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9. You see someone you dislike a great deal in the crowd.
Gather.
The word had been on everyone's lips for weeks, and goldrider Shylla had heard more than her fair share of it, the sound buzzing in her ears from dawn to dusk. If working with the Headwoman had been difficult before, then the last few days had been positively Herculean, with the young woman zipping between all offices of the weyr to ensure that she had given herself enough of a head start on her duties to afford the day off. On'ya was a hard woman to work for at times, but Shylla knew how important even the smallest tasks were, especially with the health of the aged bluerider. Additionally, Shylla was still painfully aware of her own delicate situation, and worked as diligently as possible to try and prove that she could, in fact, be an asset to High Reaches, regardless of what the Wing Riders might say.
All the same, when it came time to celebrate, Shylla did her best to let her hair down, swapping her usual cloth breeches for a cream-colored gown, simply and sensibly cut. A cord of golden thread had been wrapped around the small of her waist, its frayed ends trailing to roughly the knee, and a matching cord acted as a headband of sorts, holding her dark curls out of the frame of her face. Among the crowd she was all smiles and greetings, but every so often her expression would go vacant, lifting her head as if in thought. As she scanned her eyes around the Gather, Evmeth would every so often interject, to make sure that her silly rider was actually doing her job and making sure that the entire feast didn't go up in flames.
<
Everything is under control, Heart, we're supposed to let the Holders handle this, responded the goldrider, giving a sigh. For all her fretting, the Gather had been relatively tame thusfar, with only a few purse-snatchers and thieves lingering around the stalls. Evmeth made a good point about the Huntleader, though, and left behind her idle mingling for a concentrated search for the fiery wherhandler. She should have been easy to find, given her shock of red hair, but given the woman's height Shylla had difficulty even seeing over the heads of the Candidates, whose eyes she did her best not to meet.
<< No, no, NO! You musn't speak with them, you know what On'ya has told you! Don't look, don't look, they might think you're guilty!>>
The junior goldrider visibly winced, looking back to her vacant space for thought with a strained brow. Heart, I know. It's okay. Could you do me a favor and check with Verth to see how things are back home?
<
Evmeth. It is okay, Heart, I promise. Please, could you check with Verth?
There was a poignant pause between the two of them, and after a moment Shylla could feel the conscious presence of her gold slink away, her pride wounded but her mind filled with purposes. Letting loose a sigh of relief, Shylla took a moment to adjust her posture and her hair, allowing her smile to fall back into place. This was a happy day, and she was going to act accordingly, no matter what. With a burden seemingly lifted from her shoulders, she threw herself back into the mix of the crowd, greeting people softly while her eyes wandered in search of the wherhandler. Shards, had she even made it to the Gather? Perhaps she was better off checking the races--
The moment Shylla made eye contact with the ornery brownrider, she stopped in her tracks, taking in a sharp inhale. He was a hulk of a man, and particularly bad-tempered, and he went out of his way to cause a scene whenever she had the misfortune of being in his presence. Shylla didn't want to cause a scene, she wanted to cause the opposite of a scene, but even as she paused the wingrider's expression darkened, leaving his mug of ale behind with a friend as he began to tromp through the crowds, making a beeline for her. With one spin she quickly changed her direction, taking quickened steps for the races. Her search parameters were widened from 'Huntleader' to 'anyone sympathetic who will tie her up in a conversation', and she was looking to fill the role fast.
