Place: Dining Hall.
Players: A'yon, Blue, D'ac, Iopeian, K'teric, L'dor, L'ott, Linsora, Margia, Sofika.
Scene: The sixth anniversary celebration, and something surprising is found when Margia drops her locket.
Connell is in festive mood this evening. The Dining Hall is decked out with flowers and greenery. There's an extensive buffet table, laden with the best that Connell has to offer: meats, grains, salads, a few hot dishes, and the inevitable fish, to say nothing of a wide variety of Southern fruits and some rather scrummy-looking cakes. It looks as if the cooks have really done their best for the occasion. There's also a long table bearing drinks: as well as the usual juices, there's ale, some wine, and several large bowls of a punch with pieces of fruit floating in it, which is far less innocuous than it both looks and tastes.
People are starting to arrive. It's a warm night, and the doors have been propped open in the expectation that people will spill outside once they've got their food and drink in the Dining Hall. Some harpers are tuning up near the door.
Linsora smiles as she sees that the decorations and food for the Celebration seem just right, her staff and the chefs having done a good job in getting things arranged just right. With one last look over the tables and decorations, the Headwoman moves over to one of the tables set up for eating at where her two children wait. Ayrora stands over by her younger brother, who is laying in a basket and being all giggly as he apparently can feel the celebratory air around everyone that is starting to gather.
Blue is in clean clothes and sitting on the edge of the dining hall, hemming a pair of light blue curtains. She's been watching the preparations and now watches the incoming settlers with curiosity.
L'ott emerges from his office, his hand rubbing against that knot that's always present in the back of his neck now as he pauses to glance around at the festive atmosphere. He frowns at the decorations before shaking his head and moving towards the drink table. "Best get something now." Before those doors belched forth the majority of Connell. He grabs a cup and parks himself in front of one of the large bowls of punch.
D'ac is among those present, if in a less visible way. Situated at a table he shares with three other riders, D'ac nurses a mug of ale while listening to the most recent of J'tan's exploits. At the corner seat, D'ac has an eye on the door, watching the Harpers as they set up and the people who are now entering.
Margia wanders in, looking round in surprise as she sees the harpers and the floral decorations. Apparently the decor meets with her approval. With a beaming smile on her face, she turns to the nearest person and exclaims, "Oh, how lovely! Is it a party? What's the occasion?"
K'teric is picking his way along the main table. A few samples of this and that are already set snugly together on the plate he holds, saving room for more. He stops by one of the large heated tureens, taking up its serving spoon tentatively. His brows furrow as he nudges the spoon indecisively through the dish, unearthing chunks of tuber and various vegetables.
Linsora looks over to Margia and smiles to her, picking up her son in her arms and bounces him a bit. "Today is the six-Turn anniversary of the Settlement being founded," she continues to smile. "Everyone is invited to eat, drink, dance once the Harpers are ready, of course."
L'ott glances towards Linsora as he move past her towards a seat of his own. "Six years already.." He says thoughtfully, mostly to himself. His sharp gaze shifts to Margia, lips drawing into a tight grimace for a moment. Shaking his head, he continues to a mostly uncrowded area and sits down, nursing his drink between his palms.
Margia's face falls. "Six Turn?" She appears rather bewildered, watching Linsora and the baby with a slightly distressed expression. "Oh, dear. Things are so confusing." The lure of a baby to watch works its magic, however, and soon she's cooing over the child. "What a good boy, and with all these people here, too." She raises a hand to finger the locket that she wears.
D'ac's little party of three breaks into a party of two - him and J'tan - as the third member makes an abrupt b-line for the door, chasing after some girl he'd been eyeing. Shortly after, it's D'ac who stands and leaves, but only to refill the mug he carries with him. People are slipped past rather silently, D'ac giving a majority of the front half of the cavern a wide berth and then waiting patiently in line for his turn at the pitcher.
K'teric decides to pass on the stew/casserole thing after his excavation. Down the line he goes to the meat dishes. He flops a portion of that ever-present fish up onto his plate and then adds a couple of roast slices next to it. While waiting for a turn at the gravy, the Weyrlingmaster finally turns his attention up to the Hall at large. Sight of the growing elicits a small sigh from the man.
