The following is a log of roleplay on Star Stones MOO, logged by Dallaney.
All references to the world and characters of Pern™ based on Anne McCaffrey's fiction are copyright© 1967 by Anne McCaffrey, all rights reserved. The Dragonriders of Pern® is registered U.S. Patent and Trademark Office, by Anne McCaffrey and used here with permission.

Main Living Cavern
Melodic laughter rings throughout the spacious cavern as riders socialize with one another, boasting of adventures a-dragonback, and gossiping about stodgy wingleaders and sordid affairs. Drudges rush past you, their arms laden with dishes and mugs of Klah, desperate to relieve themselves of their burden while pesky 'lizards inhibit their progress.
The light from the glows warmly illuminates the domed cavern and shimmers off the walls as miniscule mineral particles reflect the soft lighting like twinkling stars blanketed in a wintry gray sky. Numerous tables lie scattered across the room, some large enough to hold a whole wing of riders while others were made only for two. Towards the back, a large hearth breathes soul soothing warmth into weary bodies as its flames dance with hypnotic grace and puppet flickering shadows across the spacious stone stage.
Sultry, mouth-watering aromas float in from a small archway that leads to the kitchens while chattering can be heard emanating from a wide hallway.
Flopped atop various perches are Aeolus, Malachite, Troofaloop, and Aeris.
You see S'am, Ad'niss, and OOC Rules (~*!*~ l ooc ~*!*~) here.
Qzaedhir, Lauren, Euran, and Niamh are here.
From here you can go:
Lower Caverns    Bowl    Infirmary
Kitchen          Gaming Room

The current weather report:
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TelgW: Center of the Bowl (#999)
Snow flurries dapple the sky and lightly dust the ground in white. It is a
winter evening.
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Euran nods as he just looks at the things, "This place /could/ use some more color anyway." Looking about, "Though there isn't much of a crowd yet."

Niamh, walking into the caverns with a load of yet more food, puts down her burden on a nearby table before answering Qzaedhir's question. "I guess it couldn't hurt if you use an edible coloring," she says with a shrug. "Since we had to make all this, they don't have much right to complain if we add a little harmless dye." Careful emphasis on harmless, edible coloring. They don't want to send anybody to the healers.

Dallaney enters, clad in a /different/ tunic, jacket discarded; she doesn't even smell of dirt for once. "Hello," she calls towards the cavern's candidates while strolling in, making a face to an isolated rider in the corner before moving to attack the serving tables. "What about colour? Bring some glows in to freshen the place up," suggests she in the meantime, awash with non-sequiturs.

Dallaney
Gaunt, Dallan is, grown into a gawky adolescent stockiness. A mass of indifferent mahogany curls crisps defiantly from behind her ears, huddling to straggle over sharp eyebrows that cap equally hazel eyes in a thin face. Her nose is sharp, her chin well-defined; dark brown cheeks and lips naturally pursed make her no pleasure to look upon. Uncertain growth has given the slender limbs wiry strength, with a simple agility of motion, but she remains shorter than most others her age.
Rust and bronze hues mingle liberally in the folds of her fur-lined tunic, its trimmings inconspicuous but suitable for the cooler months. Dirt-stained with use, the secondhand attire has been stripped down by its most recent owner, hence gives a tattered appearance even when clean; her black belt with its grey buckle complements the ragged look, while it in turn supports knee-length wherhide trousers. The sandals she wears are comparatively inconspicuous: russet, sturdy and under a perpetual coat of grit; the one old rebellion in the new ensemble.
On her shoulder, a single white cord chokes and twines ruggedly upon itself,
purity's epitome.
She is awake and looks alert.

"Oh, of course," Qzaedhir assures Niamh, brandishing the roll at her, too. "Nobody would want to eat something that wasn't supposed to be eaten, after all. And see, Lauren? Everyone agrees. Does anyone know if the kitchen crew has some of that stuff that we could use... maybe?" Periwinkle eyes search the caverns, lips quirking to one side. "Should I check?"

