Log: The Afterparty (& Turnday)
May. 11th, 2012 09:26 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
citlaliIt's currently mid-summer on the northern continent.
The Starsmiths say it is the 19th Turn, 7th month, and 26th day of the 10th Pass.
Evening at Fort, after a hard day's work -- oh yes! Prunings have been kept for just a moment like this, and the now-seasoned wood is burning merrily at the mouth of the Garden - not actually /in/ it, situated in the bowl itself - while tables of already-cooked food and roastable items are laid out in a loose semicircle between the fire and the garden itself. Roasting sticks are available as well, and over the scent of good food and smoke rises the soulbreakingly sweet scent of summer jasmine on the breeze. Candidates, weyrfolk and riders alike are participating in this only-somewhat-impromptu bonfire. Cold drinks - alcoholic and not - are spotted in nearly every hand, though candidates have been warned to not take the former to excess. To finish the ambience, a Harper-turned-candidate had the forethought to bring out his gitar - strains of lively music waft with the scents and sights of the mild summer night.
D'yce is not a partying kind of guy. Really. So one natually has to assume here's there for a reason. It just happens to be that his reason is Chironath, who continues to insist that honing social skills is just as important as formations and patterns. Which is also why he has a drink in hand and a less then 'par-tay!' expression going on. But hey, he's engaging in mild conversation with another rider.
"I guess I have you t'thank for this," Rylsar has to state in his dry, mellow baritone; he's stepped up next to D'yce, at that, with a drink in one hand and a skewer of blackened wherry breast in the other. He takes a swig, rips off another chunk from his kabob, chews meditatively. "Not a bad thing, though." Beat: "Sir." It's belated but it's there!
At some point in all the work, earlier, Barrett was probably around--but one wouldn't know it to look at him, considering he arrives freshly-scrubbed, hair combed just so. Tidy. And he's managed to dress up a bit, too, even if it's just a slightly nicer shirt than usual, and a shine on his shoes. He might not be one for the loud and boisterous conversations, but he at least sees a few familiar people to greet, although his path is headed distinctly in the direction of said alcoholic beverages. Once he has one of those, maybe he'll set to work on actually being sociable.
Citlali is twenty-one today, though odds are she forgot to actually tell this to anyone who didn't have some way of looking it up. So she's dressed for a turnday, in her ankle-length white sundress that is really, really better described in her actual desc so to dare enter into disturbing metatextual territory, won't actually be otherwise described here. She has also, apparently, decided to eschew shoes. While she'd been around for most of the day, playing Rylsar's right-hand girl for quite a bit of it, she left to go get changed, so she's at least largely un-dirty. Snagging two roasting sticks already covered in food, she thrusts one on her little brother. "Come on, then. Eat."
"It isn't cooked, you know," said little brother, Caledan, answers dubiously. Sure, he takes it. And sure, it takes him a moment of actually /looking/ at it before he comes up with that response. "Just because you're all old now doesn't mean you can make me eat raw food, that's /gross!/"
Obviously confused, D'yce turns towards Rylsar with a quizzical expression. "Me to thank for wh... oh, the uh.. the whole candidate thing?" A gesture with his free hand is made towards the white knot. "Cause that's all Chironath. I just like making up fun excuses to do what he's asking.. okay, usually demanding, that I do." But he's toally good at that part, right? That's why he flashes an almost cheeky smile there. "How'd the plowing go?" It's looking past Rylsar that he spots Barrett and nods. And then Citlali and an unfamiliar younger person. And yes, he blinks and stares for a minute. Being not-awkward would just be weird.
Could Barrett really have passed Rylsar without noticing him? Of course not. Once he has a drink in hand, that's exactly where he's drifting back to, even if D'yce gets an extremely wary look. "Hi." That was really pretty much all for Rylsar, and whatever else he might have been about to say gets drowned in a long swig of his drink. Some fruity thing. Like that should surprise anybody, anywhere. Then he's veering off in Citlali's direction, because that's a bit more comfortable, and because he has to inquire: "Who's this?" So someone at least is more intereted in the brother. Not interested-interested. Just interested.
"You have to cook it first." Citlali rolls her eyes at Caledan, so much so that if they weren't attached to her head they might've rolled away on their own. "That's the point of a bonfire, don't you know? I know you've been to one before. Come on." She's using her free hand to grab his arm, and it's only then that she realizes that, well, basically everyone she already knows is looking at her. So she lets go of Caledan, in order to wave; a light finger-waggle and a smile. "Hi guys. Miss me? This is Caledan, my brother. He's a guard, but don't let it spoil the fun."
"S'rude to stare." D'yce points out lamely, and he pulls his gaze away abruptly to look into the cup of alcohol in hand. "Alfalfa. I can't think of a nastier tasting thing to put in our food - well, there are those little cabbage things..." If anything, he seems amused at receiving a wary glance. It's him. Nerd. Nerds don't genrally get wary looks unless they've creepily hit on some pretty girl. Also why he pretends he's not trying real hard to listen to the conversation Barrett's having with Citlali and little brother.
Caledan obediently waggles his own fingers into a wave, of course, but he's busy rolling his eyes at the whole setup at the same time; if the nearly-identical-build or general-similarity-in-appearance wasn't sufficient to scream out their shared blood, the completely-identical expression just /must/ be, right? "Hi," he answers shortly. "Are you staring because you didn't know I was here, or because she's wearing a dress?"
Bonfires and food are a sure way to attract a Tovrin. Among other things, most likely. But this is what's important right now. He arrives in the company of the little bronze firelizard that is still following him around despite Tovrin's relative disinterest in maintaining a relationship with it. It even sits on one of his feet when he stops to survey before it's shoved to the side again when Tovrin makes his way to find himself a drink.