Once Blue sees Margia, she folds her curtains and tucks them away in her satchel, then makes her way towards the woman she sort of knows. "Good evening, Margia, Headwoman."
L'dor wanders in to join the party, and makes straight for the food. Ignoring the fish, he goes for slices of meat, a bit of salad, and some bread. Gravy is passed over with a wrinkle of the nose - he's not a lover of it, apparently - but he finds himself next to K'teric, attention drawn by that sigh. "Evening, Weyrlingmaster."
Very little would install a sense of this festiveness in L'ott, who seems content to sit by himself and drink occasionally from his glass. He looks about, seemingly looking for someone in particular though to judge by his continued search, he doesn't find him or her. His mind drifts shortly there after, eyes glazing over as he shares his thoughts with Sehkteth. All in all, its a silence from this man that would help ensure that things remained pleasant and non-combative.
Upon filling his mug, D'ac turns and heads back across the hall toward J'tan. The bluerider instanly resumes his exploit-filled conversation which D'ac listens to with half an ear - nodding and making the occasional comment. The majority of the bronzerider's attention is still on the door; not so much the people who pass through it as the sky beyond it.
Iopeian comes out of her office, a trifle late to the party, and speaking quietly with E'dast of all people. The bronzer inclines his head to her and then melts into the gathering crowd. She glances around the room, eyes passing briefly over her Weyrleader. A slight tightning of the corners of her eyes and a polite nod, before she's moving towrds D'ac, slipping up to stand next to him and murmur in his ear.
Margia doesn't appear to recognise Blue. Surprise, surprise. "Good evening, dear. I don't think we've met. Doesn't the Hall look lovely? I haven't seen it this pretty for turns." She frowns slightly at Linsora. "In fact, I'm afraid I don't remember your name, either." Introductions, however, are interrupted when she catches sight of the Weyrleader, all on his own, and frowns. "You know, I'm sure I don't like that young man, and I can't remember why. Who is he?"
K'teric readily turns his attention back to his immediate surroundings at the greeting, a polite smile tugging instinctually at his mouth. "Good evening," he returns pleasantly to L'dor. The woman next to him finally sets down the gravy boat so the bronzerider picks it up and liberally sauces the roast slices. When he's done with it he offers the boat towards the bluerider.
The harpers start to play some cheerful music. The hall is nicely decked with flowers, and there's a clear space in the middle for dancing, should anyone get the urge. The food tables are brimming, the drink is plentiful, the punch is deceptively strong, and the night is still young.
D'ac's mood lightens visibly upon sight of Iopeian, and as she draws next to him and whispers in his ear, J'tan is forgotten. He reaches up with a hand, resting it lightly against her hip. A somber nod is a little less telling then the curious look he offers before nodding toward the seat opposite him, "Y'welcome t'sit, Io. If y'can." He looks her over, a trace of the smile still present. J'tan, stone silent, watches with a wide grin.
L'ott almost doesn't catch sight of Iopeian's entrance, though after a second of hesitance, he blinks and looks towards her. A brow arches in return for the polite nod and a brief, sleezy grin crosses his lips. This greeting of sorts given, he watches her move towards D'ac. The Weyrsecond is eyed for a moment until a long, hot-aired sigh is released and he pushes up from his chair. It's towards the food table that he moves, leaving his cup of fruity juice to mark his sitting place. Margia isn't heard and so he doesn't look towards her as he grabs a plate and begins the selection progress. "I told you, Sehkteth, I don't know." He mutters under his breath.
Iopeian quirks a smile at J'tan, and then the rest of the room, nodding here and there to a few folks. She slips into a seat, and hmms at the harpers. "Nice to have a really proper anniversary party. Maybe I'll even get to do a turn or two on the dance floor. You know, one of you should ask Margia to dance. I bet she'd be tickled pink. Maybe after dinner."
"We had tea," Blue fills in pleasantly for Margia, with a quick glance at Linsora and a soft pitying sigh.
L'dor gives a quick shake of the head and tells K'teric, "No thanks, I'll pass on that. Can I help you to some of this..." He's a spoon over a bowl of some stewed vegetable concoction whose contents aren't readily identifiable. "Not sure what it is, but it smells good. How's your class doing?"
