she is totally a things exploding girl. The drink she's holding also used to be Inri's; evidently she's comfortable enough with the goldrider — who is now playfully chatting up some bluerider from Ista or Ierne or somewhere, but it doesn't look like it's going to last long, and she'll likely migrate back to complimenting the candidates soon enough — to do that.

"Ooh, party poppers!" Popping up, Vossrik goes to grab a handful and bring them back to his injured friend's table. "Here, Roo, hold one end of this. What we do is pull it at the same time and then *POP!* Powza!" His fingers spread and flitter through the air to ascribe the trail of theoretical confetti. "It's neato. I think it works 'cause of, um, pressure? Got SOME ideas, but I've never had the chance to pick one apart. Hey, pass me that knife. Maybe if I sorta peel it back in layers, I can figure it out." Apparently, asking Sygni is too easy.

This is why Doktah should never be impulsive. It's only after she finds herself heading to the dance floor with Jeltje that she remembers a very important piece of information: she has no idea how to dance and has only succeeded at embarassing herself every time she has attempted it. "Uhm…" Today is no exception, as she makes awkward and ill-timed movements to the music of the band.

Inri will have to make Doktah dance with her later; she's got a lot of experience and is very good at forcing people into following her steps. For now, though, she has her authoritative eye just SLIGHTLY back on — because she's watching Vossrik with the poppers and making sure he doesn't blow his face up by trying to dissect one.

Fireworks in a basket? No, that can't be right. 'Party poppers' sounds like a more fitting term, but Rulayn has still never come across these before. With an inquisitive brow raised as Vossrik brings some over, she nods and, as instructed, grabs one end of the cracker. "It's not going to.. Hurt, is it?" Mostly because Roo really doesn't want the rest of her face wrapped in a bandage, thankyou. She waits on the Smith to grab the other end, or perhaps for Tiye to grab it - whoever gets there first. And then, once she has her opponent, she gives a small tug!

Maybe too, it would be better if Jeltje were to be less impulsive and abrupt. Without much care as to whether Doktah will like it or not, she steps close and makes to settle one hand at her waist, while reaching for the other girl's right with her left, to hold just above shoulder height. "Here. See. Follow me." Not a fan of parties, she may be, but somewhere, somewhen, she's plainly been taught how to dance - and well. And so, provided she's not cast away, she'll lead Doktah in the dance for a decent while, unabashed and not the slightest bit hesitant, until surrendering her to someone else. Maybe Inri? Then? It's back to people watching. Maybe Doktah and Inri watching too.

Yes, in fact, Doktah is saved from being Inri's next dance partner because Jeltje is instead: two skilled dancers with good taste in jewelry make for a good show for the others, too.

Ask and thou shalt receive; materializing from seemingly nowhere (though likely simply from somewhere deeper in the depths of the party), Sygni pauses by the table containing Rulayn and Vossrik and the nearby Tiye, lips tugged back in a sharp grin for the Smith's question. "You aren't wrong, but by all means," the blonde drawls, a pocket knife produced out of somewhere (where though? that outfit doesn't look like it has pockets) and handed off for his prying pleasure, clearly much less concerned about face-explosions than Inri. "If you figure it out, I'll let you help me make the next batch." Twinkle, and then a nod for his company. "Hello." Pause, a flicker of blue eyes towards the dance floor, an abrupt catcall of, "SHAKE IT, SPARKY," and then she focuses back in on present company with a grin. "Well, go on! Somebody pull it so we can see what you got."

Doktah looks relieved to be saved from her own horrible dancing. She sighs a bit. "Well, there. That takes care of my 'fun' for the evening. I can cross that off the list." Not that it ever actually looked like she was having fun during that display. Sygni's catcalling only makes her turn redder, desperately trying to mask a look of humiliation. "… Are the fireworks ready?" She calls out, suspecting that is a very silly question to be asking Sygni.

