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Oh, and here came the cavalry; bitey and the egg whacker. C'tis' smile grew more cheerful than ever, and Fang's hissing shifted to a low yowling grow. "Everything is fantastic!" he replied to Zarike. "Your good clutchmate was just enlightening me about various matters, most elucidating I must say!" The happy smile was then directed back to Vanavia. "Nothing is getting blown anywhere, and nothing would have happened if that woman were bright enough to pace herself in drinking.... Regardless, as you say, everything is fine so why don't we all go on with our evening? I'm sure you shining two young pairs have a lot of people to meet and greet with so why don't you," he made a light shooing gesture with the hand not occupied with holding his trencher, "go off and mingle, humm?" Unless something interesting to head towards caught his attention he wasn't going to be the one to walk away first.

Keralder

"Yeah..." Keralder's tone was distracted, but honestly he struggled to believe that T'gall supported anything but himself and anything that might prop him up. That at the moment was drifting slowly from his priorities.

"Good for him." He added dismissively. He really wanted to check this out a little closer. "I'm going to check this out."

It was rediculous to assume that he would know all the drudges by sight, but he knew some by name and others by face and that hair...



Marloths warning was mostly unessisary, as he started to amble toward the drudges.

"Hey, sorry. I know we are all having a great chat over here... I was just wondering though. My mother works as a Drudge too and you might not know her, but I was just wondering if I could impose on you... Your hair looks so amazing... And she's always so exhausted... I was wondering if I could introduce you two if you don't know each other and you could give her some tips on how you managed to do something so intricate. I am -really- impressed."

If she wasn't lying he really was, though Marloth didn't exactly -approve- of the conditional truth. She did approve of answers though. And this was the best he could think of under the circumstance, even though Rensoua was probably spitting mad at him now.

"...S-so you can tell that they're old cups?" Aldrey was damned curious about this. Reading about the process of accidentally oversaturating fiber with dye was a matter of notes, something that could be uncovered in archived records or asked of dyers, but he wasn't sure how you could tell how old a goblet was without seeing the wear and tear. Perhaps indicators based on pattern, since things came and went from fashion... but from here the biggest 'pattern' he could make out was the flashy set of gems, clearly paired to the tiny clutch.

Maybe it was some trait unique to a traders background? It would be very useful to know though, as far as information gathering.

"H-how can you tell? I-I mean... they look gold... the stones... t-they're themed to the c-clutch. There's n-no record of a clutch this small before... a-and from here I c-can't see any d-damage marks."

He really wanted to know, it could be useful.

Also useful would probably be to put a safe distance between themselves and the slow gathering of people around 'The Argument'. He wasn't sure if they would need separated by some authority, but he wouldn't be surprised either. The similar names were interesting, in a sort of passing way, and he wondered vaguely if the two drudges were related in some way, or if it was just a coincidence of letters.

Zarike

Zarike returned Vanavia's smile briefly and glanced at the pair of retreating drudges... lady? He wouldn't have called a drunken bully a lady but they appeared to be leaving. A glance of mild distaste and pity was all he directed at them before turning to meet C'tis's equally distasteful grin. As he had missed the beginning of the exchange he could only guess as to why the rider was involved, let alone why he was in such an unpleasant mood.

He was right though, for which Zarike was not entirely happy to admit. It looked like the two were aiming to 'fine-ing' themselves right into a fight over it though. "They've gone now, hopefully she'll be taken care of." He turned back to Vanavia, noting with surprise that she was almost the same height as he. Somehow he'd thought her shorter... or himself taller. Possibly due to the height of the rider. "Have you eaten yet? I only just got here." Zarike asked by way of invitation and an offer of an easy out of the situation. He tilted his head towards the buffet tables, and where Peth could be seen just a couple feet away, looking pointedly at the group, then the food, and back to the group.

“Weyrleader T’gall and ‘master Venk, salutations!” Biran had a grin as wide as a pumpkin's as he took a little bow. Shylla was ignored for a moment as he launched into a little - obviously prepared and learned by heart - speech. “My august father, Lord Holder of High Reaches, most noble of Lords, sends his congratulations on the successful hatching of your clutch. I have been charged with bringing you these gifts from my father, in honour of this happy occasion”

One of his bodyguards repressed a snort. The other’s eyes were firmly fixed on a spot above T’gall’s head, as if beseeching the heavens for a quiet life.

Biran pointedly ignored this, producing a pair of slim volumes from a cloth bag he had been holding close. “He believed you both might find this study of the habits and hunting patterns of wild firelizards interesting, and would enjoy hearing your thoughts”

T'gall grinned and winked to Shylla on principle, reaching over the table to grab a jug of good wine to pour for himself and Venk as he did so. As the Lord's son arrived T'gall turned his gleaming smile onto the teen and offered a polite salute in return to the bow. "Welcome Biran, you honour our Weyr and our dragons with your visit," he replied, accepting one of the slim books with due reverence. "I confess I don't know a great deal about wild firelizards, now I have this little lady," he made a small gesture to the gold flitt on his shoulders, "I think it would do me good to learn a little!”