Dallaney is a short squat figure of indolence near the far wall where most of the food is, small crispy pastries finding their way into her mouth sometimes without plate's intermediary. She sneaks furtive hazel eyes to scan the environs, and there's a back-turning hiss to Aedh: rough concord. "Be careful no one sees you."

Lauren goes home.

Niamh nods, glancing towards the kitchens. "They're bound to have berries or something at the very least. Berries can make nice reds and purples." She waves a hand dismissingly at Dallan. "Aw, what difference does it make? We're just... decorating!" Caught up in Qzaedhir's enthusiasm, she looks at the kitchens again. "After you?"

Qzaedhir traipses gracefully toward Telgar Kitchens.
Niamh walks toward Telgar Kitchens.

Euran is happy to have some fun instead of cleaning. The Candidate just walking behind the rest.

Euran walks toward Telgar Kitchens.

Dallaney wants no part of risk, since she's come this far. Yet, there's the temptation, all the same. A snort, under her breath, before she scampers after the others. Gotta do this /right/.

Telgar Kitchens
Dark smoke constantly permeats the upper half of this room, feathering out from the four hearths which align on two of the six walls: the room's shape a jangle of rectangle halls, somewhat like an I. The main massive hearth boils a giant kettle of washing water, dumped every few hours into one of the three big basins set aside nearby for dish-washing. Cauldrons always a-bubble above the flames release scents which both appeal and appall; the same can be said of bunches of herbs, drying legumes, and spices which dangle from every empty space available on walls and under ceiling-hanging cabinets. The pantries are located in a far corner on the opposite side of the ovens, a mismatched series of doors of all sizes and woods. Tables and counters string through the middle of the kitchens, cluttered with dishes in mid-preparation, or utensils, or an assortment of other cooking necessities. Drudges, cooks, all scurry in and out and around, always bustling to complete their work.
Qzaedhir, Niamh, and Euran are here.
From here you can go:
Main Cavern   Office
Stairs        Back Room

Qzaedhir snorts at a bag of flour, peering behind it in search of something colorful, then drops it. "So, where are... they?" They being fruits and such. Cornflower blue eyes swivel 'round the kitchens, and alight on another bag, but it too, is apparently filled with flour. "I don't see any, do you?" That directed at the Candidates in general, a slight edge of impatience in her tone. "We've got to hurry, 'cause people are really going to start coming soon." No, really?

Euran looks around as he just walks into the kitchens. "They must be here somewhere." Searching all the bags and jars around.

Dallaney scampers in, head up alertly for any sign of the cooks, or anyone resembling authority. They're fortunate this time -- the hubbub of the kitchens is still present, with drudges in frantic labour by the hearths, but the single cook inside currently has settled his nose on a cauldron's rim -- Dallan seeks out the herb jars and picks up one to hunker over. "We could crush herbs for the colour," she tries, "But these aren't any fun crushed."

Niamh glances towards the storage caverns, then dismisses them with a shake of her head. She was in there yesterday. If there's anything of use in there, it's probably rotting under a pile of musty blankets. "There's a pantry back there?" she suggests, already weaving her way towards the back of the room. "If they have anything in it. It looks like most ofthe stuff is on the floor."

Qzaedhir follows Niamh obediently, throwing an enthusiastic grin at Dallaney. "Ooh, those are good, too. And I guess we can use sticks to drop the stuff onto the food. See anything, Niamh?" Buttery tresses are fumbled with self-consciously even as the Candidate throws a wave at Euran. "Over here, Niamh thinks there's stuff here." And we all know Niamh is always right. Because Aedh says so.

Dallaney tilts a sudden grin from her space on the floor, squirrelled away behind a sack. "Herdbeast blood," her husky contralto chimes in, saturated with playful malice. "There's a lot of that when ya first lug in the animals." And a pause to watch for effect doesn't hurt too.

Euran walks quickly over toward Aedh. Just following along, "The more wild the colors, the better, pink, purple, green..."