Vossrik smiles in childlike wonder as twinkling glitter and bouncy balls fall around himself and the injured Dragonhealer. "Heehee! You're on, Sygni." Reaching out, he takes the handle of the pocket knife and starts gently peeling at the outer layers of another party popper. "I would LOVE to figure this out. I'm guessing it involves, let's see… some kind of string or whatnot that gets pulled taut and maybe breaks something inside that's under intense amounts of pressure, which flings out the shiny stuff and makes a big ole, super fun mess? Ooh, yeah, and the fireworks themselves. How are THOSE done? Like the colors I get, since minerals and fire and blah-blah, just not the, y'know, height thing."

And so, Rulayn is left sitting there, feeling rather silly just holding onto a popper with noone else to pull with her. "Well.. Okay." She resigns, pink-cheeked, to her lonely task. Letting Vossrik become absorbed in the conversation with Sygni over how the popper works, and with Petite crawling out of the young woman's lap to avoid unwanted banging sounds, Rulayn looks down and grasps the popper on either end with both hands, giving it a tug and pulling it apart.

RETURN OF THE LEIMNA. That didn't take very long, now did it? Of course not. Fireworks are probably going to be along ANY TIME NOW and Leia is nothing but a slave to chaos, and madness, and explosives, and fire. "TH'ERO RETURNS!" because that is absolutely necessary (as necessary as Voss' facial hair sacrifice) as she capeswooshes back in and hop-stumble-trip-COLLIDES right into Sygni. She doesn't even look repentant, just curls her slightly larger body around her smaller cousin's as if she meant to do this all along. "Sygni, you smell like flowers and gunpowder." DEEP INHALE, exhale the bullsh- "And a man. Th'ero, to be precise. Me." MELT OOZE and away she goes, to retrieve her own popper and make her way back to her cousin. Leia isn't the decent one in the bunch, and so she sits on the floor to possibly blow up her face.

As an oversized paper party hat falls out of the party popper, Rulayn's face falls slightly. Well, this wouldn't cover up the massive bandage on her face, but it would serve to make her look a bit more comical for the other folks, right? Picking it up, she unfolds the hat and awkwardly places it over her head, where it soon proceeds to slip down over her eyes. With a sigh she re-arranges it a second time, awkwardly managing to fit it in place. At least it didn't clash -too- badly with her pretty yellow dress! Of course, that neat organization quickly goes to pot when Leimna comes shrieking back into the Lounge, causing Rulayn to jolt in surprise and promptly cause the hat to slide back down over her eyes once more. Sigh.

Has Metan been here the whole time? Maybe- maybe not. Most likely, he's only just entered the establishment. He remembers vaguely there was a promise that candidates could have a drink, so here he's come for one. He's not dressed for the event, in fact his clothes have smatters of mud and grime on them. No one to impress? Perhaps not. He makes his way through the crowd and right up to wherever the alcohol is and gets himself a big glass. "Do not even remotely give me anything called 'Black Damnation,'" he mutters to whoever is pouring.

It's a party, y'all! While Inri is waylaid by an island bluerider, the mice are at play, Sygni having just handed off a knife that Vossrik is using to dismantle a party cracker recently popped between he and Rulayn, who are sharing a table as Tiye looks on. Doktah has been freshly left on the dancefloor, and Sygni only laughs for the techie's colorful reaction, not meanly, just in simple amusement that quickly turns mock-chiding, hands settling on her hips so that her fake disapproval reads from a distance. "What kind of a question is that? Of course they are. I— Oh, come here so I don't have to shout!," Syg says with a c'mere-gesture before snorting hard for the scatter of glitter and bouncy balls from Voss's party popper. "Got it in one, Kitten. As for fireworks—" And then she's collided with, cackled laughter mingling with Leimna's sniff. "It's my perfume of choice," the blonde drawls, "and you smell as amazing as ever, Weyrleader. Truly manly." She follows along for cracker-fetching, but doesn't pop it just yet, instead sprawling unladylike into a seat at the table to finally respond to Vossrik. "Dual compartments and lots of gunpowder - one to give enough force to get it airborne, and a second compartment to light off the bits that make up the actual display," she says short-versionedly with a crooked grin that gets tilted Metan's way for his entrance and his immediate drink-pursuit. Mental high-five; that's her kind of human!

