Welcome to Gaia! ::

The sun was just beginning to set as the final touches for the feast were placed on the rows of tables, the last of the decorations (all in Ista, colors, of course) were set up in the weyrbowl, the smells of delicious food filling the cool night air. Small glowbaskets hung from cords illuminated the bowl, as well as a few more lined along the middle of the large wooden tables. Thankfully, the weather had been agreeable this evening, a gentle, warm wind rustling the crest of Ista that hung above the main entrance -- the Weyr was becoming so crowded lately many of the dragonriders had been afraid that there wouldn't be enough room inside for all the Candidates, much less all the attendees. A Hatching was always a popular event, and people from all over Pern came to see the little dragonets hatch. Lord and Lady Holders, vintners, farmers, harpers, merchants -- there was just no way. The Weyr was not tiny, by any stretch of the imagination, but with the increasingly many Candidates, not to mention dragons, space was starting to become an issue.

Even if they could manage to squeeze everyone inside, the heat would be so unbearable that it would hardly make for a feast-like environment. So many bodies, squeezed into a tight space, eating hot food, drinking wine or hot klah, they would be begging to get out. Not to mention the lice problem...

The Weyrs certainly had their work cut out for them.

V'len stood against the wall by the main entrance to the Weyrbowl, his arms folded loosely across his tunic, blue eyes wandering aimlessly over the beginnings of the feast. He had refused to cut his hair -- a rebellion that had earned him more than one scolding by his higher ups, as well as a few nervous glances from some of the younger Weyr-members. At least his roommate hadn't been opposed to it. (He hadn't cut his hair either.) So his pale blonde hair flickered a little in the gentle breeze as he watched the new weyrlings shuffle in, their excitement plain on their young faces.

C'miel was one of the few that still sat with a head full of hair, still smelling strongly of the lavander oil obtained from one of the Weyrs Healers. In truth he, too, had decided shaving it was the easiest percation was to simply rid himself of his hair entirely. Of course, that was before he was met with a hissing and sputtering flit who absolutly would not stand for his nest to be cut away.

C'miel, we want to sit at the end, your Lurenith can't be at your side here, and that's not right. Lureniths cross voice grumbled in his head.

Brows knitting together, C'miel stood from the seat he had finally managed to procure along one of the benches, glancing about the hall. "It'd be lucky if there's another seat at all, with how crowded it is."

There. You need to look more. An image of one of the farsided benches swirled in his head.

Extracting himself completely from his seat, C'miel moved slowly towards the bench, set at the far end of the hall, Lurenith wobbling slighty unsteady at his side. Though his larger feet kept him more balanced than most of the other dragonets, it certainly didnt stop Lurenith from grumbling over it.
Managing to squeeze himself in with an apology to the man next to him, he eyed the wine area before turning back to the food before him, unable to spot Rosulus amoung the throng of people.

The Hatching Feast... Jiriar could never say no to good food, of course, and the night was a relief after standing out in the hot suns all day. His mood was a little mixed as he snatched up some food and wine--though the heat was quickly enough to chase him almost back to the entrance of the Weyrbowl, eventually occupying a lone wall where he could munch and observe in peace. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't happy for the newly Impressed, but Shards... What was he doing here? His fingers stilled a little before they popped another bit of fruit in his mouth, and long, lanky shoulders heaved with a sigh. He was like a fish out of water here, surrounded by folks who'd grown up with dragons or at least knew enough about them to not make dimglows of themselves.

He wasn't that lucky.

Jiriar allowed his gaze to flicker over the throng of bodies, an absent hand pushing aside some of his long bangs to help. He could pick out a few of the newly born hatchlings from here... The grumpy brown from earlier, most notably. Oh, and there was the finely spotted blue. The Candidates--err, well, they weren't Candidates anymore. Shards, what were they now? Weyrlings? Well, they all looked thrilled, and why shouldn't they be? Though, he was curious to what Impression actually felt like. He'd spoken to very few people about Impressing firelizards before, so was it the same thing?

...Another reason that he'd secluded himself way back here, he noted with a wry and cheeky grin, was to hopefully avoid getting his head all caught up with lice. Shards, lice! He planned on keeping his hair for as long as he could, thanks, and took a long sip of his wine . The night was still young, and he'd have time later to brood over his fate.

A man leaned against the nearest surface strong enough to support him, in this case the edge of a table, and gave an irritated, soft growl as he did so. Someone else clearly hadn't quite gotten into the hatching spirit just at the moment, though a closer look at him would reveal that his reasons for being somewhat dour in mood weren't the same as Jiriar's or some of the others, since the black haired man, who like any number of the others, had re-treated his hair with oil, was also wearing the knot of a bronzerider. He was nursing an non alcholoc beverage though, watching the proceedings over the rim of it as he unwound.