"Biran," Venk bowed slightly, smiling his warm-looking polite smile and setting his golden goblet carefully down on the table. "Thank you for coming and for your kind gift, these books are beautiful. Please do pass our gratitude on to you esteemed father.”

"Oh yes, please do," T'gall echoed, having taken a moment to nod to each of the guards while Venk addressed the little Lordling. "And if you have time to linger after the celebrations Biran I thought you might enjoy meeting our Huntsman and some of our Huntleaders? Most of them are on duty at the moment but they should have time later if it catches your fancy.”

Biran lit up, apparently a good deal more excited by this then anything else. “That - that would be jolly decent of you. Mama - I mean, my mother, um, I mean Lady Sybi - says I shall be old enough to put to one of Sybisk’s clutches in a turn or two, if I’m doing well. It would be good to take a dekko at the Weyr’s lines, see if there’s any crossbreeding we should be doing”

That was, unfortunately, when Storm G’vian hit: like all that good feeling (relatively speaking) was some sort of magnet for Trouble, trailing Ko’ren like a kind of self-satisfied balloon.

“T’gall! I demand to speak to you!”

No title. No bow. He was on a mission - and not a polite one.

“How long are you intending to maintain this farce?”

===

Merinde stared at Keralder for a moment, through a kind of drunken haze, the man with her still tugging at her arm to pull her further from the confrontation. “M’sister did them"

"Yeah, I can do that… actually it might be simpler to just send it to her with a note of what the problem is.” Brishen grinned brightly. “That way you don’t have to read her writing.” His mother’s writing was legible, but scratchy.

“Can’t from here, but things like that would take time. If it was glass, I would have a better idea… but you can melt gold down and recast it. It’s a soft metal, so they could have just changed the base to set the stones. And the stones are tipping me off. T’gall wouldn’t have known what was going to hatch till they hatched. A day is too soon to cast a complete new set of goblets.” Brishen mused, more assured that he was likely on the right path.

He stopped and looked down and sighed. “Crest, that isn’t yours not get up here and stop agitating Toast,” he scolded his flit and watched the brown bashfully approach, but he still wasn’t letting that chunk of stolen meat drop. Flits.

Shard and Shells... had he really? G'vian was on a mission it seemed. "Shells, I didn't think he would do anything at the feast."

Sleuth dragged out and huffed, keen eyes looking over the crowd as she pressed against her rider, protecting him.

A coup? During a hatching feast at that? “How unpleasant,” Yevalee murmured and slowly sought to his feet. He wanted to be standing for this, and food was no longer appealing. Old way bronze rider, rude, petty. And in front of a lordling, really, T’gall might be making them seem reckless but G’vian was causing a clear divide.

Come on, Bakarn! We don’t want to be late!

“In a minute, Bly!” There was so much to do, all of a sudden, and Bakarn wasn’t the type who’d let himself slide on any of it. Blyth needed feeding, and then she needed cleaning – and so did he, because he was covered in meat juice same as she was. And then she needed oiling, and oh that was something that Bakarn was good at, he’d been clambering all over dragons since he was tall enough to handle an oil bucket. And only after she’d been fed and scrubbed and oiled to a polished-jade shine could he consider the possibility of what he was going to wear to the feast, because – let’s face it – Bakarn didn’t own many nice things. Getting dragon oil on his last pair of nice breeches would’ve been a disaster.

But he did own one thing that would be curiously appropriate for today’s celebration. Hadn’t worn it in ages, though – would it still fit him? He hoped so. There weren’t many opportunities for Candidates to wear much other than the gray. Over the breeches and linen shirt went a handsome black-and-green doublet, and fortune must’ve favored Bakarn today: it was a little bit short, but not by enough that anyone would notice. And the green was… important.

Very important.

The fear that had clutched at his heart during the Hatching itself was gone, replaced with a mixture of joy and firm resolve. He was a rider now. In all likelihood, there would be some at the feast who had less than kind things to say, and Bakarn knew exactly how to deal with the unkind.

Why would people say things about us? Blyth inquired, her eyes whirling multicolored in confusion. Bakarn reached down to stroke her headknobs, then ran his hand down the sleek curve of her neck.

“Eh, it doesn’t matter, pretty girl. You’re mine, and I’m yours, and we’ll deal with anyone who’s got a problem, right?”

Right! Blyth warbled cheerfully, bouncing ahead of him on the way to the bowl.

The kitchen staff had really outdone themselves this time, Faranth. The entire bowl shone like a starry sky, and Bakarn could smell the roast herdbeast well before he even approached the food tables. His mouth watered – he’d been so busy feeding Blyth that he hadn’t even thought about his own stomach since… breakfast, probably. That was why they had a Hatching feast, he bet, to make sure that the riders didn’t forget to feed themselves in the excitement of the first day. And the music! And the people! It seemed like everyone had shown up!

Bakarn happily loaded up a trencher with roast meat and tubers, with Blyth standing on her hindlegs to curiously examine the food displays. For the moment, he remained blissfully unaware of any fuss happening regarding Venk, T’gall, G’vian, and the rest.