Rylsar has a genuine enough smile for Barrett, but then he's done goin' over to someone else. Oh well. He's left with D'yce. It's okay, 'cause they both were sharing an awkward moment. He ignores Citlali in favor of replying, "The alfalfa wasn't to eat. Green manure-- you plow all of it into th' dirt and it helps remineralize th' whole area." Farmers and dirt. Don't get 'em on the same page. "'Sides, if th' weyr does end up growing alfalfa - which I doubt - I reckon it'd be more fodder for the herdbeasts, not for people." That's right. He's a plow nerd. Yup.
"I--wasn't staring?" Barrett now seems to regard Caledan like he's possibly grown a second head or something, and instead favors the elder sister with a little more attention. "A guard." Okay, maybe he didn't quite believe that one. "I would have thought that'd require more--" Something he doesn't have, either, so he'll just let that one drop. "Did you get a drink yet? There's some halfway decent stuff over there--oh, come on, he doesn't have to /kick/ him." Barrett apparently has the attention span of a sparrow, or else he was paying enough attention to notice Tovrin's attempt to detach the firelizard. "Poor thing."
The whole nerd spectrum is now //covered//!!! Dayce will take the star nerd spot, and Rylsar has the dirt nerd spot. Sky. Ground. Awesome. "You know, between the two of us... we've got the sky and ground covered for strange facts." Which means he has to tip his drink respectfully at the farmer before taking a drink. Caladan's question filters through, at some point. "Dress." he answers, without turning.
Rylsar is startled, a little, by D'yce's statement-- but, after a inwardly thoughtful moment, he admits a nod. "Guess you're right." Cause boy oh boy does Ryls have the ground part of that covered. If only he knew the extent of D'yce's starcraftery. In addition, he nods along to the brownrider's statement-- "Yeah. A /dress/? Faranth, she's tryin' to kill us all." His voice seems almost morose. He takes another sip of his drink, a belated cheers to his momentary companion.
"Recruit, anyway -- and no, you weren't." Citlali agrees: Barrett wasn't staring. That wasn't in question! "It's my turnday, okay, lay off," is called over her shoulder to everyone else, offering up commentary on her clothing -- it's light and amused, though, at least. "In my family we dress up a little." Not that the only family she counts as family anymore isn't standing right with her, and the only other person actually near them is getting a proper introduction to him, too. "Cale, this is Barrett. And he's right, we should get drinks. Oh, I wish I had one." A firelizard, one can presume, and not a drink. "I'd take it if I thought he'd give him to me."
Once Tovrin has a drink, he can let his attention wander a little more. It lands somewhere in the vicinity of Citlali first. Or her dress, more specifically. More briefly his attention wanders over Barrett and the boy he doesn't know but he doesn't seem to have any intention of approaching the group for the moment. He might need another drink soon, after all, so just standing right around there probably seems like a good idea.
"Barrett," Caledan repeats obedientlyish, committing face and name to memory. "Require more /what/?" So he's a cocky fifteen-year-old; he's also Citlali's favorite, okay.
Barrett frowns slightly as he looks over again, at Tovrin--trying to figure out what happened to that firelizard, most likely--before he favors Citlali with a smile again. "I don't think you can just give them away, any more than you can dragons--but he could at least give it a name and treat it a little nicer or something. I really wish he would. I tried to suggest names, but he didn't like them. It's a very nice dress, anyway." If everyone else is going to be looking, he might as well put in his thoughts on the matter, before sipping at his drink again.
As D'yce is pulled away by a wingrider, Rylsar starts to wander towards the little cluster gathered. "Cit," he mildly greets the girl with a handraise of greeting. He eyes her for a moment. "Nice dress, but y'ain't gettin' anything done with it on." The dual meaning there is meant, likely, given the roguish set of lips and crinkling of skin about the eyes. He chews another bite of blackened wherry, shifting his gaze over towards Tovrin to try to see what the crap all the big deal is about.
"Well, I wasn't trying to," Citlali admits, with a winning smile, "except for eating and drinking, anyway. Not another moment of my turnday is being spent working, and I'm also pretending the party's at least a little bit for me. And thanks, Barrett; I thought so, anyway, which is why I actually brought it here." A lot of her nice clothes, alas, never made the trip. "And I guess you can count actually grilling my food as getting something done, which I think I can still pull off. It's easy to wash if it gets char on it or anything." She's not seeing the errors, if any, in her outfit selection.
Meanwhile, her brotherly shadow is remaining close, and moderately distrustful of all these men and their /scandalously familiar/ comments. He watches them warily whenever he isn't intent on making sure his skewer of food doesn't burn or fall into the fire.
The rewards of hard work comes at the end of the day when the fire crackles and the freshly cooked dinner wafts tantalizing aromas through the air. Taking the ten minutes needed to throw on a sundress and lose the plowing pants she was wearing, Naamiah's a case study for casual summer-time fun. Her red locks are still sporting the twin braids, though she's lost the woven-straw hat. So with a skewer in hand, she emerges from the crowd to approach the dinner tables.
There is no big deal where Tovrin is concerned. Unless you just count the man himself. He's kind of big. But that's not all that unusual in a place like a Weyr. The firelizard has abandoned his... whatever Tovrin is in favor of ending up at Barrett's feet with a little rumble of something that might be affection. And a chirp just to make sure that someone is actually going to pay attention to him.
At least Barrett does have a heart, crouching down so that he can kind of herd the firelizard onto his arm before he stands up again. And the cuffs of his pants might have gotten vaguely dusty by doing that, so it was really a great sacrifice, see. "There, there." Such reassurance. But then he's very tentatively smiling in Tovrin's direction: "Did you name him yet?" A direct question, even if it's one he must really know the answer to by now. "I think we've all had enough of getting-things-done for the moment." No double entendres for him, no, as he eyes Rylsar. "My arms are going to be all sore tomorrow, I bet."
