Hatching Feast (open!)

[anhydrous]

(Althesia)

The Harper’s smile deepened genuinely at the compliment, taking note of the weyrleader’s indifferently fulsome posture shift as he leaned into her hand. So it was like that.

Althesia’s eyes met his, something of a dare passing between the two as she challenged his boldness. Exhilarating. Her hair fell loosely down her back, and she was quite thankful that the weyrleader wouldn’t be able to see her neck tensing blissfully under his stare.

“That would be lovely of you, J’fel” she replied pleasantly, her gaze softening as she paused just a moment between acceptance and the exploitation of his name, permission to do so having been dotingly bestowed just seconds before.

Rising from her seat with a wistful parting glance to her wine glass, Althesia faced the Weyrleader with the slightest arch of curiosity in her thin brow. “I don’t suppose you have any idea why I was sent here, do you?” She felt juvenile asking J’fel such an unceremonious question, but formality didn’t seem to be of the greatest importance around here.

[Omnia Munda]

It was the tone of the harper's voice and the challenge in her eyes that told the young weyrleader what her answer was, well before her voice gave him the words. By then, he was overturning the hand he hadn't been leaning into to present her the curve of his palm: a perch so fine it might seem to make a lady's hand from her rough artist's fingers.

"I might know why a portraitist was sent," said J'fel, ignoring the woman's interest in her glass, uncurving his back as she rose. No amount of straightening could make him tall, but the motion made him graceful, his spine as sinuous as a dragon's neck. He was smiling a knowing smile, chin tipped down and gaze tilted up so she might view his eyes only through the cages of their lashes.

"But I'm hoping to find out more about the particular painter."

His brows lifted, and slowly J'fel turned to allow Althesia to precede him, hand-on-hand, toward the dance floor.

[anhydrous]

(Althesia)

Althesia took the proffered hand delicately; her own fingers a disgrace when compared to the smooth hands of the weyrleader. His lack of height was insignificant as Althesia slid closer, her considerably smaller frame matching his quite appropriately.

The harper’s thoughts lingered on the shame of her worn cuticles for only a second, as that was all the embarrassment she would allow herself to feel from a fact that would not change. Immediately her attention was drawn once more by J’fel’s expressive tone and manner, the light touch of his skin to hers quite distracting.

“In that case,” she purred, her smile matching his as she led the weyrleader out to the floor, “I might be able to enlighten you.”

Althesia noted that the song had slowed on their short meander towards the other dancers, and placed her free hand comfortably on J’fel’s shoulder. How very fortunate. This would be much better suited for talking, as well as for standing inappropriately near to such a gorgeous young man.

She smiled and graciously took the opportunity to slide closer, eyes meeting his, her gaze unwavering and without the slightest hint of submission “What do you wish to know?” She queried flippantly, the curve of her hip eagerly awaiting the smooth approach of his touch.

[Omnia Munda]

It was nice, J'fel could not help but reflect, to walk with a woman whose height was in scale to his own. And in the case of the harper, it gave him the advantage on her neckline - though as they walked he kept that awareness strictly in his peripheral vision. It wouldn't do to leer - yet. She didn't know him well enough for him to pass it off as macho charm.

He let his smile convey all the enlightenment he needed for now, all the reply her words demanded. It spoke also to his pleasure in the rest of her hand upon his shoulder, and as he guided her other hand up into the 'proper' position his free fingers slid into position upon her hip.

Slid into position: that is, they began a couple of inches lower than position, and in their movement described slowly the shape of that curve, a tiny but very intentional caress.

The first question that came into J'fel's mind he elected to save for later.

"Were you simply sent," he queried her, voice dropped deeper as he was wont to do when he wished to be important - or seductive. His feet found the music's deliberate rhythm and he began to lead her in a simple waltz: simplicity being best, always, for keeping close quarters with one's dance partner. "Or did you volunteer?"

[anhydrous]

(Althesia)

J’fel’s subtle stroke did not go unnoticed, although no color rose to Althesia’s cheeks to signal any sort of timid embarrassment. With both hands draped around the weyrleader’s neck, she had little choice but to gaze upward into his clear pensive eyes in order to reply.

“Master Salvarn is in charge of far too many Journeymen,” she paused, the sentence continued with a particular stress “and women, for me to choose where I am stationed.”

She neglected to mention that Salvarn sent her only to the most well-known of the holds, and had chosen her over all of the other Journeymen to send to the weyr. Without a change of face, Althesia chuckled inwardly at her crude thoughts. How uncouth.

“We are assigned,” she continued to explain, “and we comply. That said; I am anything but disappointed to have been sent to the Weyr.” She was allowing J’fel to lead her in a waltz around the floor, her steps matching his effortlessly. “I’ve never had the pleasure of visiting before.”