Linsora nods to Margia, "I am Linsora, Headwoman here, and this is my daughter Ayrora, and my son Lyron. I don't know where their father is right now, though I'm sure he will get here eventually. I think you've met him already, A'yon... my weyrmate..." She gives a nod to anyone who passes by and looks back to Margia, keeping her son in her arms, but letting the infant enjoy looking around at everyone that is here so far.
Margia gives Blue a rueful smile. "Did we? Well, I hope we enjoyed ourselves. I'm so sorry that I don't remember you." She takes in Linsora in her apologies. "Or you, my dear. I'm sure I ought to remember your lovely children." She looks round, a child-like delight at the occasion evident on her face. "Well, my dears, I think I'm going to get myself some of that wonderful food. I must remember to say thank-you to the kitchen after this." She toddles off, still chattering to whomsoever she passes. At the food table, she's selective, contenting herself with bread and some sort of meat paste and telling the riders standing there, "It doesn't do to have your hands too full on these occasions, you know." Then to the drinks, where she pours herself a large mugful of that nice fruit concoction. The one with the little bits of fruit floating in it, and the very faint aroma of something that doesn't smell quite like wine. After a few sips and an appreciative smile, she make her way with bird-like steps in a direction that will bring her within view of D'ac and Io.
D'ac's arm moves up to the back of Iopeian's seat as she sits, and he leans toward her to at last murmur a reply back. At the Weyrwoman's suggestion, J'tan turns to eye Margia as the goldrider nears their table. "Never been one to turn down a dance, eh D'ac?" The bronzerider is elbowed, earning a sharp (though shortlived) look of disapproval from D'ac. "You're puttin' ideas in his head, Io," he replies before easing a sip from his mug.
D'ac says to Iopeian, "Y'sure ....... .... .. .. .... We'll ..... ...."
L'ott hesitates at topping his plate as he notices Margia approaching the food tables, somewhat near him. He watches her as she picks out her meal, his hand still hovering a serving spoon over some sort of casserole as he studies her. His nose wrinkles slightly as she moves off towards the drinks and he turns his attention back to the food stuffs. After he's finished serving himself he turns away from the food items and moves back towards his table, which has actually taken on more occupants then what he'd remembered from before. Settling back into his place, he begins to pick through his plate.
Iopeian laughs, shaking her head. She says to J'tan, "He's a big boy. Doesn't need me to put them there for him." As Margia twitters towards their table, she calls out a greeting to the older weyrwoman. "Evening, Margia. Enjoying yourself? I'm trying to talk these handsome young men into stepping you around the dance floor, but I think they're shy."
K'teric looks confused a moment (pass, on gravy!?) before sending the boat on to the next person in line. "Mmm, nah - looks a little too green for me. Never too early to start optimizing for winter storage." He pats his barrel cheerfully. "Class is Ulana is under the queens' wing now, and C'vin should be ready to be tapped up before too long." He clears his throat, taking a slight step back from the food table. As Margia dispenses her advice his attention fixes bemusedly upon the eldest goldrider, his gaze following her to the drink table. There sight of the offerings takes precedence. "Have you tried that punch yet?" he asks in aside to the bluerider.
"Not yet." L'dor puts down the veggie offering and doesn't in fact sample any himself. "Think I might, though. Good to get something different. D'you teach them anything about looking for things from the air, or how to record what they see if they go somewhere new?"
Margia continues to pick her way across the floor, taking occasional sips of punch. She hears her name and stops suddenly, raising her hand to her locket as if it provided some sort of security while she looks about to see who's spoken to her. At this point, a large bluerider, who's trying to navigate the crowd with a heaped plate of food in each hand, backs into her, jogging her elbow. The chain of the locket breaks, and the large pendant itself goes skeetering across the floor. Someone else manages to step on it and slips, landing on her rear at the feet of the original and oblivious plate-carrier, with the inevitable consequences: a loud crash and an unsightly mess to clear up. The remains of the locket are propelled further and come to rest at the feet of D'ac and Io, where it's rather obvious that the thing is flattened beyond repair. It's perhaps less obvious that there's something poking out of the remains. Meanwhile, Margia looks round for it, lamenting loudly and plaintively, "My locket! My mother gave me that!" Considering her age and size, she has a surprisingly piercing voice when she chooses to make herself heard.