Doktah seems reluctant to take Sygni up on the invitation. She already got her 'fun' out of the way, and she really feels tempted to get back to those ledgers. Still, it wouldn't do to be overtly antisocial. So over to Sygni and the gang she goes. "… We should start directing people outdoors, then." She says at a more normal conversation tone. "We can have the show, then people can enjoy the rest of the party. And my job will be done." The most important thing.

Thys is here! She's been at the party for a while, celebrating her buddy's birthday and flitting from group to group in Shenanigan's like a truly social butterfly. By this point she's already a good few drinks down, and she just happens to be near Metan as he orders anything but the Weyrleader's favourite drink. "Oh dear, Metan - I'm sure you can handle one teensy Black Damnation, being so manly as you are." The goldrider gives him a little poke in the shoulder, and clicks her tongue in her cheek. "I'll have a Black Damnation. I can handle it. And then…" She turns around, eying the crowd, squinting through folks, "and then I think I'll dance."

"Wait, there's Black Damnations? I thought we weren't supposed to have nothin' that strong," Vossrik calls out, riffling his hair with his hand and dandruffing glitter on his shoulder like twinkly little snowdrifts. "Sweet, hook me up! I thought I was just gonna have to have, like, weak white. Hey, my darling Weyrleader, can you and my beard go and get me one of those? You want anything, Roo?" Reaching a sparkling hand over, he extends a finger and pushes up the rim of her hat until her eyes are revealed. "You should probably be keepin' hydrated and fed. I can help you out to the fireworks when that time is happenin'. Need a piggy-back ride, or what?"

"Weyrwoman," Metan counters with a drawl and a crooked smile, "That eensy drink that made me 'so manly' is the reason why I wear this knot." He taps his shoulder and grabs the dark, if not as dark, ale from the barkeep when it's handed his way. He turns, moving to lean back against the bar, sip his drink, and stare out at the gathered crowd. "I'll hold your hair," he asides to Thys, "when you puke from it." He says that as if he's experienced it.
teensy*

*POP*! Leimna releases glitter and streamers and is the proud new owner of a very pretty barette — which she notably has not use for but, when those eyes flicker up towards Rulayn and her wayward hat, knows who might. "Of course, I smell manly, Sygni. There's no man in this weyr more manly than me." Off of the floor the candidate goes, blue eyes going side-ways to Vossrik before settling on Ru. The barette is held up with a smile, and for once, Leia's voice is soft when she asks, "Want me to pin the hat in place for you?" She might not be sending flowers and groveling at Rulayn's feet, but she is sorry - not that Rulayn's inability to keep her footing is Leia's fault, but she's adult enough to admit that she turned out the lights (to everybody who isn't leadership or Doktah, anyway). CUE THE REQUEST FROM VOSSRIK and an absolutely devious smile from Leia. She pushes the barette into his hands instead so that he can help Roo, and leans down to press another kiss into his cheek. He should be used to the feel of whiskers on his flesh, those are his anyway. "I have no idea what you mean, candidate. I grew these fine whiskers myself." She gives a scratch that dislodges some of her stolen beardy-ness, and then Lei'ero FLOUNCES TO THE BAR where Thys and Metan linger. "TH'ERO REQUIRES A DRINK - hello you two - BLACK DAMNATION. LIKE MY SOUL." And she'll wait.

"No, maybe you aren't," return Inri to the conversation here, finishing annoying her Istan friends for now, "But the rest of us are, and last I checked," she winks at Vossrik, "This wasn't actually a celebration designed for you guys. But rather by you, which means you did an excellent job entertaining the rest of us as far as the drinks go." What she orders is not a Black Damnation, though, it's something highly alcoholic AND sweet AND fruity. Because it's her. Metan, though, gets a knowing, "She can handle it."

"I think you'll find I'll be alright," Thys replies to Metan with a wink, as she, too, is served her drink. "Tolerance. I have it." She raises her pint glass to the candidate, and is about to reach towards his glass to chink her against it - when there's a Lei'ero. "Dear Faranth, are you supposed to be… are you really dressed as…" Inri's hand is grasped, and Thys tugs her fellow goldrider over to her side, curling an arm loosely around her waist. "Inri - it's a girl'ero. And I can absolutely handle this drink. Yes."

