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Alcine

"I think it's a display," Alcine responded to Kidder, just in time to watch him storming off towards whatever scene was brewing around Vanavia. Honestly, she hoped C'tis would hold up to reputation and tear her a new respect for dragonriders. It wouldn't do to disobey orders if she were to someday hope for a combat wing with that blue of hers, despite its extra toes.

interjected Leoth, her eyes watchful with the crisp blue of approval.

There's something to be said for knowing your battles, and the girl's rushing in without a clue. It's not fatal, not this time, but it's better she gets it out of her system now before any of her real training begins. At her core, Alcine wanted Vanavia to succeed--she wanted all of the clutchmates to succeed, almost out of spite for their very situation--but if they were going to survive they needed to act like a cohesive unit, not like a wherry with its head cut off.

Alcine found herself so lost in thought that it took her a moment to realize she was being addressed. Blinking, she glanced up (it was so rare that she had to glance up) at Rensoua, then nodded. "That's right. We sparred once or twice, turns ago." The girl wasn't surprised that it had taken a moment for the senior weyrling to recall her name: Alcine kept to herself, and she liked it that way.

She made contact mentally before she touched Leoth's flank, pulling the green away from watching the developing storm. The dragon's eyes flashed orange briefly, but settled on a yellowish green, looking up at the other weyrling with curious eyes. "This is Leoth," Alcine explained, "If you'd approach her, you'd want to do so from the front, she dislikes being startled." Alcine left out the part including her deafness; for now, she would maintain the illusion that hers was healthy and whole.

There seemed to be a greater cacophony around Vanavia and the drudges, and so Alcine turned her head towards the scene with growing interest. "He will be fine," she responded back to Rensoua, her gaze glued to the scene. These were the times when it was interesting to be acquainted to Kidder, his sense of vigilante justice, and his propensity for trouble. Alcine was not the sort to partake, not in a million turns, but watching Kidder dig himself into holes was the highest form of entertainment short of hiring a harper to sing about it.

Alcine hadn't been listening for others the way she should have, nor was she being particularly watchful of grander schemes unfolding, and so when S'ol addressed her, the sudden noise caused her to jump internally, though she managed to keep her cool on the surface. Cool was not kept with Leoth, however, who acknowledged the small note of panic in her rider with a flurry of unfurled wings and an angered "KRAAAWRK", her head snaking around to find the source. Once she zeroed in on the wingrider, her eyes narrowed, and her squawking began anew, gnashing her teeth together as if she might have been yelling words. It was only a moment before Alcine had a hand on Leoth's muzzle, pressing her to silence, but there were a few glances in her direction, a few wary stares. Alcine almost physically buckled against the attention in the way her shoulders fell, but she maintained enough composure to keep Leoth from roaring out again. Just who were these interlopers, making her rider uncomfortable? How dare they sneak up on her? Leoth was ready for war, the rage spilling over onto Alcine's nervous countenance.

No one ever mentioned how hard it was to keep a hold of their own mind once a dragon was inside.

There were several moments pause before Alcine could speak again, hunched over her dragonet so she could catch her breath. When she looked back to S'ol, her glance was apologetic but defensive. "Thank you, sir," she responded weakly, at least remembering her manners. In a smaller voice, she added, "You shouldn't have startled her..."

Thankfully, there was a greater commotion happening at the High Tables, and Alcine was quick to duck back to relative anonymity, staring at the Weyrmaster and Weyrleader with renewed interest. From Leoth she felt the stirrings of a crusade beginning, and Alcine was quick to douse the flames with cool-headed reason.

This is not our battle, Leoth, we can't. Watch them. It will show us how when it's our time.

Alcine could have admired the bravery of such a bold political move on T'gall's part...if it hadn't been so inopportune.

Shylla

"Thank you, Weyrmaster," Shylla bowed her head in response, taking Hiraeth's message at the time. Telepathic creatures made for all the more intrigue, and while Shylla cared little for the general sweep of politics, it was nice to reach out under all the pretense and know that gesture hadn't gone unnoticed.

The dawn to Evmeth's call was low, still in its twilight hours, but there was hope for the coming sun yet.

Shylla caught T'gall's wink and smiled a little too brightly for courtesy, all the same taking her place at Venk's side when the Lord Holder's son approached. Biran was a slight from the hold, to be sure, but it wasn't his fault he was a slight, and so Shylla's anger found itself more directed at the distant Lord Holder than his exuberant offspring. T'gall certainly handled himself more expertly than she did, with his deft hands and charming smile. It was no real secret that Shylla preferred him to most of the prime candidates for Weyrleadership; he had an ease to his role not found in others, and a strength of character and wit that made him a natural fit to lead. His compassion towards the lower workers was a huge bonus, and while Shylla was not entirely charmed by his presence...

...Okay, she was charmed, through and through. There might have been a few celebratory shouts from a certain goldrider's weyr when Balith had swooped in on Hiraeth's flight, but with the acoustics from the tunnels, it was always so hard to tell. Silly weyrlings and their rumors.