D'ac levels the disapproving look on Iopeian now, but his lips twitch with a barely restrained smirk. At Margia's approach he straightens, then moves completely out of his seat at the loud crash of the platter. Her lamenting loss not only gains his attention, but that of J'tan's as he rises out of his seat and moves toward Margia. "Y'see where it went?" D'ac asks of Iopeian as he begins looking around. Oblivious to the fact that it lies at his feet, his eyes are sweeping the area nearest the disaster.
Linsora is chatting with a couple of people when she suddenly hears a crash of something and she turns around, child still in her arms. "Oh no..." she mutters and places the boy in the basket and tells her daughter to stay there. With the childrean out of her way, she moves over to the where the sound came from. "It's alright, it's alright. We'll get it cleaned up..." She looks around to find one of her staff to come clean up the spilled food on the floor so that no one would have to slip in it. "We'll look for the locket, don't worry..."
Iopeian grimaces. Thankfully her brief curse is kept under her breath as she pushes her chair back to go help Margia. As she does, she kicks the locket in question back into play, as it were, more concerned with the pileup and the mess. "What's wrong dear? You're missing what?"
K'teric nods to L'dor, cocking his head towards the nearest bowl, inviting to lead the way through the crowd. His brow dips down as he processes the question. "You mean like between visualizations?" Despite the piercing tone that announces the nearby commotion, the bronzerider is oblivious. So fixated is he upon the drink table that all he seems to notice is a welcome thinning of the crowd about the beverages as people shift to see what happened. Accordingly, he lengthens his stride to sneak in an grab a couple of cups while there's the opportunity.
Blue notes under her breath, "She'll forget she ever had it within ten minutes." Nevertheless, she moves to help pick up the mess.
L'ott looks up from his plate sharply at the sound of crashing followed by Margia's lamenting. He stares as he pushes up from the table, moving towards the commotion and likely not helping matters by asking, "What happened?" Can't you just hear the concern? Or maybe that's an underlying annoyance. He looks towards Iopeian and D'ac's backs before glancing back towards Margia. Taking a step closer, perhaps to try and calm.. or maybe rile, Margia, he hears and feels a crunch underfoot. He stops, blinking as he takes a step back and looks down. Tilting his head slightly, he bends down and picks up the remains of the locket. "Got it." He states as he straightens up, fingering the locket in his palm. His brows tighten slightly as he notices something poking out of it, and pokes and prods at it in curiousity. "What's this?"
Margia has finally reached Io. "My gold locket! The one I always wear. My mother gave it to me when I was a girl" She takes a long drink of that nice fruit drink, then, like Io, she turns her attention towards the scene of the accident. She's looking just a little wobbly on her feet as she turns round.
D'ac's search for the locket changes focus. He watches Iopeian crossing the cavern, waiting to ensure she does so safely before he steps around the table to join her. J'tan is already searching the corners for the locket, roping in a few other friends to assist. In crossing the cavern himself, D'ac stops when L'ott proclaims he's discovered the locket. There's indecision as he's half-way between Weyrleader and Weyrwoman. Eventually he opts for the former, and steps toward L'ott, "Y'shouldn't-" His suggestion falls flat as L'ott begins prodding the scrap.
Iopeian slips a hand under Margia's elbow to help steady her. "We'll find it - Oh. Looks like L'ott managed to grab it." A trifle louder, "Got it, L'ott? It's not completely destroyed, is it?"
Sofika's just come down to grab some dinner, honest! But what's all this commotion? The healer skirts the edge of the room, offering a thin smile to any she passes on her way. Why is the food all the way over /there/?
Linsora looks over as it seems that L'ott has found the locket and hopes to try and get the people that have gathered around the spill to move so it can be cleaned. "Please, can we get this cleaned up so people can enjoy the food?" A staff member comes over with what she needs to clean it up, which is promptly done as the Headwoman goes over to the Weyrleaders to see how everything is doing.