Oh look, it's Naamiah! Rylsar's attention flips over to the redhead simultaneous to his lifted hand -- er, lifted skewer -- in greeting. Their little band is situated between the fire (Citlali and Cale roasting) and table (Rylsar's going back for a refresh on his drink). "Naami," he greets; "See? Told ya it'd be over 'fore you reckoned it would." With more beer in his cup, he returns to park himself next to Barrett. "Your arms, huh? Yeah, guess so. Y'thought about what you're gonna roast?" He absently nods behind him to where the kabob formation tables are.
Attention drawn to Naamiah, too, Tovrin watches the girl for a few moments longer than is strictly polite but fortunately Barrett's question draws his gaze away. It takes his brain a moment to catch up before he gives his head a small shake. "No." Probably the expected answer.
Citlali's focus wavers from the roasting to Naamiah, and she waves her free hand (in this case, /not/ the one with the skewer) at the younger candidate in greeting. "Good, someone else wore a dress," she laughs, "although I have to admit I liked the hat!" While most of her focus is on Naamiah, and there's a tangential little bit still focused on her food, she remains aware of Barrett and the firelizard, too -- curious about Tovrin's answer. "I think my feet will be agreeing with your arms."
"So you did, so you did!" Naamiah calls out, getting her skewed nice and full of roasted meat as well as a glass filled with something to drink -- probably beer. It's here, why not?! -- and heads on over to the Candidates area. "Of course! It's a bonfire! I don't want to wear my /plowing/ outfit," she calls back to Citlali, winking. "Besides, we gotta dress up for the boys, right?" This statement might come with the confidence of being aware of getting some extra attention from the boys quarter. Turning to Barrett and Tovrin and Rylsar, she chirps out a warm, happy, "Evening!" As if they hadn't all just been working together!
"Well, my arms, everything else--" Barrett looks up into Rylsar's face when he says that, since now he's standing close enough as to require that incline of neck, although the smile might be more optional. "I have a drink. I'm not that hungry, and it all looks kind of--messy." And of course that would be a dealbreaker for him, wouldn't it. "Besides, I have to maintain my girlish figure or something, isn't that how it goes?" More of a giggle than that really should have warranted, but he's made relatively quick progress on his drink for someone who hasn't actually eaten anything. "Evening," he adds, for Naamiah.
When Tovrin finishes his first drink and picks up another, he finally makes his way a little closer to Barrett's vicinity. "You shouldn't coddle it like that," he says, though for now he doesn't reach out to shoo the bronze away. He does offer a smile to Naamiah, maybe less friendly than it is, well, interested. But he does seem to be trying not to stare at anyone in particular now.
"Really?" Rylsar focuses in on Barrett for a moment. "That ain't right." His expression is disapproving -- "It ain't /that/ messy." The words are a little plaintive! He brings his own skewer back up to finish off the last of his blackened wherry. His eyes turn back to Citlali and Naamiah as if on their own accord, but he doesn't comment. Yet. Tovrin? Tovrin is snorted at. "Maybe you should coddle it more. Keep it from makin' lovey-dovey eyes at Barrett."
"I actually found it somewhat fun," is Citlali's take on the plowing. Even if it was messy, which she didn't seem to have a problem with, having happily gotten dirt on her face. "Not as much fun as this, but it was fun. And it's my turnday," she confides in Naamiah, "so I'm /also/ dressing up for /me/. But it's always good to have more than one reason, yeah?" She's such a natural crowd-pleaser. Unless the crowd doesn't like pretty dresses, in which case, she's really not. "Hey, Cale, I'll take your skewer, why don't you get Naami a drink?"
"Better him than me," says Tovrin, glancing between the firelizard and Barrett before he's taking another drink. But then he's reaching over to dislodge the firelizard from Barrett and letting him drop back to the ground, urging him off with a nudge of his foot. See? He's practically nice about telling the firelizard to bugger off.
Naami is a confident girl who's not above adding in a little hip swish to get her skirt a-swayin'. Plucking bits of bar-b-qued wherry off of her skewer, she nibbles it right off her finger. "What are we coddling?" she asks, looking from Tovrin to Barrett and then back to Rylsar. "The plowing was -- Oh! It's your /turnday/! Whatever Naamiah's thoughts on plowing are, they are left a mystery as this little bit of news takes priority. "Happy turnday! How old are you now, then?" The beer is sipped at, the teenager trying in vain not to make bitter beer faces -- hey, she's never really /drank/ before! "You do look lovely." To Citlali.
"Fun?" Barrett's eyebrows creep up under his bangs at that proclamation from Citlali. "Well, you can have it, then. Some of us aren't meant for that kind of work, that's for sure. I think I preferred the creche, and that's saying something. I think I still have paint under a few of my fingernails, Rylsar, and that's all your fault." Really. He offers a hand, as though Rylsar is going to want to actually check, but that jostles the firelizard, so he withdraws it again for another bit of scritching and, yes, general coddling, before he's lost hold of it. "It just needs some attention," he informs Tovrin, maybe a bit more pointedly than was necessary, now that it's gone. "And what's wrong with making lovey-dovey eyes at me, anyway?"
Caledan is a lucky, lucky teenager, because he's in Citlali's shadow and that means he gets to stand /right there/ and goggle at the pretty red-head in the pretty dress who is, apparently, BFFs with his sister. This is, in the long run, why it takes him so long to figure out that Citlali actually has given him an Important Task, and so it's lucky indeed that Citlali doesn't end up with his skewer stabbed through her hand by how forcefully he shoves it into her hand. And then, of course, he's attempting to act Nonchalant as he Approaches Naamiah. "Did you want another one of those, or ... something else to drink?" he asks, and strives to sound Manful and Mature with all the success any other lad of fifteen turns might manage.