As she spoke, one hand crept upwards along the slope of his shoulder, her eyes lingering on her hand’s silent trek towards J’fel’s neck. She tangled one finger in the slight little curl just behind his ear, her fingertip grazing the back of his neck in the process.

Returning her studious gaze to the weyrleader’s, her voice sounded almost jaded. There was the slightest hint of sophistication in her words, just enough to give her next sentence careful depth. “I think you’ll find my talents quite suited to this illustrious place,” she said with a smile. She, of course, meant her modern take on the traditional portrait.

Of course.

[Xinnai]

OOC: Sorry, Iggy my love, I'm gonna pull a little fast forwarding manuever here...

Having finished talking with J'sen, Telgar's newest Weyrwoman drifted off into the festivities, her mood not much improved in conversing with the Caminar bronzerider. It had been nice, and he'd been more pleasant than on their previous meeting, but it hadn't done anything to rid her of the anger and hopelessness she was feeling.

Skirts whisked in slight emphasis to the black mood she'd been reduced to as she paced across the cavern, having to paste a fake smile here, produce a faux laugh there and take the congratulations that descended upon her. She became sick of it all quite suddenly.

She stopped, midway from the impromptu dance floor to the tables that were still being swooped upon. She wanted to leave. And she knew that she wanted to leave with someone. Craning her head over the crowd, she tried to search. Shards, it wasn't any help. Did she really think with her miniscule size she'd find him? And he wasn't exactly the tallest of men either...

She began to weave through the crowd that seemed to press against her with a physical weight, seemed to trap her in the desolate mood she was in. She began to push against it, nodding and waving at any more congratulations and well wishing that spilled upon her. Salina was just done with the entire institution. Done and wanting to leave.

She stopped then, on the edge of the dance floor, spotting him almost directly across her line of sight, waltzing slowly with...some woman. She took a step closer. Wasn't that the harper? Althena...Althera...Althesia? She stopped for a moment, feeling like an intruder as she watched her fingers tangle in his hair, brushing at his neck. She sighed, running delicate, work-worn fingers through the spill of gold that swept across her forehead.

Salina tried to meet the Weyrleader's eyes, not wanting to intrude in all seriousness upon his dancing, for lack of a better word, but trying to get her urgency and thoughts across without appearing to be pleading or needy. Because she wasn't. It was at times like these that Salina really wished Deoneth were awake to assist her.

[Omnia Munda]

The upward dedication of Althesia's gaze proved to J'fel he had her complete attention. And such attention it was! The warm thrill of anticipation was rising in his stomach. Jordeth, he whispered in his mind, as his feet led their dance and the harper denied all allegation that she might have had any hand in having been sent to the Weyr. Jordeth, you must see this one.

The bronze had flown up to the 'stones to wait out the festivities under the stars. He was not alone there, and basked in his own way in the company of his own kind. He had been murmuring back and forth with Pelegaoth about the great success of their clutch and even more impressive futures they held hunches their futures could bring - but such conversation was meant for only three of the foursome of which Jordeth was a member, and he regretfully set it aside to attend with all due affection to his rider.

"Oh, I see," J'fel murmured, and might have had something else to say about the pleasure of Althesia's visit - the pleasure, of course, was all his, or something to that effect - but he was just then obliged to convey to Jordeth an image of his dance partner. It was honeyed by the brush of her fingertip along the nape of his neck; tiny and fine dark hairs raised in attention to that touch, and the weyrleader's boyish smile deepened, coy and hungry at once.

"I believe it." purred J'fel, playing at sounding impressed at the woman's belief in her own skills just as she'd played at meaning those skills to have anything to do with painting. "And I think we'll have ample opportunity to make sure."

He tipped his head forward, his cheek not quite brushing hers, so that his words might drift lightly and lowly across the lobe of her ear with his breath. "It was I who commissioned your work."

The weyrleader lifted his head so he might see how this news would register on the harper's countenance; but in doing so he caught a sliver peripherally of a different vision. A tiny vision with golden hair. My cup runs over, he thought to a snort from still-attentive Jordeth, and made a note that on the next round he'd extricate himself from the harper's arms - and promise to be back within them as soon as his duty to his weyrlings was discharged.

[anhydrous]

(Althesia)

The Harpers’ tune was shifting towards its inevitable end, Althesia’s smile growing warmer with each of her partner’s coyly whispered words. The indifference was subtly fading from her mood, this tangled game earning her interest as a well-timed turn pressed her body gently to his.

Her eyebrows lifted suddenly as the weyrleader leaned in towards her cheek, his lips but a finger’s breadth from her ear. His words were soft and clement and she savored the sensation of his breath on her skin. Lowering her brows into the appropriate position, she smiled inwardly as the actually words registered in her mind. What luck!