Pokes and prods turn into a removal of the small, thin scrap of llama hide tucked within the locket's remains. L'ott frowns as he unravels the crinkly, his eyes squinting as they scan over something scribbled upon it. The man's expression slowly turns somewhat haunted before he quickly folds the hide back up and pushes it into his pocket. He looks towards Iopeian and D'ac, his gaze all too sharp as he looks at them respectively. "..Yeah, I got it. Its not in the best shape." He looks towards Margia, clearing his seriously dry throat as he closes his fingers around the locket's remains, hiding them. "Margia, I've got the locket. We'll get..we'll get a crafter to fix it up for you before I give it back. It should be fine."
Blue shakes her head slightly, helps another woman who'd been looking for the locket to her feet and backs off towards the food table, intent on eating and mingling with the crowd.
Margia sways a little, though whether from the shock of losing a valued memento or from half a pint of spirit-laced punch is unclear. She's peering towards L'ott, now, asks faintly, "Oh dear, is it broken? That's rather upsetting. I've had it all my life, you know. My mother gave it to me. Oh, my. That's rather... upsetting. Oh, dear."
D'ac is not oblivious enough to miss that look. His eyes fall to the locket, then pull away entirely as he looks toward Iopeian. He stays quiet, either waiting to follow Iopeian's lead or waiting for things to settle enough that he can once more corner the goldrider.
So there's a spill being cleaned, and a fuss over something to do with Margia - Sofika pushes her way past a cluster of gathered people to try and get to the /food/. "Excuse me, ex/cuse/ me... can I get through please?" Growing more impatient, she sounds irritable as she asks the crowd, "What's the fuss?"
L'dor follows K'teric towards the drinks, though he does spare a glance for the distressed goldrider. "What's all that about?" But he can't really see what's going on from here, and it's definitely time for liquid refreshment, so he pours himself a glass of punch.
Iopeian's brow furrows, and she says abruptly, though with a hint of forced jocularity in her tone, "Come on, give over, L'ott. Besides, you men never know how to fix anything." She glances aside to enlist Linsora and the newly arriving Sofika's aid. She's still holding Margia up and asks gently, "Was it a picture of your weyrmate, dear?"
Linsora moves over next to Margia, or attempting to at least depending on the number of people that are around. "It is alright, we will have it fixed. We got plenty of smiths, I'm sure it will be as good as new," she smiles comfortingly, glancing at the Weyrleader. "So why don't you give it back so she can have it fixed L'ott? It is her's."
Margia looks sideways at Iopeian with a puzzled frown. "Picture? Oh, no, there wasn't anything in it. I mean, it didn't open. It looked as if it ought to, but it didn't."
"Knowing this place? New patients for the infirmary." K'teric shrugs, sending only the briefest of glances commotion-wards. Lots of backs of heads. The Weyrlingmaster takes a healthy swig of the punch then lowers the cup to give it an approving nod. He lingers at the table to refill his glass.
Sofika wants no part of the fuss, apparently, despite catching Iopeian's sideward glance. She shifts a hand up, and lowers her head, eyes on the ground - ignore me, please! Sinking back into the masses, she's probably just getting her bite to eat and mingling. Sure, mingling.
Linsora and Iopeian's decision on what he should do with the locket is met with a forceful thrust of the broken pieces in Linsora's direction. "As if women know how to fix a d**n thing." He grunts before looking back to Iopeian. His next words aren't a question, or an askance, so much as they are a demand. "Iopeian, I need to see you in my office. Now. Apparently you're going to be the next f**king savior of Pern. Next time you keep secrets from me, be thankful if it doesn't bite you in the a**." Whatever he's referencing too, he looks to be some strange mixture of pissed off, tired, and terrified all at the same time. Before turning towards his office, he pulls the hide out of his pocket and holds it out for Iopeian to take.
Iopeian's lips thin. She obviously doesn't appreciate the swearing at her. "Whatever it is can wait until after the party -" she breaks off and looks at the scrap pushed on her. if possible, she scowls harder. "What's this. And why does it have my name on it?"
Margia looks from Linsora to Io and back again, her main interest in the locket, though she also gives the hide a stare. "Oh, it's broken! And what's that? Why is that young man using such bad language to you? I'm sure I know him from somewhere, but I can't think who he is."