Qzaedhir shudders. And squirms. And shrinks back against a large bag of flour. "/Herdbeast/ blood?" wails the Candidate who blanches at the mention of raw meat, not to mention blood. "/Herdbeast/? Blood? /Ew/!" And her brain really needs an upgrade (it's an old model -- she somehow got stuck with it when she was born) or else the girl just isn't thinking well enough today -- otherwise she'd mention the slight inedibility of herdbeast blood for humans. But then, it's probably the former. Who's seen Aedh being smart? Yes, well, nobody. Big surprise.

"I don't know where you'd get /green/ from," Niamh calls back over her shoulder as she opens the pantry doors and is rewarded with a good number of bags and things falling on her. "Oof! So there is stuff in here." She wrinkles her nose in Dallan's direction. "Yeah, but blood doesn't taste good in a lot of things."

There. Dallan got the effect she wanted. The ex-weyrbrat follows that up with further morbidity: "It won't kill anyone, I don't think. And you wanted colour," she brandishes, echo for echo. "Unless you guys prefer porcine, or something. -- Oh, I don't know, Niamh, I only tried it once on a dare." She can't help it: moroseness runs in the family first of all.

"That's just gross," Qzaedhir mumbles for emphasis, removing herself from the flour bag with much coughing and hacking. (And lo, she emerged from the white cloud of flour whole and unharmed, except for the mental scarring.) "I think we should stick to fruits. And herbs. And that sort of stuff, you know? And maybe vegetables would have some nice green colors." She'll not comment on the eating blood part just now, thanks. "See, here's a nice greeny thing, we can use this." Never mind if the cook was planning on using it in his stew.

Euran looks around and cringes, "Blood...gross." Just a look around pulling out a bushel of blueberries, "I got something! Got something to turn stuff blue!"

Dallaney sniggers, then just starts peeling a few herbs from the jar. "Greens," she agrees with someone's theory, then waggles her fistful of whitebulbs in the air. "We'd need to pound some of this later." She's not doing it, at any rate. "Green and blue and white." And if someone gets indigestion, well.

Niamh looks over the spoils thus far collected. "Blue, green, and white are a start," she says, nodding. "Now, what exactly are we going to dye again? Since the food's already been made, that limits your options some...." For example, things made out of dough that have already been baked are kind of hard to dye. "We should probably start with small amounts in moderation," she adds thoughtfully.

Lauren strides darkly toward Telgar Kitchens.

Dallaney doesn't know moderation. "Dump -things- on the food that can't be dyed, and do the rest. But the cooks might notice, right?" And all this she says from the cleared space on the floor where she sits, dark eyes flicking from each candidate to the occasional laden drudge who passes by.

"I /guess/ those are okay, for now," Qzaedhir muses, eyeing the few colors, "I mean... yeah. Couldn't we mix it with flour and make it all pasty and draw pictures on bread?" Can we tell the girl's never cooked before? "What d'you guys think?" From the under-the-breath-muttering coming from near the hearth, where, coincidentally, the cook stands, expresses /somebody's/ opinion on that. "I want to draw pictures on food... it'll be more fun that way. Besides, even if the cooks notice, they're not going to be able to do much." A grunt from the corner. Erm.

Niamh frowns, trying to deduce Aedh's meaning. "Like... frosting?" she asks, thinking hard. "We could mix up frosting and dye that weird colors, maybe, and put it on stuff. But that'd make it all pretty sweet." And this is the anti-sugar chick here.

Dallaney finds her feet under her and edges somewhat nearer that hearth; the other candidates can continue the planning while she leans across to tap the cook's pasty hand. "Hey, you." And the next words are lost in a flurry of whispering from the tomboy's part.

Qzaedhir's eyes fairly light up, being the pro-sugar chick in the group, as far as we can tell just now. "But that's okay, it'd still be yummy, and it'd be edible, too, and we'd have fun. And besides, we can always leave /some/ food that we don't color so people who're weird and don't like colorful food can eat ... normal food." But normal food is so boring. "Anyway, let's hurry and go back... what're you doing, Dallan?"