In truth, Althesia was not entirely stunned that J’fel had been the one to contact her Master but she feigned a slight delighted surprise in the tone of her voice. As he tried to pull away, the harper turned her head slightly inward, the curving slope of his shoulder the perfect cradle for her hovering upturned jaw.

“How fortunate,” she murmured in reply, her breath warm against the weyrleader’s neck. “That means we will be seeing much more of each other.” Hopefully much more than the public of the feast would care to play witness to.

[Selvagem]

C'cao
It took the greenrider about three seconds to recognize fully that Idalyn was distracted with his own concerns, and even then it was another minute before the understanding of it fully sank in. He hid a wry grin, his cool blue eyes glinting with the only hints of the humour he felt at the situation: two men, each absorbed in his own thoughts, trying to pretend they were being conversable, sociable. Yet he nodded, still playing along.

"Of course," he glanced back out at the passing throngs, "I'll drop by anytime you wish, now that I'm a weyrling helper. Even if, as you say, the real work isn't 'till drills start. Just let me know what time tommorrow is best for you."

He took another sip of his apple juice, his mindwandering back to Opheriath. The green's emotions were beginning to tug at him, telling him she was concerned, she was alone, and she did not want to be lonely. She would sleep soon, she was so drowsy...

C'cao smiled, his mind holding the sleepy green's thoughts lovingly, with superb gentleness, I'll be there soon, Ria, just a few more minutes.

---

H'tio
The brown-weyrling left the dance floor with the distinct impression that he was a good dancer - which he was only too certain he was not. Yet there was something in the way Genet moved, in the patterns she chose, in her motions, that made it all so easy, so comfortable...

He found his eyes following her as she took three more dancers out to the floor, and then tore his gaze away with a sigh as he turned to find another bread roll to nibble on. He hadn't the heart the to ask her again, and anyhow, there was weyrlinghood to worry him now. He would have a good talk with Jh'na tonight, before they slept, to discuss this new phase of life that neither had envisioned. Well, not him at any rate, though his friend would certainly have. H'tio watched the dancers leave the floor as the current number ended, and then made his way, slowly but surely, to a certain exit at the corner nearest to the Weyrling Barracks.

[Omnia Munda]

Oh. She was so compliant. J'fel marveled at the press of the harper's body and let his hand slip from her hip to the small of her back to encourage her to press against him again. They would end their dance as closely wound as he could make them, that the woman would know how much of his - attention she'd earned.

"Fortunate indeed. I mark myself a very lucky man," purred J'fel, his voice giving away little. The beat of his heart pulsed quickly beneath the skin at either side of his neck, however, betraying the effect Althesia's efforts had upon the young weyrleader.

But he was made of some stuff that somehow allowed him not just to wear that title but to manage it as effectively as a much-contested youth led by his weyrwoman's hand could be; there was some hint of a real leader in him, and part of that came from the ability to juggle several subjects at once. J'fel was a multitasker. He had not forgotten Salina, and as the last note of the harpers' melody echoed into memory he drew back from the portraitist he'd commissioned and dipped his head in a grateful nod.

"I promised I'd look in on the weyrling barracks before dawn," he confessed, almost apologetic - but not quite; he let his pride in Telgar's newest clutch embolden his words. His lashes raised, making eyes half-lidded and smoky with desire turn wide and full of promise.

Through a warm, crooked smile he asked, "Might I promise to look in on you, too, before dawn - for another dance?"

For another dance, of course.

[anhydrous]

(I’dalyn)

With the slightest inclination of his head I’dalyn noted the greenrider’s words and responded accordingly. “Around one would be best. They’ll be done with their second feeding of the day, so I’ll have twenty or thirty minuets to myself before the dragons drift off to sleep and the weyrlings gather for their lessons.”

Clearly he was unaware of the humor in the situation, his own mind too lost to Daisulyth to be very conscious of their similar mental states. Rising rather abruptly, as if he had suddenly remembered something important, I’dalyn laid a hand on C’cao’s shoulder flashed him a gracious smile.

“Thanks for offering to help out. I’m sure you’re going to be very useful.” Dropping his hand from the other man’s shoulder, he gestured vaguely in the direction of the barracks. “I’ve got to go check on them. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

Having excused himself, I’dalyn’s smile faded and he made his way out of the cavern. Not, mind you, in the direction of the barracks... rather, up to his weyr. His face was a mask of worry, and he was met in his quarters by a very pleased brown dragon.

You’ve worried about me,[/color] Daisulyth purred contentedly, his eyes roiling over his rider’s anxious posture. I’dalyn stalked to his bed and shot the brown a glare, all the while listening to his dragon’s satisfied rumbling chuckle.