Citlali is old. Or, that is, "Twenty-one," she says, now the responsible temporary owner of two skewers. "And thanks, sweetheart -- I'd say I tried, which is technically true, but I only barely tried. If I really wanted to try I'd probably have put on makeup." A shrug, which is -- difficult, with the skewers, but not terribly difficult. "You can get me a drink /too/, Cale, by the way," she adds, completely unsurprised by her younger sibling's starstruckedness.
"Things that don't need coddling," says Tovrin in the wake of Naamiah's voice even if he's looking sternly at Barrett. And then briefly Rylsar. "It gets plenty of attention." Obviously. Barrett keeps paying attention to it. "It's a lizard. Doesn't make lovey-dovey eyes at all." The way Tovrin says that matches the face of distaste that he makes of those words.
Speaking of fun in the creche... Late to the gardens, with a bit of blood on his temple (though seemingly not his own), comes Ruchik. Well, late to the entrance of the gardens, which is where he stops, staring at the gathered people, making a grunting noise deep in his throat, Oh, right. Party. For now, he'll just stare at each of the other partygoers in turn.
"What -- Oh!" Naamiah is temporarily distracted from Citlali by Caledan's arrival. "Oh, maybe. I don't know. This one isn't very good, but I've never drank anything like this before. Is it always like this?" She thrusts the mug in Caledan's direction, clearly intending for him to taste it. Ruchik's arrival gets a pinched look from Naamiah and she steps a little closer to Citlali and Caledan, as well as getting closer to Tovrin and Barrett -- essentially burying herself in the crowd of Candidates! It'll work! To Barrett, "You got a baby fire lizard?" she guesses, grinning, before turning back to Citlali. "Happy Twenty-First!" Tovrin is given a pretty smile, but doesn't point out how she coddles her own little bebbe fire lizard. Not yet, anyway.
Downing the rest of his glass, now that he hasn't got anything better to do, Barrett gives Tovrin another hesitant smile, that grows the longer he's wearing it. "Well, then, maybe you could--" Whatever loosening of the tongue has occurred with that drink, it's not enough to stop him from diverting there, pausing before heading off on a train of thought different from where he started. "You could show him some attention, and then he wouldn't need me. He should have a name. It doesn't have to be that exciting a name, after all." Naamiah's interest in the firelizard is seized-upon, and he turns the smile to her instead: "Right? Shouldn't they have names?" Maybe if a girl agrees, it'll happen.
Caledan can /smell/ the beer, but that's honestly enough to have him making a face that is, in fact, a lot like Naamiah's own face of hastily-smothered disgust. "I think there's some wine?" he manages. "It'll probably taste better, if you want to try some." He holds the mug of beer as if it's likely to explode and eat him.
Rylsar is here, really! Griping along as necessary and exchanging droll commentary when need be; but sooner before later he'll be slipping into the shadows and will be found later, face-down and snoring on his cot -- totally dead to the world. Plowing: srs (ly tiring) bsns!
So Citlali takes a turn at the beer, balancing the skewers in one hand so she can pluck it from Caledan and taste it herself. "Yes," she concludes. "It is always like this; called an acquired taste by many people for a good reason. I used to hate it. Can't remember why I ended up drinking it ever again but it's grown on me." Apparently not much -- she gives it back to her brother, only because he's closer to Naamiah.
And who does Ruchik see, as he stands there? Barrett. And Tovrin. And /Naamiah/. And a candidate he sort of recognizes, and some other person. And with a snort, the trader turns on his heel and walks out. At least he wasn't disruptive.
It's too bad Ruchik leaves so quickly, because otherwise Caledan might have given /him/ the beer, in an effort to get it further away from him. Ahh well. The beer gets 'accidentally' set down somewhere out-of-the-way, and before too very much longer, Caledan will be back, with two glasses of wine and the slow realization he forgot to get a drink for himself. Oops.
Ignoring any of Barrett's smiles, Tovrin looks at Naamiah again, which is pretty easy for him to get caught doing, "Ain't his." But his tone is less irritated about this concept because pretty smiles from girls are nice. "And its name is not going to be something stupid like 'Handsome.' Not like it cares whether it has a name anyway."
"Yes! They *should* have names," Naamiah says to Barrett, in whole-hearted agreement. "They're like pets. And my pets have always had names. Not that I've had many, but..." She turns all that confident girl-charm -- this /is/ like a teen girl stretching her woman-legs somewhat -- on Tovrin. "Of course it wants a name. Calling it 'it' seems problematic." She pauses, and cants her head to the side, "Who's is it?" Ruchik's leaving and Caledan's fetching are noted out of the corner of her eye, a sigh of relief escaping at the former. To Citlali, "It's... like... um. Gross. But maybe I'll get used to it?" At this point, she realizes her drink has entirely wandered off. Whoops.
"It doesn't have to be that specifically." Yes, Barrett is blushing, now, just a little bit, before he finds somewhere to set down his empty glass, an exercise in distraction as much as anything else. "He. He should have a name. He's Tovrin's." Hence trying to get Tovrin to do this whole naming thing, of course. A glance around fails to figure out where said firelizard has gone, but he's unashamed at continuing to use Naamiah for these purposes: "He just hangs out with me. Because we--" Pause. "Tovrin's got the bed next to mine. That's all."
"Thanks," Citlali tells Caledan, handing him his now-roasted food in exchange for her wine. They both drink and eat at varying speeds, and do really stick around for quite some time as observers and even occasionally speak up throughout the rest of the party (more from Citlali than Caledan, really); at some point, some cousins may even show up and try to give Citlali presents. That might be for tomorrow, though.
The Starsmiths say it is the 19th Turn, 7th month, and 26th day of the 10th Pass.