D'ac's still between Iopeian and L'ott. When the scrap is passed over to the weyrwoman, he pushes a low murmur in L'ott's way then turns to find J'tan. A few more words are spoken, the bronzerider then watches as J'tan exits the living cavern. Folding his arms over his chest, he waits.
D'ac says to L'ott, "Watch y'self."
Linsora blinks several times as she gets the locket suddenly in her hands from the rather frustrated Weyrleader. "It's not your's L'ott, you should respect other people property..." She sighs and carefully hands the locket back to Mariga. "Here you are, I'm sure if you see the smiths they'll fix it as good as new," she smiles, not really listening to L'ott. "It seems our Weyrleader needs to learn how to use his tongue properly..." she comments after the Weyrleader leaves, rolling her eyes at the slightly younger man's behavior.
L'ott 's lips thin at D'ac's murmered words towards him, though he does nothing more then offer a brief glare at the man before he looks back to Iopeian. He takes a step back, towards his office, obviously prefering to take it there though hesitating only on the necessity to respond to her questions. "You tell me. You wrote it. You put it in Margia's locket." He looks quickly to Margia as he hears her words. "I'm using such 'bad language' because I f**king can, old woman." He pauses before a harsh grin crosses his lips. "Its Weyrleader L'ott, 'Maggy'. We had a nice chat last night, remember?" Sadly, she wouldn't. He looks back to Iopeian. "You should have told me, Iopeian. You should have told everyone just -when- Thread will fall again."
Iopeian just stares at L'ott. "Have you utterly lost your mind?" There is a flicker in her eyes that gives away a secret hope that he has.
Margia's first response to L'ott is simply, "Oh, dear." However, she springs to Io's defence, rounding fiercely on the much larger Weyrleader. "Don't you talk to her like that! I've had that for more years than I can tell, since before either of you was born: how could she have put anything in it? Really, you young people!" She smiles at Iopeian. "Don't let him bother you, dear. I'm sure there's a simple explanation. What does it say?" She looks down at the remains in the palm of her hand, and a tear appears in the corner of one eye. She repeats, "Oh, dear," then prods at the flattened locket with a fingertip. "It's open. How very strange. It never used to open. I do hope it can be mended." Well, that's Margia's priorities clear. She turns to Linsora again. "Do you know a good smith, dear? I think it would need to be a jewellery specialist."
D'ac pales, but it's such a little thing in comparisson to all that's going on. He looks between the two, then with a more pointed look at J'tan, turns around to disappear into the crowd. Seconds later, the bluerider follows. Seconds after that, J'tan departs - presumably still following the bronzerider.
Iopeian looks down at the scrap, frowning again. "It's my handwriting. I -" she breaks off, reading, and then blinks. Slowly she asks, "Margia, dear? Was your mother's name Aregia? A greenrider here at Connell?" Carefully smoothing the tiny scrap flat, she turns it over, where a series of drawings can be seen. Circles and ovals, and patterns. A quick eye might discern constellations.
Linsora quietly watches what happens, knowing that whatever was in the locket apparently has some great meaning for the riders. When Margia comes back to her she shakes her head. "No, I don't know many of the smiths, I'm sorry Margia. I'm sure that if you go asking at the guildhall that they will help you find someone. Now if our Weyrleaders could cool their tempers properly." She makes sure that Margia has the locket back in her procession. "If you will excuse me," she moves to go see what the Weyrleaders are up to, but instead they come over, and she listens.
L'ott's grin should answer Iopeian's question better then he ever could. He looks towards the hide before looking back up to her pointedly. "You have to prepare Connell for the truth, Iopeian. Or would you rather me explain to them the secrets gold and bronzeriders keep from the rest of Pern?" Something would suggest that having L'ott explain would be a Bad Idea. The man looks towards Margia and chuckles quietly. Hell, he's had some of that woozy-juice, he's feeling the effects, which is probably why he's shifting between anger and stressed amusement so quickly. If L'ott wasn't insane, he was at the very least mentally unstable. "I tell you, Margia, your mother knew Iopeian. Knew. Will know. Whatever." He turns once again, though now his steps take him towards the records room.