Because she hadn't been focused on Biran from the start, Shylla caught G'vian's approach from afar, her eyes narrowing. came Evmeth's lilting plea, but as the bronzerider began to show his hand, the woman began to bubble over in rage. She took a step forward, perhaps to shelter Venk, and she crossed her arms as she looked up at the stern man. If the vast difference in height seemed to bother her, there was no tell of it on her face.

"What farce, Wingleader? Is it the one where we allow such flagrant disrespect for the weyrleader at his own hatching feast? Because I'm sure we can find a way to correct that for you."

In the back of her mind, Shylla felt a heave of exasperated despair. caution, mine!>

"Think they're going to fight?" C'tis murmured to M'ere, sounding perhaps slightly more gleeful at the prospect than was appropriate. Putting his food down in a free space on the table - he could always get more if somebody nicked it - C'tis moved closer to the impending drama just in case there was a chance to punch G'vian in the face. Fang remained perched on his shoulders, tail twitching and eyes whirling between orange and vivid blue at the prospect of violence.

___________________

"Stay- Humph!" Stay here? What did she think he was still six? Probably. Scowling to himself Bereck set off in the Weyrhealer's wake, though his pace remained unhurried. Aorta, who had been at his heels, bounded on ahead at his urging and dogged Amarid's steps instead.

S'ol

Angry baby! Very angry baby. S'ol took a step back, hands raised placatingly. He'd startled her? He didn't think he had spoken all that abruptly but perhaps she was just naturally edgy. "Sorry," he smiled, giving a little bow to Leoth, "I didn't mean to...ooooh," dear. This did not sound good.

"Yeeeeah," S'ol nodded to the elder of the two weyrlings, "I can't imagine they will start anything stupid but-"

Zaqueth supplied; he had been gliding over to see if he could spot Deru, but this was now rather more pressing.

"Or maybe they will," S'ol muttered, "getting out of the way sounds like a good idea.... Um, I'm sorry junior weyrlings, I don't know your names," he nodded to the tall girl and her jumpy dragon, "could you contact the rest of your class and suggest they move back from the tables? If those two start fighting this crowd might do something stupid too, it would be better for all of the hatchlings not to get mixed up in it." And trampled, or even spooked between.

…well, that was entirely enough of that.

Natalya hadn’t been able to attend the Hatching itself – even huntleaders had to sleep sometime, and the dragons had started humming in the middle of the day, right when she and Natask were settled in to get some proper rest. One of the disadvantages of being on a backwards schedule from the rest of the weyr, really. But she did make a point to attend the feast. With the moons rising on the horizon, even Natask could come along comfortably… though she’d left her gold at a polite distance away, lingering at the edges of the celebration near where the adult dragons were. She would wait there unless Natalya signaled her for assistance… and she couldn’t imagine requiring that kind of assistance at a feast.

Unless T’gall and G’vian ended up coming to blows, in which case frankly Natalya still ought to handle it herself. Natask felt like overkill for this.

Everything about her appearance tonight spoke of discretion: she’d chose a gown of modest cut and classic style, elegant enough to suit the gold knots on her shoulder, but not so extravagant as to outshine the high table. Save for the brilliant flame red shock of her hair, Natalya could have vanished effortlessly into the crowd… and in a sense, she’d tried to do so. Up until that point, she’d been content to let the riders have it out on their own terms, nibbling on a plate of light fare and sipping at wine while she observed the new weyrlings. The source of the strain in the atmosphere was painfully obvious: five greens, two blues, a brown, and more than one visibly malformed. Natalya didn’t know how it was for gold dragons, but if Natask threw a clutch like that… well. First and foremost, there would have been cullings. And even after, it would have reflected poorly on her. A pity; Venk was a good man, from what she was given to understand, and he didn’t deserve the kind of scrutiny he and his dragon were likely to be under after this unhappy showing.

The politics of dragons affected her only secondhand, buffered through the entirely separate hierarchy that whers and handlers had. No matter who was Weyrleader and who the Wingleaders were, all Natalya had to worry about was her own hunt. But now the sharding fools were raring to fight in front of a son of the Lord of High Reaches – idiots, what idiots! Deftly she wove through the crowd, trying to reach the table and get to Biran’s side without anyone treading on her damnably full skirts – Amarid had the right idea, she thought, moving like a warship, but Natalya didn’t want to draw quite so many eyes.

She endeavored to catch the eye of one of Biran’s bodyguards as she drew close, deliberately letting them see the knots on her shoulder before she reached out to lay a hand lightly on the young man’s arm. “Always a pleasure to see a son of High Reaches gracing the Weyr. I am Huntleader Natalya – if you would be so kind, may I trouble you to walk with me? I would love to speak to you about the Hold’s lines, if you have an interest in such things…” The invitation was an obvious ploy to get him away from the feud, perhaps, but if the lad was of Sybi's get then it was a fair guess that he might be interested in whers. It was also a slightly more graceful potential exit than the alternatives.