Garden (#13992J)
With imported soil giving fertility to enhance Fort Weyr's diet the garden doubles as a small, quaint Eden. Priority of space is given to conventional rows of annual vegetables and herbs that must be carefully maintained during the brief summers. There's a central path where two may walk abreast, large enough for compost and harvesting carts. The small nearby lake provides a rudimentary form of irrigation with much manual labor. Several constructed posts support the wild growth of climbing varieties of peas and beans. This arrangement supports a small canopy of matted summer vines to present a sufficient screen for those who seek a carefully placed bench made of expired woody vines. The garden is no great expanse - a poor location and northern latitude limit plant composition - but it's a local piece of self-sufficiency and practical composure.
It is a summer evening. The season's heat burns skies clear of cloud.
Evening at Fort, after a hard day's work -- oh yes! Prunings have been kept for just a moment like this, and the now-seasoned wood is burning merrily at the mouth of the Garden - not actually /in/ it, situated in the bowl itself - while tables of already-cooked food and roastable items are laid out in a loose semicircle between the fire and the garden itself. Roasting sticks are available as well, and over the scent of good food and smoke rises the soulbreakingly sweet scent of summer jasmine on the breeze. Candidates, weyrfolk and riders alike are participating in this only-somewhat-impromptu bonfire. Cold drinks - alcoholic and not - are spotted in nearly every hand, though candidates have been warned to not take the former to excess. To finish the ambience, a Harper-turned-candidate had the forethought to bring out his gitar - strains of lively music waft with the scents and sights of the mild summer night.
D'yce is not a partying kind of guy. Really. So one natually has to assume here's there for a reason. It just happens to be that his reason is Chironath, who continues to insist that honing social skills is just as important as formations and patterns. Which is also why he has a drink in hand and a less then 'par-tay!' expression going on. But hey, he's engaging in mild conversation with another rider.
"I guess I have you t'thank for this," Rylsar has to state in his dry, mellow baritone; he's stepped up next to D'yce, at that, with a drink in one hand and a skewer of blackened wherry breast in the other. He takes a swig, rips off another chunk from his kabob, chews meditatively. "Not a bad thing, though." Beat: "Sir." It's belated but it's there!
At some point in all the work, earlier, Barrett was probably around--but one wouldn't know it to look at him, considering he arrives freshly-scrubbed, hair combed just so. Tidy. And he's managed to dress up a bit, too, even if it's just a slightly nicer shirt than usual, and a shine on his shoes. He might not be one for the loud and boisterous conversations, but he at least sees a few familiar people to greet, although his path is headed distinctly in the direction of said alcoholic beverages. Once he has one of those, maybe he'll set to work on actually being sociable.
Citlali is twenty-one today, though odds are she forgot to actually tell this to anyone who didn't have some way of looking it up. So she's dressed for a turnday, in her ankle-length white sundress that is really, really better described in her actual desc so to dare enter into disturbing metatextual territory, won't actually be otherwise described here. She has also, apparently, decided to eschew shoes. While she'd been around for most of the day, playing Rylsar's right-hand girl for quite a bit of it, she left to go get changed, so she's at least largely un-dirty. Snagging two roasting sticks already covered in food, she thrusts one on her little brother. "Come on, then. Eat."
"It isn't cooked, you know," said little brother, Caledan, answers dubiously. Sure, he takes it. And sure, it takes him a moment of actually /looking/ at it before he comes up with that response. "Just because you're all old now doesn't mean you can make me eat raw food, that's /gross!/"
Obviously confused, D'yce turns towards Rylsar with a quizzical expression. "Me to thank for wh... oh, the uh.. the whole candidate thing?" A gesture with his free hand is made towards the white knot. "Cause that's all Chironath. I just like making up fun excuses to do what he's asking.. okay, usually demanding, that I do." But he's toally good at that part, right? That's why he flashes an almost cheeky smile there. "How'd the plowing go?" It's looking past Rylsar that he spots Barrett and nods. And then Citlali and an unfamiliar younger person. And yes, he blinks and stares for a minute. Being not-awkward would just be weird.
Could Barrett really have passed Rylsar without noticing him? Of course not. Once he has a drink in hand, that's exactly where he's drifting back to, even if D'yce gets an extremely wary look. "Hi." That was really pretty much all for Rylsar, and whatever else he might have been about to say gets drowned in a long swig of his drink. Some fruity thing. Like that should surprise anybody, anywhere. Then he's veering off in Citlali's direction, because that's a bit more comfortable, and because he has to inquire: "Who's this?" So someone at least is more intereted in the brother. Not interested-interested. Just interested.
"You have to cook it first." Citlali rolls her eyes at Caledan, so much so that if they weren't attached to her head they might've rolled away on their own. "That's the point of a bonfire, don't you know? I know you've been to one before. Come on." She's using her free hand to grab his arm, and it's only then that she realizes that, well, basically everyone she already knows is looking at her. So she lets go of Caledan, in order to wave; a light finger-waggle and a smile. "Hi guys. Miss me? This is Caledan, my brother. He's a guard, but don't let it spoil the fun."
"S'rude to stare." D'yce points out lamely, and he pulls his gaze away abruptly to look into the cup of alcohol in hand. "Alfalfa. I can't think of a nastier tasting thing to put in our food - well, there are those little cabbage things..." If anything, he seems amused at receiving a wary glance. It's him. Nerd. Nerds don't genrally get wary looks unless they've creepily hit on some pretty girl. Also why he pretends he's not trying real hard to listen to the conversation Barrett's having with Citlali and little brother.
Caledan obediently waggles his own fingers into a wave, of course, but he's busy rolling his eyes at the whole setup at the same time; if the nearly-identical-build or general-similarity-in-appearance wasn't sufficient to scream out their shared blood, the completely-identical expression just /must/ be, right? "Hi," he answers shortly. "Are you staring because you didn't know I was here, or because she's wearing a dress?"