---

(Althesia)

The weyrleader’s none too subtle actions left no doubt in her mind; she had won his attention. Something had to be said for that, although it failed to be seen if the culprit was Althesia’s charm or the weyrleader’s insatiable hunger for those of the opposite sex. Either way, it hardly mattered to her. Congratulating herself inwardly, Althesia’s smile could do nothing but grow with J’fel’s murmur of appreciation.

As the music died away and J’fel began the task of removing himself from Althesia’s embrace, the harper noticed something peculiar. Without his intoxicating touch, she was open to perceive other things. His words were smooth enough, but upon careful study of those flickering eyes it appeared that the weyrleader had more than one woman in his sights.

It was hard to tell what exactly gave him away, perhaps something as vague as one extended sidelong glance, but Althesia had noted the fair-haired girl staring him down impatiently from the side of the floor. She looked young, far too young to be of much importance. Clearly the harper’s quick glance had not been enough to recognize rank, only stature.

She arched an eyebrow, not at Salina, but to J’fel. “I am always careful with my promises, Weyrleader,” Althesia warned. “Hopefully I’ll still be here when you’re done tucking in the children,” she responded demurely, leaving her sentence just artful enough to let him decide if she were talking about the dragons or the newly impressed, “but I can’t promise it.”

With a careful sigh she trapped a side of her bottom lip between her teeth, still gazing up to J’fel through a thick splay of dark lashes. He was pretty, but she couldn’t let him think that she was dependent on his whim. That notion was a silly one, but sometimes the beautiful could get the most ridiculous ideas in their heads. “If another dragonrider demands a dance, I could hardly refuse him.”

She smiled softly, as if reminding him of her craft’s social duties. “It wouldn’t be polite.” Her words were warm and coy as she drew back further, fingertips curling onto themselves as she turned to wander back in the direction of her drink. Looking back over one shoulder, she left J’fel with one last lingering smile. “Be quick, perhaps?” she suggested temptingly as the music began again and they were separated by a sudden flood of weyrfolk.

[Omnia Munda]

The harper's arched brow warned J'fel of what was to come. The warning served more as a warming, however; inwardly he was gloating. Go ahead, he practiced purring in his mind. Up the ante.

And she did. Delighted, the young weyrleader's mouth came open in a surprised smile. He lifted her hand as she drew back from him and through that arch surprise came just two syllables containing all of the assent to her other duties - and other dances - he might provide: "Of course." It was warm, sweet, and knowing, the full depth of Althesia's threat registered and acknowledged.

J'fel watched her as she turned from him not for the rest of the floor, but for her drink, and felt even more self-satisfaction. Another might replace him, but she wasn't searching actively for that replacement.

And it was he she'd have to come see about her assignment. Oh, J'fel was satisfied indeed, so much so that Jordeth's distant mental rolling of eyes barely registered. In his last glimpse of the harper she was suggesting that he be quick about tucking the 'children' in - and he only grinned and inclined his head in exchange. It was not quite a promise he was game to make.

He turned toward the place he'd glimpsed the fair-haired weyrling moments before. Be attentive now, Jordeth, commanded the bronze's rider as he wound greeting by greeting past people toward that spot where Salina was. I want you to keep conscious of Deoneth, and if she stirs I must know instantly.

J'fel was zeroing in on the junior weyrwoman, his smile thrilled. She'd come for him. Perhaps all he might hope to have of her tonight was her hand in his, at most the brush of her lips - but with such tokens were much better promises sealed.

[Xinnai]

She'd been ignoring the whirling and dancing shapes as best she could, though she longed to join them even as she was desperate to leave simultaneously. The twin desires twisted and bunched within her, both insatiable, but her choice had already been made by her appearance at the edge of the festivities.

She'd been ignoring it all, but could not help but admire in the second look the pair that harper and Weyrleader made. They matched each other well, down to appearance and the way mouths moved in quick retort, eyes flashing. Yes, a good pair indeed.

She sighed, vision turning towards a bit of a gambling game going on outside the perimeters of those gathered at edge of feasting and dancing. There was a roar of laughter, the shaking of fists and the sound of marks being thrown onto one another. She watched the men, watched the game continue as the dance wound down. Lips were curved in good humor as she turned her attention once more to the floor.

Salina knew the instant she'd been spotted. She felt eyes slide quickly over her, dismissively, and watched as Althesia and J'fel continued their game of talk and dance, watched as the woman left. She did not feel envy, did not feel anger. She knew J'fel dabbled and knew that his base was extended. It did not bother that she was one of them.

She stood by demurely as the bronzerider wound towards her, exchanging words with those he passed. She was demure except for excited eyes, which turned once more towards the game of dice going on just beside her. She'd been caught, she knew, but still insisted on pretending ignorance of the man's actions. It was only right.