When G'vian laid his hand on his sword Ko'ren, who had not accompanied him, started forward reaching for his own sword but after a couple of paces he checked himself and came to a halt and clenching his hands into fists instead. "Not like this," he muttered, eyes fixed intently on the wingleader.

Up on the watch heights Balith spread his dark wings and bellowed to the skies. you dare to challenge me?> he cried, his voice ringing like the fall of a smith's hammer in the mind of every dragon in the Weyr.

At Balith's call the sleek shape of Morth swooped off his ledge, coming in to land beside the larger Bulwarth just beyond the feast area. The lithe bronze rumbled deep in his chest, and the way he looked at the elder dragon hinted that he might be speaking to him in private.

In those same moments the last vestiges of T'gall's good mood vanished as suddenly as betweening and his hand came to rest on his own sword, his black eyes glinting as sharp as the blade's edge. "I really don't think you want to do that G'vian; return to your weyr now and we'll say no more of this. I will not be stepping down, I earned my place and you will have to learn to live with answering to a brown rider; your glory is a thing of the past old man, you will never be Weyrleader again."

Venk stood transfixed, grabbing Shylla's arm to... what? Support her? Reassure himself?

Back in the Weyrmaster's weyr Hiraeth stirred, forcing herself to her feet.

The elder bronze - every bit as graying as his rider - roared, rearing back and then hitting the ground with his forelegs with an almighty thump, wings flaring in a display of size and power. Bulwarth was an old campaigner, with the scars to prove it, and one of the largest dragons in the weyr, and had a reputation for making no idle threats. Bulwarth returned, his voice the thunder in the mountains and the breaking of a dam, fire and fury. weak. When she chose us, Hiraeth never produced such a clutch!>

“No more to be said?” G’vian’s mouth became dangerously narrow, his poise that of the master duellist he had (once) been. He was giving the preening peacock a chance, and if he chose not to take it... “I don’t think enough has been said. Look what your brown,” he spat the word as though it were a curse, "has done to the Weyr - to these hatchlings. How many more will pay the price of your folly in thinking you can carry the Weyr on your shoulders? Where are the riders we need, T’gall? Will these weyrlings ever rise to fight thread? No, I think this experiment is over. Step down, before this goes any further”

“That would be spiffing, ma’am” Biren said breathlessly at the touch on his arm, eyes flicking to his bodyguards, each of whom was as tense as a bow-string. He had not looked for this here - and he was still a boy, and carried a child’s sword that was almost a plaything (almost, because now thread fell open warfare was almost impossible, and who knew where an enemy might strike?). “Weyrmaster? Goldrider Shylla? Will you accompany me? I think I would like to hear your thoughts”

Re'ka loved a good feast; plenty of good food and drink, plenty of ladies dressed up beautifully, a chance to dance and sing and generally let her hair down. Oh, and a chance to show off. The blood red doublet she was wearing was really very short - showing off powerful legs clad in white hose - and plunged quite a bit at the neck, showing off skin as she didn't have a shirt on underneath it.

What Re'ka loved somewhat less was what they were celebrating, she couldn't see much cause for it herself. Eight eggs would have been bad enough luck, but crippled dragons?

Pycath sighed to his rider,

"Mmmh," Re'ka replied; she felt like she should disagree with her dragon because it wasn't the babies' fault they were faulty but the fact that they were remained and-

At Balith's cry and Bulwarth's reply Re'ka turned sharply from her inspection of a lady's rear, hand resting on the pommel of Fury's Fang. She soon laid eyes upon the Weyrleader - her wingleader until a few months ago - and the former Weyrleader with his hand on his sword. Picking sides in this one was easy; she liked T'gall and did not like the old traditionalist G'vian. Slamming her cup of wine down on the table she strode forward, shouldering her way through the crowd until she came up beside Z'fer. "If that idiot draws, I say we pile on him," she muttered to the other brown rider. "There's C'tis over there too, we can take G'vian before he gets his blade all the way out and-"

And suddenly Weyrling.

"Well I can't fault his balls but that kid is dumb," Re'ka observed with a snort, dark eyes flicking between the young pair and G'vian to see if this would be enough to goad the bronze rider into doing something stupid in turn.

C'tis

Oh shaff, that was-

Well shaff.

"Out of my way you idiot!" Exactly who the idiot who had been in his way C'tis didn't notice; they were shoved unceremoniously aside as he made for his target. Luckily the sharded stupid kid wasn't too far off and a few moments later he came up beside Bakarn and that friend of his, who was also trying to start something that could lose him his dragon apparently.

"Congratulations, you're both deadglowed," he hissed under his breath to the pair of young riders. "Not that I disagree with your points but d'you think you could both stand up for what's right when it's less likely to get you into the kind of trouble that could lose you your dragons at this age?" Thread take him, he had trained a complete moron. L'ris, of course, would say that she had expected no less of him... and that was probably fair, wasn't like he usually looked before he leapt either.