Even with the prospect of a drink being a good way to fog the mind and dull the embarrassment of oversized hat, Rulayn still gives a small shake of her head. "I'd better not.. The Healers will probably say no anyway. Just water." And cue the screeching Leimna again. Perhaps Roo is thankful that she can only see the outline of the Th'ero-clone through the paper of her hat? With a small sigh as the hyperactive Candidate comes bounding over, Rulayn is quick to shake her head and stubbornly keep that hat covering her face, until Vossrik pushes it up, that is. Slowly she blinks, first at Vossrik, then at the departing Leimna making her way over to the bar. "-You- can do it.. But not her." Rulayn mumbles, her expression still so gloomy for a party so cheerful. As for the piggyback suggestion? That earns another pink-cheeked shake of the head. ".. I'll just wait inside."

Sygni grins, too-bright, too-feral for the suggestion that they're approaching Firework Hour, blue eyes glittering maniacally. "Say the word, Sparky. I'm ready when you are." A beat, and then, "You've done an excellent job, by the way." A gesture at the goings-on, and barked laughter when the ordering of Black Damnations becomes a hot topic, though she remains seated, if only to jerk her popper apart with a sharp *CRACK,* chortling merrily for the finger-trap that lands in her lap. "Perfect." And away it goes, into whatever mysterious part of her outfit from whence the pocket knife came, even as Inri draws near. "The woman of the hour!," Syg greets, hands spreading. "Happy turnday! I do so hope you are ready for fire and explosions." Of the firework variety, of course, but it's so much more fun to say it that way, even as she pouts over at Rulayn. "Aww, but I had a nice surprise set up and everything. Are you sure you don't wanna come at least for a minute?" It would be a lot more convincing if she weren't stifling laughter for the girl's oversided, sliding hat but— shh!

Doktah gives Rulayn a little bit of a worried look. "… Roo, I thought you liked these sorts of things." Awkward. Very awkward. What do you say to someone at the party with a bandaged head? Doktah doesn't have a clue. All the more reason to hope to get this over with as soon as possible. At least Rulayn isn't the only one being gloomy. Back to Sygni. "Alright, I'm giving you the go ahead. Let's go set them off. Then anyone who wants to can continue partying or… not." Such festive cheer!

"I am so extremely excited for fire and explosions," Inri is able to tell Sygni brightly, confidently and — truly, because she really really is. Whoever suggested fireworks has at least heard a lot about Inri, if not at least met her once. Or just known exacrly what to do. She contentedly leans part of her weight tilted against Thys, even though she's just a little buzzed and not tipsy or drunk; safe people are comfortable, that's all. Touchy-feely Inri who once terrified everyone at her home. "I need to make sure to pull on one of those cracker things, too, they look fun. Also possibly kinda dangerous. The fun kind."

Metan does not seemed at all bothered by the fact that Thys may be able to handle a drink and he cannot. He shrugs in an affable way as Inri confirms it to him and sips from his own glass. "I'm sure she can," he agrees, "but the offer will stand." He's a gentlemen? Maybe. He sweeps his gaze out and tries to make sense of the movements of various groups around him. He doesn't move himself from he bar. He's come here for one purpose and one purpose alone and it's angled up to his lips. When he lowers his half-finished glass, he cradles it to his chest like it were a precious jewel. "Danger can be fun," he agrees to Inri.

SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS SHOTSSHOTS SHOTS SHOTS. Ahem. The smile on Vossrik's face has about three different emotions to it when he's bussed on the cheek and handed a barrette which, with a gamely shrug, he pins into his own hair. "There. Now I'm dressed to accompany the Weyrleader, I guess. How's it look?" Work it, Smithyboy. He fluffs his new accoutrement and pats it before standing and offering an elbow to Leimna. "Care to accompany me, sir? Pass me a drink, I'll have it out there while we're watchin' the booms. I don't much like fireworks, actually, but hey, party."