Bonfires and food are a sure way to attract a Tovrin. Among other things, most likely. But this is what's important right now. He arrives in the company of the little bronze firelizard that is still following him around despite Tovrin's relative disinterest in maintaining a relationship with it. It even sits on one of his feet when he stops to survey before it's shoved to the side again when Tovrin makes his way to find himself a drink.
Rylsar has a genuine enough smile for Barrett, but then he's done goin' over to someone else. Oh well. He's left with D'yce. It's okay, 'cause they both were sharing an awkward moment. He ignores Citlali in favor of replying, "The alfalfa wasn't to eat. Green manure-- you plow all of it into th' dirt and it helps remineralize th' whole area." Farmers and dirt. Don't get 'em on the same page. "'Sides, if th' weyr does end up growing alfalfa - which I doubt - I reckon it'd be more fodder for the herdbeasts, not for people." That's right. He's a plow nerd. Yup.
"I--wasn't staring?" Barrett now seems to regard Caledan like he's possibly grown a second head or something, and instead favors the elder sister with a little more attention. "A guard." Okay, maybe he didn't quite believe that one. "I would have thought that'd require more--" Something he doesn't have, either, so he'll just let that one drop. "Did you get a drink yet? There's some halfway decent stuff over there--oh, come on, he doesn't have to /kick/ him." Barrett apparently has the attention span of a sparrow, or else he was paying enough attention to notice Tovrin's attempt to detach the firelizard. "Poor thing."
The whole nerd spectrum is now //covered//!!! Dayce will take the star nerd spot, and Rylsar has the dirt nerd spot. Sky. Ground. Awesome. "You know, between the two of us... we've got the sky and ground covered for strange facts." Which means he has to tip his drink respectfully at the farmer before taking a drink. Caladan's question filters through, at some point. "Dress." he answers, without turning.
Rylsar is startled, a little, by D'yce's statement-- but, after a inwardly thoughtful moment, he admits a nod. "Guess you're right." Cause boy oh boy does Ryls have the ground part of that covered. If only he knew the extent of D'yce's starcraftery. In addition, he nods along to the brownrider's statement-- "Yeah. A /dress/? Faranth, she's tryin' to kill us all." His voice seems almost morose. He takes another sip of his drink, a belated cheers to his momentary companion.
"Recruit, anyway -- and no, you weren't." Citlali agrees: Barrett wasn't staring. That wasn't in question! "It's my turnday, okay, lay off," is called over her shoulder to everyone else, offering up commentary on her clothing -- it's light and amused, though, at least. "In my family we dress up a little." Not that the only family she counts as family anymore isn't standing right with her, and the only other person actually near them is getting a proper introduction to him, too. "Cale, this is Barrett. And he's right, we should get drinks. Oh, I wish I had one." A firelizard, one can presume, and not a drink. "I'd take it if I thought he'd give him to me."
Once Tovrin has a drink, he can let his attention wander a little more. It lands somewhere in the vicinity of Citlali first. Or her dress, more specifically. More briefly his attention wanders over Barrett and the boy he doesn't know but he doesn't seem to have any intention of approaching the group for the moment. He might need another drink soon, after all, so just standing right around there probably seems like a good idea.
"Barrett," Caledan repeats obedientlyish, committing face and name to memory. "Require more /what/?" So he's a cocky fifteen-year-old; he's also Citlali's favorite, okay.
Barrett frowns slightly as he looks over again, at Tovrin--trying to figure out what happened to that firelizard, most likely--before he favors Citlali with a smile again. "I don't think you can just give them away, any more than you can dragons--but he could at least give it a name and treat it a little nicer or something. I really wish he would. I tried to suggest names, but he didn't like them. It's a very nice dress, anyway." If everyone else is going to be looking, he might as well put in his thoughts on the matter, before sipping at his drink again.
As D'yce is pulled away by a wingrider, Rylsar starts to wander towards the little cluster gathered. "Cit," he mildly greets the girl with a handraise of greeting. He eyes her for a moment. "Nice dress, but y'ain't gettin' anything done with it on." The dual meaning there is meant, likely, given the roguish set of lips and crinkling of skin about the eyes. He chews another bite of blackened wherry, shifting his gaze over towards Tovrin to try to see what the crap all the big deal is about.
"Well, I wasn't trying to," Citlali admits, with a winning smile, "except for eating and drinking, anyway. Not another moment of my turnday is being spent working, and I'm also pretending the party's at least a little bit for me. And thanks, Barrett; I thought so, anyway, which is why I actually brought it here." A lot of her nice clothes, alas, never made the trip. "And I guess you can count actually grilling my food as getting something done, which I think I can still pull off. It's easy to wash if it gets char on it or anything." She's not seeing the errors, if any, in her outfit selection.
Meanwhile, her brotherly shadow is remaining close, and moderately distrustful of all these men and their /scandalously familiar/ comments. He watches them warily whenever he isn't intent on making sure his skewer of food doesn't burn or fall into the fire.
The rewards of hard work comes at the end of the day when the fire crackles and the freshly cooked dinner wafts tantalizing aromas through the air. Taking the ten minutes needed to throw on a sundress and lose the plowing pants she was wearing, Naamiah's a case study for casual summer-time fun. Her red locks are still sporting the twin braids, though she's lost the woven-straw hat. So with a skewer in hand, she emerges from the crowd to approach the dinner tables.
There is no big deal where Tovrin is concerned. Unless you just count the man himself. He's kind of big. But that's not all that unusual in a place like a Weyr. The firelizard has abandoned his... whatever Tovrin is in favor of ending up at Barrett's feet with a little rumble of something that might be affection. And a chirp just to make sure that someone is actually going to pay attention to him.