L'dor is hovering by the drinks table still, but he's aware that something is going on and his attention is only half on the conversation he's having. "Looks like Niorath's rider's in the middle of something." He refills his glass with the punch. He's starting to sound quite cheerful. "Always thought it was strange, her popping out of nowhere like that."
Margia wraps her hand firmly round the remains of the locket and looks curiously at Io. There's surprise in her voice as she answers, "Why, yes, she was. Did you know her, dear?" Then she frowns. "But she's been dead for turns: I don't think you're old enough to have met her. She died in 'Fall in... oh, I can't remember. Just after I impressed Niorath, I think." Something L'ott said seems to register at that point. "Your name is Iopeian?" She's looking even more puzzled. "I should know that."
Iopeian says faintly, "Shut up, L'ott." Though this is said towards his back as he moves towards the records room. Blinking at Margia she glances aside at Linsora and murmurs, "I'm going to need your help in a minute." Looking around the room, she tries to catch K'teric's gaze, tilting her head towards Margia. "Yes, Margia. I'm Iopeian, remember? Weyrwoman here at Connell. Here, now tht you have your locket back, why don't you settle down in a chair - do you need some more to drink?"
Linsora nods to Iopeian when her help is going to be needed. "L'ott, why don't you sit down for a bit, relax. This is a celebration, let us not worry about this right this moment, please." She heard some crying and suddenly turns around. "I'll be with you in a bit Io, my children... excuse me..." She suddenly turns and goes to take care of her children, and something causes her to actually leave the happenings to tend to these two little ones.
"You know, dear, I think I /should/ like another drink, and a sit down. Thank you." Margia smiles sweetly and looks round for a chair, holding out her empty mug in hopes of a refill.
By the drinks table, one of the kitchen workers takes a sip of the punch, and comments to his friend, "Shells. I didn't think I'd put that much spirit in it." The young woman goes rather pale and hisses at him, "What do you mean, /you/ put the spirit in it? I did that. And cut up all those sharding orangefruit to go in it!"
K'teric is perfectly content with his glass and the punchbowl nearby to keep it full. "Mm. Hope the ol' gal's okay." Though his casual air remains, a note of sincere concern is in his voice as he speaks that sentiment. He's raising his glace yet again for another drink, but now the Weyrlingmaster does finally look more purposefully towards what's going on. Thus, with cup-in-face, he is caught by Io's gaze. "Ah. 'Scuse me," he bids L'dor as he starts stepping away. There's a moment where there's a stutter in his step - a second thought that brings him briefly back so he can leave the cup on the table with a grin for the L'dor, before he nudges his way towards the goldriders.
Entering from where he'd retreated, D'ac moves around the edge of the crowd, then cuts through it to reach Iopeian's side. He announces his presence with a touch of his hand against the small of the goldrider's back though remains otherwise silent.
Iopeian makes a 'come on' gesture when Kit leaves the cup behind. As in: bring it for Margia, thickwit. She scowls at him and then turns a smile on the old woman. "I think K'teric here is going to bring you something to drink, dear." As D'ac returns she gives him a relieved look, and then tilts her head towards the record room. Everything's fine here. Situation normal. Ignore the beading of sweat on her forehead. "And I've got to go keep that L'ott in line. Excuse me?"
L'dor tops up his glass and then wanders off into the crowd in search of wingmates.
Margia retreats towards the nearest chair and sinks into it with an expression of relief, then holds out her mug to the approaching Weyrlingmaster with a beatific smile. "Thank you, dear: very kind of you to get me another drink." She's still clutching the remains of her locket tightly in her left hand.
K'teric stops dead as he's halfway there, his face going blank as he survey's the situation and notes the out-held mug. Blink. Blink. Sigh. Turning, he goes back to the table and snags a fresh cup which he fills with punch. Reclaiming his own cup, the bronzerider again braves the crowd in order to reach Margia. "My pleasure, weyrwoman," he says as he eases into a chair next to the goldrider with a smile. He scoots back far enough that he can set his drink on the seat between his legs. "Here, this one's new," Kit offers the filled cup with one hand while reaching out to take the old one from her with the other.
Margia takes the mug, takes a sip, and then smiles sleepily up at Kit. "Thank you, dear. This is such lovely stuff...." She lets out a little giggle, then starts to tilt slowly and happily sideways.