Look at Leia, adopting Th'ero's long-suffering scowl at ALL THINGS GOOD (like kittens and puppies and goldriders) as she lifts her chin just so and breathes, "Just Th'ero." But it's ruined by an answering smile and salute for both Inri and Thys as Vossrik's requested booze-laden beverage is delivered into her grasp. "Happy Turnday, Inri!" Because Leia never said it earlier. Then she hears Sygni and Dok's exchange about fireworks and HOP-SKIP-BOUNCE right over to Vossrik she goes, spilling half of his drink on him in her excitement but delivering it none-the-less. WHY DO YOU TRUST HER WITH THESE TASKS? "Fireworks!" FIIIIIRE. She links her arm through Voss' and gives a delighted look to her cousin, chicken-winging her other arm and flapping it obnoxiously so that she knows to take it. "Syyyyyg! Let's go, let's go, let'sgolet'sgolet'sgolet'sgo!"
"And you look dashing, Red fruit."

Well, so much for Vossrik's help. The paper hat slides down once again and Roo just simply gives up on the blasted thing. She managed to pull it off her head and doesn't hesitate in just tossing it aside, to the ground or to whomever else might want to look as ridiculous. She scoops up the jar in one hand and, with the other, manages to push herself up and out of the chair. She can stand! "I think I should get back to the Infirmary.." She notes to one of her fellow acquaintances amongst the dragonhealers, whom promptly nods and offers an escort despite Rulayn's clear ability to walk by herself. It's only a bruise, after all. In passing, Rulayn raises a hand to Inri, and offers a wave. "Have a pleasant evening, ma'am." Rulayn smies before heading out of the Lounge and back to her temporary bed for the night.

Thys winks again at Metan. "Oh, if only I were 10 turns younger and you weren't wearing a white knot - then you'd be welcome to hold my hair." Perhaps she… misunderstands his intentions. She is a little flushed in the cheeks by this point. Inri's lean is braced against, she salutes back to Leia by raising her pint glass to her forehead since she has no free hand, and she just grins at everything… at least until she sees the injured Rulayn, who looks a lot worse off than she is when there's a few drinks to loosen Thys' thinking. "Faranth, I didn't think she was hurt that badly!" Because news of candidate incidents always make their way up to the gold-level. Thys winces as she watches the girl leave, but then she's quickly brought back into the present with the promise of fireworks. "I love fireworks. Inri, happy turnday! Mine next party had better be just as good as this one."

"You are my new favorite goldrider," Sygni informs Inri, smile positively beatific as she rises out of her seat, not missing a beat as she adds, "but don't tell Boss I said so." Sly eyes slide to the 'Boss' in question, winking at Thys with a conspiratorial grin. "You look well," she half-compliments, half-inquires before blue eyes focus on Metan, bright with enthusiasm. "And you are my new favorite— Shells. I'm sorry. I have no idea what you do. But rest assured, you are my favorite at it." All for agreeing to a little danger. Bless. "Anyways, yes, fireworks! To the bowl!" She takes Leimna's proferred chicken-wing, looping her other elbow through Doktah's to pull the poor, reluctant Techcrafter along as well, making strides for the bowl, in which a very careful construction of fireworks has been laid out, several quick-light torches set beside a temporary stone fire pit so that anyone can take their turn at setting off their very own firework without the overall risk of causing mass mayhem. Sygni explains this in as much of a carrying voice as she can manage before breaking away from her friends and brandishing the first torch handle-first towards Inri with a bright grin. "Turnday girl goes first!" And she'll be there to hand torches off to the rest of them one-by-one. Flame on!

Metan doesn't blush at Thys - and despite his claims of virginity in a conversation just the other morning - he smiles knowingly at her. "I'm sure," he agrees with her, "things would be very different then." He's finished off his ale and so long as no one is looking or counting, he'll make sure he gets himself another without much fuss. Let the people go to the bowl, he'll stay and drink until someone notices and then excuses himself to the barracks.

Sipping and sauntering, the First Couple of Crazy make their way bowlwards. Well, one being crazy, the other on his way there with his delightful coiffage and strong drink. "You look, um, handsome?" Vossrik offers, then calls back to the group, "So we all callin' this party a success? I mean, party hats, glitter, fireworks, presents, dancin', fancy stuff! Drinks?" The Black Damnation is raised and swirled in its glass, the dark liquid sloshing menacingly over the side. "Aw, crap!" Not one to waste good liquor, he runs his tongue over the side of the cup, then drains half of it in one swallow. "Ahhh, good times."