At least Barrett does have a heart, crouching down so that he can kind of herd the firelizard onto his arm before he stands up again. And the cuffs of his pants might have gotten vaguely dusty by doing that, so it was really a great sacrifice, see. "There, there." Such reassurance. But then he's very tentatively smiling in Tovrin's direction: "Did you name him yet?" A direct question, even if it's one he must really know the answer to by now. "I think we've all had enough of getting-things-done for the moment." No double entendres for him, no, as he eyes Rylsar. "My arms are going to be all sore tomorrow, I bet."
Oh look, it's Naamiah! Rylsar's attention flips over to the redhead simultaneous to his lifted hand -- er, lifted skewer -- in greeting. Their little band is situated between the fire (Citlali and Cale roasting) and table (Rylsar's going back for a refresh on his drink). "Naami," he greets; "See? Told ya it'd be over 'fore you reckoned it would." With more beer in his cup, he returns to park himself next to Barrett. "Your arms, huh? Yeah, guess so. Y'thought about what you're gonna roast?" He absently nods behind him to where the kabob formation tables are.
Attention drawn to Naamiah, too, Tovrin watches the girl for a few moments longer than is strictly polite but fortunately Barrett's question draws his gaze away. It takes his brain a moment to catch up before he gives his head a small shake. "No." Probably the expected answer.
Citlali's focus wavers from the roasting to Naamiah, and she waves her free hand (in this case, /not/ the one with the skewer) at the younger candidate in greeting. "Good, someone else wore a dress," she laughs, "although I have to admit I liked the hat!" While most of her focus is on Naamiah, and there's a tangential little bit still focused on her food, she remains aware of Barrett and the firelizard, too -- curious about Tovrin's answer. "I think my feet will be agreeing with your arms."
"So you did, so you did!" Naamiah calls out, getting her skewed nice and full of roasted meat as well as a glass filled with something to drink -- probably beer. It's here, why not?! -- and heads on over to the Candidates area. "Of course! It's a bonfire! I don't want to wear my /plowing/ outfit," she calls back to Citlali, winking. "Besides, we gotta dress up for the boys, right?" This statement might come with the confidence of being aware of getting some extra attention from the boys quarter. Turning to Barrett and Tovrin and Rylsar, she chirps out a warm, happy, "Evening!" As if they hadn't all just been working together!
"Well, my arms, everything else--" Barrett looks up into Rylsar's face when he says that, since now he's standing close enough as to require that incline of neck, although the smile might be more optional. "I have a drink. I'm not that hungry, and it all looks kind of--messy." And of course that would be a dealbreaker for him, wouldn't it. "Besides, I have to maintain my girlish figure or something, isn't that how it goes?" More of a giggle than that really should have warranted, but he's made relatively quick progress on his drink for someone who hasn't actually eaten anything. "Evening," he adds, for Naamiah.
When Tovrin finishes his first drink and picks up another, he finally makes his way a little closer to Barrett's vicinity. "You shouldn't coddle it like that," he says, though for now he doesn't reach out to shoo the bronze away. He does offer a smile to Naamiah, maybe less friendly than it is, well, interested. But he does seem to be trying not to stare at anyone in particular now.
"Really?" Rylsar focuses in on Barrett for a moment. "That ain't right." His expression is disapproving -- "It ain't /that/ messy." The words are a little plaintive! He brings his own skewer back up to finish off the last of his blackened wherry. His eyes turn back to Citlali and Naamiah as if on their own accord, but he doesn't comment. Yet. Tovrin? Tovrin is snorted at. "Maybe you should coddle it more. Keep it from makin' lovey-dovey eyes at Barrett."
"I actually found it somewhat fun," is Citlali's take on the plowing. Even if it was messy, which she didn't seem to have a problem with, having happily gotten dirt on her face. "Not as much fun as this, but it was fun. And it's my turnday," she confides in Naamiah, "so I'm /also/ dressing up for /me/. But it's always good to have more than one reason, yeah?" She's such a natural crowd-pleaser. Unless the crowd doesn't like pretty dresses, in which case, she's really not. "Hey, Cale, I'll take your skewer, why don't you get Naami a drink?"
"Better him than me," says Tovrin, glancing between the firelizard and Barrett before he's taking another drink. But then he's reaching over to dislodge the firelizard from Barrett and letting him drop back to the ground, urging him off with a nudge of his foot. See? He's practically nice about telling the firelizard to bugger off.
Naami is a confident girl who's not above adding in a little hip swish to get her skirt a-swayin'. Plucking bits of bar-b-qued wherry off of her skewer, she nibbles it right off her finger. "What are we coddling?" she asks, looking from Tovrin to Barrett and then back to Rylsar. "The plowing was -- Oh! It's your /turnday/! Whatever Naamiah's thoughts on plowing are, they are left a mystery as this little bit of news takes priority. "Happy turnday! How old are you now, then?" The beer is sipped at, the teenager trying in vain not to make bitter beer faces -- hey, she's never really /drank/ before! "You do look lovely." To Citlali.
"Fun?" Barrett's eyebrows creep up under his bangs at that proclamation from Citlali. "Well, you can have it, then. Some of us aren't meant for that kind of work, that's for sure. I think I preferred the creche, and that's saying something. I think I still have paint under a few of my fingernails, Rylsar, and that's all your fault." Really. He offers a hand, as though Rylsar is going to want to actually check, but that jostles the firelizard, so he withdraws it again for another bit of scritching and, yes, general coddling, before he's lost hold of it. "It just needs some attention," he informs Tovrin, maybe a bit more pointedly than was necessary, now that it's gone. "And what's wrong with making lovey-dovey eyes at me, anyway?"
Caledan is a lucky, lucky teenager, because he's in Citlali's shadow and that means he gets to stand /right there/ and goggle at the pretty red-head in the pretty dress who is, apparently, BFFs with his sister. This is, in the long run, why it takes him so long to figure out that Citlali actually has given him an Important Task, and so it's lucky indeed that Citlali doesn't end up with his skewer stabbed through her hand by how forcefully he shoves it into her hand. And then, of course, he's attempting to act Nonchalant as he Approaches Naamiah. "Did you want another one of those, or ... something else to drink?" he asks, and strives to sound Manful and Mature with all the success any other lad of fifteen turns might manage.