Euran just shrugs, he's never cooked in his life, or gotten near food that has not been cooked. Nodding around, "I got the blueberries." He's proud of himself, "We could always drip juice on the foods, blueberries make nice stains."

Lauren stalks in from the caverns as she catches a whisper of 'Candidates in the kitchens' from some Weyrbrat or another, bright-brown gaze sweeping across the room not unlike a Journeywoman to the Apprentices. Which is what Lauren is probably seeing herself as at this moment. "If you don't mind my asking.. what's going on?" This is directed to Qzaedhir, of course. Simply because Lau's most suspicious of her.

Lexi walks toward Telgar Kitchens.

"--So if you don't tell, I won't," Dallan's scared sometimes, which explains the precautionary measures. She hops off that sack she'd scrambled onto, dropping onto the floor with a dust-raised /thump/. "Just making sure," she hollers back to Aedh in relatively cheerful fashion. making her way across to the others.

Niamh makes a face. "Lemme grab a plate before you start globbing frosting on everything," she says, already searching for the necessary ingredients since no one else seems to be mixing it up.. and then stops dead, deer in the headlights, as she sees Lexi enter. (Nevermind Lauren -- journeyman or not, she's still a candidate.) Hiding a sack of sugar behind her back, she salutes the brownrider, and tries (mostly without success) to look innocent.

Lexi walks in looking for a little snack to eat. You know how those riders are, always hungry, anytime day or night. What this brownrider didn't expect was to find a kitchen full of candidates. Oh well, they gotta be somewhere don't they? But hmmmmmmmm, Candidates in a kitchen, that can only mean mischief. She should know, she was one herself you know. So she clears her throat, "Good evening Candidates."

"Oh, nothing," Qzaedhir conveniently blows Lauren off, traisping back to the living caverns with her very favorite sack of flour in tow. "I'm going out there first, okay? People are gonna... are gonna... are you... a cook?" Lexi, or more specifically, Lexi's knot, is stared at in confusion. "Or... or maybe not. Um... we're just going to go make some food and stuff......" mumbles the girl, sidling past her to block the doorframe, periwinkle eyes staring wide-open at the others from behind the 'rider. "Er, good evening." A far less cheerful than usual salute is thrown at Lexi's back. Not that it does anyone any good.

Dallaney says, staunchly. "Getting ready for the party," to Lau and coincidentally, towards the backs of a couple of drudges carrying that roast. And this comes from the kidling of few words. "Evening," she grunts, as suspicion comes to hover, then clear on her brow, in rapid succession. Herbs grabbed, she lines up behind Qzaedhir, tamely, gaze flicking to the floor and back.

Lauren simply continues to glower, peering at Qzaedhir over her shoulder and sending brown-black locks flying. Dallan gets a curious look, as does Niamh -- Candidate or not, Lauren has a right to /not/ be completely and totally confused. And she just likes to think she's getting practice in case she gets left on the Sands. "..party? I don't understand. I'm supposed to be doing decorations -- Qzaedhir, did you finish with that garland?" Thin eyebrow quirks, and another glance is directed towards Aedh, gone though she may be. Lexi gets a polite nod, and a vague salute, and then it's back to asking random questions. "Is decoration duty over? Are we to cook, now?" Lost, lost, lost; poor little Lau.

Euran looks toward Lexi a moment and then just looks around, "Cooking? Yeah we're just cooking." With a handful of blueberries no less.

Lexi nods a little bit and tries not to smile too much, "Oh good, well, don't mind me, I'm just getting myself a little snack." She looks around the kitchen and spies a jar of sweet fruit jelly and grabs a couple special spiced meatrolls from a tray. "Perfect!! Just what I needed!! Hmmmmmmmm....If only there was some roasted redfruit in gravy, I'd be all set." She looks around hopefully.

And no wonder, with excuses to add to the confusion. Dallaney has a smirk on and belatedly shifting hands firmly behind her back. "On decorations duty," she grunts as Lauren provides the original premise of their search. But she's not about to help, no, not at this juncture. Thus she comments, "Check that cauldron by the second hearth." Just so the other won't spoil anything.