Inri can probably handle this — going first — without blowing her face off, right? Confidently, she thinks, and accepts the gift from Sygni with a grin and friendly nose-wrinkle. "Also kind of you to call me a girl. I'm still just a girl, see?" is to Thys, four turns her junior. "That speaks highly of us both, right?" The torch gets considered, and it's a good thing Inri didn't bring her drink out, but the firelight is definitely going to make her new necklace light up. Cautiously, both because she doesn't want to ruin her manicure and because she doesn't want to die, Inri sets it alight.

Inri lights the fuse of a firework. It launches into the air and seems to fizzle out before FWEEing out a myriad of brilliant squiggles of light.

Doktah seems a little surprised to be dragged along by Sygni, but doesn't exactly fight it. The sooner she gets out there and sees the fireworks, the sooner this entire evening can come to an end. She seems increasingly anxious for that. Plus, she'll be conveniently nearby in case firefighting is necessary. She waits her turn, of course letting Inri have the first torch. But she seems eager to get hers lit as soon as possible afterwards. Eager for escape?

Doktah lights the fuse of a firework. It launches into the air and bursts with soft arcs of white and red glitter.

HI-HO, HI-HO, following Syni they go! "Do you think so?" Leia asks softly, doe eyes wide, lashes working MUCH CHARM, SO MUCH CHARM, until that wickedness is back. Another kiss to Vossrik's cheek, later, and she's swiping his drink to down the other half and hand it back to him. "You're my favorite," she informs him, all Black Damnation on her breath before she lets him go in favor of GLEEFULLY grabbing her torch and clapclapclapping for the others that get set off. "Brilliant, Sygni! As always. I need to commission one for myself. That explodes like a heart." Cackle, and then she leans down, letting go of Vossrik to ignite her own.

Leimna lights the fuse of a firework. It launches into the air and explodes in a giant rush of silver and gold that takes ages to fade entirely.

Thys totally brought her drink out with her - why waste it? "Of course you're just a girl," she laughs at Inri, watching her friend go ahead and light her first firework. Off it goes, and that FWEEing fun is met with an excited squee from the goldrider, who claps hand against pint glass, over and over as the others go off. "My turn?" Torch in hand, she steps forward to choose her firework carefully, setting the torch to its fuse before skip-hopping away and trying not to spill and of her ale in the process.

Thys lights the fuse of a firework. It launches into the air and zig-zags in screaming patterns before exploding into a giant smiley-face.

"You're pretty good stuff too, dead animals and all," Vossrik informs Leimna's back as she leans down to light her firework. "Here, hand me that torch," and, taking it, he lights off his own. "Good party. Good, good party. Good fireworks, Syg'."

Vossrik lights the fuse of a firework. It launches into the air and climbs high above the weyr before detonating into a shower of twinkling gold light.

Leimna lights the fuse of a firework. It launches into the air and zig-zags in screaming patterns

Thys lights the fuse of a firework. It launches into the air and weeble-wobbles in a sparkly fashion before bursting into a series of small fuschia starbursts.

Leimna lights the fuse of a firework. It launches into the air and bursts with a loud boom and a rapid flicker of golden sparkles.

Leimna lights the fuse of a firework. It launches into the air and squeals and breaks apart into multiple lines of bright blue sparks.

Thys lights the fuse of a firework. It launches into the air and twirls up and up and cracks loudly as it explodes in straight lines of lime green.

Leimna lights the fuse of a firework. It launches into the air and flashes in growing explosions of multicolored light and thunderous sound.

Leimna lights the fuse of a firework. It launches into the air and seems to fizzle out before FWEEing out a myriad of brilliant squiggles of light.

Leimna lights the fuse of a firework. It launches into the air and gives a thunderous boom replete with a sharp flash of light that scatters like fireflies.