Citlali is old. Or, that is, "Twenty-one," she says, now the responsible temporary owner of two skewers. "And thanks, sweetheart -- I'd say I tried, which is technically true, but I only barely tried. If I really wanted to try I'd probably have put on makeup." A shrug, which is -- difficult, with the skewers, but not terribly difficult. "You can get me a drink /too/, Cale, by the way," she adds, completely unsurprised by her younger sibling's starstruckedness.
"Things that don't need coddling," says Tovrin in the wake of Naamiah's voice even if he's looking sternly at Barrett. And then briefly Rylsar. "It gets plenty of attention." Obviously. Barrett keeps paying attention to it. "It's a lizard. Doesn't make lovey-dovey eyes at all." The way Tovrin says that matches the face of distaste that he makes of those words.
Speaking of fun in the creche... Late to the gardens, with a bit of blood on his temple (though seemingly not his own), comes Ruchik. Well, late to the entrance of the gardens, which is where he stops, staring at the gathered people, making a grunting noise deep in his throat, Oh, right. Party. For now, he'll just stare at each of the other partygoers in turn.
"What -- Oh!" Naamiah is temporarily distracted from Citlali by Caledan's arrival. "Oh, maybe. I don't know. This one isn't very good, but I've never drank anything like this before. Is it always like this?" She thrusts the mug in Caledan's direction, clearly intending for him to taste it. Ruchik's arrival gets a pinched look from Naamiah and she steps a little closer to Citlali and Caledan, as well as getting closer to Tovrin and Barrett -- essentially burying herself in the crowd of Candidates! It'll work! To Barrett, "You got a baby fire lizard?" she guesses, grinning, before turning back to Citlali. "Happy Twenty-First!" Tovrin is given a pretty smile, but doesn't point out how she coddles her own little bebbe fire lizard. Not yet, anyway.
Downing the rest of his glass, now that he hasn't got anything better to do, Barrett gives Tovrin another hesitant smile, that grows the longer he's wearing it. "Well, then, maybe you could--" Whatever loosening of the tongue has occurred with that drink, it's not enough to stop him from diverting there, pausing before heading off on a train of thought different from where he started. "You could show him some attention, and then he wouldn't need me. He should have a name. It doesn't have to be that exciting a name, after all." Naamiah's interest in the firelizard is seized-upon, and he turns the smile to her instead: "Right? Shouldn't they have names?" Maybe if a girl agrees, it'll happen.
Caledan can /smell/ the beer, but that's honestly enough to have him making a face that is, in fact, a lot like Naamiah's own face of hastily-smothered disgust. "I think there's some wine?" he manages. "It'll probably taste better, if you want to try some." He holds the mug of beer as if it's likely to explode and eat him.
Rylsar is here, really! Griping along as necessary and exchanging droll commentary when need be; but sooner before later he'll be slipping into the shadows and will be found later, face-down and snoring on his cot -- totally dead to the world. Plowing: srs (ly tiring) bsns!
So Citlali takes a turn at the beer, balancing the skewers in one hand so she can pluck it from Caledan and taste it herself. "Yes," she concludes. "It is always like this; called an acquired taste by many people for a good reason. I used to hate it. Can't remember why I ended up drinking it ever again but it's grown on me." Apparently not much -- she gives it back to her brother, only because he's closer to Naamiah.
And who does Ruchik see, as he stands there? Barrett. And Tovrin. And /Naamiah/. And a candidate he sort of recognizes, and some other person. And with a snort, the trader turns on his heel and walks out. At least he wasn't disruptive.
It's too bad Ruchik leaves so quickly, because otherwise Caledan might have given /him/ the beer, in an effort to get it further away from him. Ahh well. The beer gets 'accidentally' set down somewhere out-of-the-way, and before too very much longer, Caledan will be back, with two glasses of wine and the slow realization he forgot to get a drink for himself. Oops.
Ignoring any of Barrett's smiles, Tovrin looks at Naamiah again, which is pretty easy for him to get caught doing, "Ain't his." But his tone is less irritated about this concept because pretty smiles from girls are nice. "And its name is not going to be something stupid like 'Handsome.' Not like it cares whether it has a name anyway."
"Yes! They *should* have names," Naamiah says to Barrett, in whole-hearted agreement. "They're like pets. And my pets have always had names. Not that I've had many, but..." She turns all that confident girl-charm -- this /is/ like a teen girl stretching her woman-legs somewhat -- on Tovrin. "Of course it wants a name. Calling it 'it' seems problematic." She pauses, and cants her head to the side, "Who's is it?" Ruchik's leaving and Caledan's fetching are noted out of the corner of her eye, a sigh of relief escaping at the former. To Citlali, "It's... like... um. Gross. But maybe I'll get used to it?" At this point, she realizes her drink has entirely wandered off. Whoops.
"It doesn't have to be that specifically." Yes, Barrett is blushing, now, just a little bit, before he finds somewhere to set down his empty glass, an exercise in distraction as much as anything else. "He. He should have a name. He's Tovrin's." Hence trying to get Tovrin to do this whole naming thing, of course. A glance around fails to figure out where said firelizard has gone, but he's unashamed at continuing to use Naamiah for these purposes: "He just hangs out with me. Because we--" Pause. "Tovrin's got the bed next to mine. That's all."
"Thanks," Citlali tells Caledan, handing him his now-roasted food in exchange for her wine. They both drink and eat at varying speeds, and do really stick around for quite some time as observers and even occasionally speak up throughout the rest of the party (more from Citlali than Caledan, really); at some point, some cousins may even show up and try to give Citlali presents. That might be for tomorrow, though.
