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"Oooo when Istan eyes 're smilin', all the wooorld seems briiight 'n gaaay!" sang a certain brownrider lustily as he climbed up towards the Hatching Feast. His voice was absolutely terrible, and not improved at all with wine. It was fortunate he was nearing the end of the verse. "An' when Iiiiistan eeeeeeyes're smilin', sure they steeeeal your heart awayyyy~"

A'kor cleared his throat to begin again, stumbling a little and yanking on V'len's arm.

Don't, Lucieth intervened in a long-suffering tone, and A'kor harrumphed instead. Even I tire of your voice after sixteen ditties.

"Well ain't yer jus' a good sport tonight, Lucy. It's a shardin... uh... Hatchin Feast, an' your grousin at me after only a sixteen ditty," A'kor snipped, pronouncing each word deliberately and tilting his head to catch his dragon's eyes. They glowed faintly yellow-green from across the Weyrbowl where the brown was perched on the Weyr rim alongside the rest of the Weyr's dragons.

By the Queen that shelled me, if you so hope to get laid tonight you will cease and desist, Lucieth answered grumpily. It's for your own sake. A'kor rolled his eyes and turned back to more important matters, such as remembering what he was just doing. The fact that he could actually remember with clarity Z'nal chewing out the candidates down by the lake rather disturbed him, and he turned to the bluerider at his side.

"Shards, think I'm soberin up, V'len. Quick!! To the wine, love!"

His grin widened at that--not one to be weighed down by caution, was he? He'd idle by the pot for a while, carefully observing his mysterious partner in crime before deciding he'd had long enough to to gab away at the women. Shards, his hands were starting to twitch with anticipation. Keeping a careful, if discreet eye on the company, One wineskin, and two! He tried to look casual as he strode back away from the table. He almost dropped one of the skins, swearing fiercely underneath his breath even as his long legs hurriedly carried him back to the pot of klah. Glance to the left, and a glance to the right...

...and he poured all the wine straight in the pot, coughing loudly to cover the sound of dripping liquid. Perfect! But was it enough? Did the other not think that was good enough? His eyes would flicker to the man, seeing if he couldn't judge his approval from here.

V'len had taken the avoidant approach, ignoring the situation and pretending it had never happened. He hadn't particularly agreed with the candidate master's approach -- yes, he had thought they had needed to be punished, but certainly not that way -- and it had rather soured his evening, something he really did not take kindly to. It was rare that he had the chance to have a good time, rarer still that he got to spend an enjoyable evening with A'kor, beyond dinner and a good romp. Still, it was hard to be sour when the redhead started singing, loud and long and clear. And long. Sixteen ditties.

V'len threw a hand over the brownrider's lips, leaning in a little closer than he had meant to and pucked his lips a little, his other hand resting, mostly for balance, on A'kor's shoulder. "Shhhh," he shushed the other rider a little loudly, his own lips nearly touching the back of his hand, "You migh'... you migh' scare off the Candidates... an' the new weyrlings!" Letting his hand slide from the other's mouth, V'len paused, staring at the redhead in what looked like deep thought. But then the moment was lost, and V'len was following those brown eyes to where Lucieth was perched, having only to turn his head a few degrees to spot Garenth perched near by also.

The still-inebriated blue rider half-giggled at the verbal part of A'kor and Lucieth's conversation, the bubbly feeling threatening his reputation once more. Still, he couldn't help but feel the tension of what had happened start to ebb away as they stepped into the light of the hanging glows and torches, his posture visibly loosening. Mimicking the other's hold, the blonde grasped the underside of A'kor's arm firmly. To make sure the brownrider didn't go get more alcohol, of course, not for his own balance.

"Noooo you do not need any more wine," V'len tried to whine, the sound coming out more as a giggle than a stern command.

He'd been so intent on watching the other man that he'd hardly even noticed the small girl who'd all but bounced up to him, blinking with surprise at her before his face broke out in a broad grin. "Ah, you! Yes... though Shards, I'll give you a mark if I can remember your name. ...Inaari, was it?" He frowned a little, shaking his head faintly. He thought that was what he'd heard at the klah-off. "Never got to congratulate you, eh?" On her win, of course!

As his accomplice returned and tested the wine, he had to resist snorting at the other's expression. Was it bad? Hm. "All thanks to your brilliance, I'm sure." He mused, chuckling as the other disappeared back into the crowd. Ah, well. He was quick to pour two mugs--one for S'van, and the other for S'kagi, before he grinned at Inaari. "Come talk with me. Was just getting some klah for S'van, and I'm about to head back." He figured she was at least somewhat friends with him, hm?

"Remind me later." He teased. Later, later, always later! He was sure he had a mark on him though, and he'd fish it out for her later, if he remembered. "You'd be correct." He chuckled, starting a little as the tray nearly flipped. Goodness, hadn't been expecting that... but luckily, there'd been no damage. "He's' tired--guess Impressing takes a lot out of you." He mused, then brightened a little as he offered her the cup. "Here, why don't you take it to him? And then that way, I can be a proper gentleman~" He'd offer her his free arm in turn, approaching the table where the two dragonriders and dragon were still sitting.

"Look who I managed to pick up in the crowd." He'd chuckle, and then set the spiked cup of klah in front of S'kagi. "Brought you a cup as well, just in case you needed a refill." Wasn't he generous? And a terrible, wicked thing, but that was besides the point. The man looked like he needed to loosen up, just a little!

The shout for a Harper made Marko look up briefly, but when his eyes fell on the shouter, his face assumed its typical unimpressed expression, and he huffed a quiet sigh. It was how long into the Feast and already they had a drunken Candidate shouting? If the boy couldn't hold his liquor, the boy ought not be drinking. Which was why Marko's single draught from a wineskin that had been proffered to him had been heavily diluted by water as he made his way through the food.

By the egg, it was far too early for drunkards to be shouting for Harpers. After all, it wasn't like the three other men with whom he had been playing had...he glanced up and realized they had, in fact, all taken a dinner break as soon as Marko had stepped away. Well. That could explain a lot. "Shardit," he muttered, but refused to acknowledge the call for the time-being. He was eating, the food was exquisite, and he was not going to let a single boy who had consumed too much wine come between himself and gastronomic excellence.

"For who else would I have gotten it?" Okassis asked good-naturedly, taking the time to help his happy comrade to his feet before relinquishing the mug. Eventually, he was certain, he was going to regret enabling Dorin so far, - likely when the smith tipped over and started snoring, and Okassis was the only one to haul him off to the barracks - but for now, it was a source of distraction and amusement. "So, what's the word? Found us a Harper yet?"