Dying schmying, right? RIGHT. Sygni hands out fire like it's her job (because it is), winking for Inri's nosewrinkle with a shrugged, "My daddy always told me, you're as young as you feel, yeah?" Cheek? MAYBE, but it's hard to tell, what with how hard she's grinning, clearly in her element as she cheers for the first-lit firework, and laughs brightly for those that follow. A hard snort leaves her when the smiley-faced fireworks appear, the young woman chirping a bright, "That was Ibreily's idea," to anyone that cares to listen. "And Th'ero, you know people with great butts get fireworks for free." Is that a thing?! It might be a thing… Regardless, blue eyes twinkle partly because FIRE, but also with amusement as she ducks her head in a nod towards Vossrik. "Thank you!" Pride? OH YES. So very, very much of it, and then there's cackling too as, torches dispensed to be passed around, she steals one off of somebody else and takes off at a run, lighting three more fireworks as she goes before she disappears off - possibly to trigger one last, much larger detonation!

Sygni lights the fuse of a firework. It launches into the air and gives a thunderous boom replete with a sharp flash of light that scatters like fireflies.

Sygni lights the fuse of a firework. It launches into the air and explodes in a spirited burst of red sparks.

Sygni lights the fuse of a firework. It launches into the air and fans slowly into the air with a soft skitter of teal light and fizzy crackles.

Just when the last firework has died out of the sky, there comes a woosh, a fizzle, and a long series of dull thuds. They almost seem timed, carefully organized by a larger hand. Sparks from lit fuses arc up into the air, fizzling away for momentary darkness and then: A GRAND FINALE. The fireworks light up an enormous expanse of sky, artfully arranged so that no one outshines the other, or is more special, but instead complement one another in washes of green, flickers of blue, trails of red and sparkles of white. Purples and pinks spin and spiral throughout with sharp squeals of sound to break up the thunderous monotony, great comets of white dipping and twirling between globes of color. At last, there is a final slow sprawl of fireworks, painting the entire night sky in brilliant shades of a single color: gold, in celebration of this, Inri's night.

Doktah watches the finale of the fireworks show with wide eyes. Doktah may not have the most expressive face most of the time, but she does genuinely look impressed. When she's waited long enough to be certain that the show is, indeed, over, she begins clapping to try to lead the rest of the group in applause.

The fireworks are spectacular, and Thys, drunk-giddy as she is, clings to Inri and hops alongside her as she oohs, aahs, and eees at each and every new tumultuous explosion in the sky. She may spill a little of her drink, but honestly? She's forgotten it in the moment, because the sky is on fire - and that finale? "Wow." What else can she say? She squeezes Inri into a hug once it's all died down (not while it's still going, of course - how could she even miss a moment of the show?!), and then turns to applaud the creators. "Sygni - all of you! Oh my Faranth, this was… it was…" She's drunk. Words don't come easily, no matter how much you gesticulate while trying to pull one out of thin air. "… phenome-nomi-minal." Also not easy to pronounce when you're Black Damnationed. "Thank you so very much for all of your hard work… you've done us, and Inri, proud. And, speaking of…" Thys turns to her fellow junior weyrwoman, throwing arms around her waist and pulling her close to kiss her cheek. "Happy turnday! You owe me a dance!" And with that, Thys grabs hold of the other goldrider's hand to tug her back into Shenanigan's, where someone, somewhere, with something, will be able to play an awesome danceable tune for them.

Mischief managed, Sygni reappears, content to let empty firework shells rest where they might for now. There will be time and cleanup duty later - probably assigned to them - but now is a time for revelry and fun! So out she waltzes from behind the few remaining fireworks, bowing dramatically for applause before grinning like a fool and uttering a bright, honest, "Thank you, and you're very welcome. I'm glad it was appropriately celebratory." And that's as demure as Sygni gets, completing the phrase with a cheeky curtsey before spiralling off to collect her friends. "C'mon, you guys. I have the sudden urge to watch the 'adults' drink themselves under tables. Maybe we can even sneak a bottle of Black Damnation off once they're good and schnookered." Would she? WOULD SHE REALLY? Perhaps we'll never know, but she careens off nevertheless, clutching at the arms of whomever most needs the motivation to be drug back off into Shenanigan's for the rest of the party.

Well, the fireworks are done. The party may still be in full swing, but there is nothing still requiring active management and/or constant ledger management. That means it is time for the overwhelmed and somewhat terrified Doktah to flee. "I have to go." She says, suspiciously flatly. Then she runs.


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