After his head was buzzing appreciatively from the alcohol, the lanky brunette would give a long, appreciative stretch before he noted the presence of someone seated on the edge of the table. Not in a good mood either, hm? The more the merrier! Jiriar had no idea about knots or... well anything that really signaled the mark of a rider. Herdbeasts and runnerbeasts--he knew those well, but not so much about the life of a Weyr! So, with a long and easy gait, the young man would saunter over to the bronzerider, muttering a rather cheerful 'excuse me' as he slid onto the opposite end of the table. An elbow idly propped itself up on the table as he mused, hazel eyes flicking over the other's face. "Good for them, eh? Plenty of new dragons to fill up the skies." He'd drawl a little, nodding slowly as he again glanced to the new dragonets thoughtfully. "Wonder if they'll start kicking us out, seeing how many bodies there are. Shards."

Clearly the wine had muddled his power of observation--the man didn't seem to be in the mood to be hassled by idiot Candidates, and his age alone should have suggested he was just a bit too old to still be out on the sands.

S'van, I want to go see my clutchmates! an aggrieved Galliath complained when the former did not seem inclined to hurry over to the Feast. "All right, all right Gall! You've only mentioned this what, five times now?" It was not as though he was not happy. No, he was, he truly was. It was just that he was worried. Honestly it was. If we do not go soon, there will be no one there. He didn't know what was worse; a pushy dragonet, or a pushy trader. He was beginning to suspect that the dragonet might just win out. Finally, S'van got to his feet, finishing off the sentence he had been working on, and patted Galliath.

It is still Galliath, and not Gall, the young brown reminded his rider. S'van could only grin. Half jogging to keep up with his enthusiastic (and entirely vain) companion, the weyrling took a moment to sort out his appearance when he left the barracks. Now was really not the time to seem sloppy. Good. Well, at least the dragonet approved of something. The grin broadened, and he slowed his pace slightly, coming to a stop before he reached the tables that had been set up for the Feast.

"..." Was Okassis drinking? Yes, yes he was. But it wasn't just Okassis, it was Jiriar as well, along with the other lad who had Impressed a brown and... "Shells, you'd think that no one had ever had a drop to drink before tonight. Are all of your throats that parched?" Somewhere among the crowd he thought that he had seen Rayale. Had he been wrong? Surely not, though... the new weyrling would be at the Feast, of course. Apparently he was taking too long to decide where he would go, because Galliath bumped against his back insistently, shoving him toward the tables. "Gaaall!"

Nandeli finally made her way back from the Candidate's Quarters, having safely deposited her robes and her hair tie. The little meeting with S'van had gone… well, it had gone. But she had other things to worry about, like how to find all of her friends in this big mess of people! Honestly they needed to make little pathways so everybody could move around. This overcrowding was ridiculous!

She grumbled under her breath as she wiggled her way through the crowds, for once glad that she was not on the taller side of average. Sometimes being a little small had its advantages. As she passed her Favourite Trader (well, the only Trader she knew, but that was besides the point) she grinned and gave him two thumbs up. She was glad that Okassis seemed to be enjoying himself even if he didn't Impress. There was always next time.

As she rounded a large collection of girls she spotted R'ale and his young blue. Her grin widened as she bounded over. "Raaaaayale!" Nan pounced, wrapping her arms around the newest bluerider's neck and giggling in his ear. "Look at you! A blue! What's his name?" She waved at Jaereth.

S'kagi: "Hm?" S'kagi blinked as though becoming aware for the first time that he was in a large croud of people, and then flashed an awkward smile.
"Interesting group to Impress." He admitted. "But you're right, it's getting very crouded. We can't just...turn out qualified candidates but we're bursting at the seams." He sounded worried about this too. "Something will either bend or break before long. We can't exactly just, extend the Weyr. Not easily. And we can't simply try and house people in Ista Hold. They'll have troubles of their own." He nodded faintly at the young mans cup. "Drinking your woes away? Or celebrating?"

--

R'ael:

R'ael, boistered by his enthusiasm for the hatching, reached to pick up Nandelli around the waist and lift her clean off the ground in a whirling embrase, a feat of which he was easily capable of she'd allow it. "His name is Jaereth!" he crowed. "Isn't he amazing?? And it's R'ael now!" he boasted with pride.
not as amazing as close calls with feet.Jaereth joked ducking the enthusiasm of their greetings and nosing forward to examine the young woman. Hmm. She smells different than you. Not a bad smell. Just a different smell. So you don't smell like a girl.
"OK now you're just being silly." Or R'ael was pretty sure he was. "Jaereth this is Nandeli. Nan for short."