Niamh discreetly leaves the sugar on a table behind her and heads for the door, following the others. "Yeah. Well, there might be some outside. We had to cook a lot of stuff for the turnover party... I made so much I don't even remember half of the dishes I helped with!" Keeping up a steady stream of words, she gestures for the others to go on out as she moves for the door. "Anyways, we're just going to go finish setting up then, hope you can find what you're looking for and have a great Turnover...." And freedom is reached at last.

"/Exactly/." Qzaedhir says to nobody in particular and nothing in particular, scuttling out while she can. No need to stay around and get in trouble, after all.

Qzaedhir traipses gracefully toward Main Living Cavern.
Niamh walks toward Main Living Cavern.

Euran skips out as quickly as the rest
Euran walks toward Main Living Cavern.

Dallaney shoots a glare to Niamh -- foiled! Outside is where the fun lies, you see, and it's there she hurries towards.

Main Living Cavern
Melodic laughter rings throughout the spacious cavern as riders socialize with one another, boasting of adventures a-dragonback, and gossiping about stodgy wingleaders and sordid affairs. Drudges rush past you, their arms laden with dishes and mugs of Klah, desperate to relieve themselves of their burden while pesky 'lizards inhibit their progress.
The light from the glows warmly illuminates the domed cavern and shimmers off the walls as miniscule mineral particles reflect the soft lighting like twinkling stars blanketed in a wintry gray sky. Numerous tables lie scattered across the room, some large enough to hold a whole wing of riders while others were made only for two. Towards the back, a large hearth breathes soul soothing warmth into weary bodies as its flames dance with hypnotic grace and puppet flickering shadows across the spacious stone stage.
Sultry, mouth-watering aromas float in from a small archway that leads to the kitchens while chattering can be heard emanating from a wide hallway.
Flopped atop various perches are Malachite, Troofaloop, Aicet, Aeris, and Pata.
You see S'am, Ad'niss, and OOC Rules (~*!*~ l ooc ~*!*~) here.
Tyron, Qzaedhir, Niamh, and Euran are here.
From here you can go:
Lower Caverns   Bowl   Infirmary
Kitchen         Gaming Room

Lexi walks into Main Living Cavern.
Lauren strides darkly into Main Living Cavern.

Dallaney strides in with a slight swagger to her step, and edges up behind Niamh.

Qzaedhir sidles up to the nearest table, eyeing the platter of breads. "How 'bout here? Some of these are nice and big. We could draw faces on them and stuff, couldn't we? Niamh, you got the sugar, right?" They'd better not have to go running back into the kitchens.

You mutter "You could have left her in the kitchens. No help having a rider around." to Niamh.

Lauren stalks in, glowering at everyone and eventually coming to a stop near Aedh. "What. Is going on." She still doesn't know. She's /such/ a genious sometimes, isn't she? Of course.

Niamh glances back at Dallan with an apologetic shrug, and then shakes her head at Qzaedhir. "I, uhm, couldn't find any sugar," she lies. "There was just salt." Oh dear, now they can't have frosting. Such a tragedy. "But we still got the berries, right?"

A word or two, and Dallan slips away from her fellow candidate, stalking up to Aedh at the food tables. "Why would you want /faces/?" she wonders, struck into a horrified, horrific glower at the breads.

Euran has berries, /lots/ of berries. Eyes travel toward Lexi a moment before placing the basket of blueberries on the tables.

Qzaedhir blinks in confusion, utterly lost. "You.. you weren't? You didn't? What's...? Huh? I mean, oh, oh, okay, well, then, we can just do it with flour. It won't taste as good, but it'll still look pretty." A nod's given to Dallan, followed by, "Well, /yes/, faces. What else? It'll be so cute. Little faces and all that.... should we just mash the fruits and flour together, or what?"

Lexi sits herself down at table and promptly begins to slab some sweet jelly onto her spiced meatrolls. Her mouth is almost waterign as she brings it to her mouth and takes a big bite. "Mmmmmmmmm, Delicious!"

"/Cute/?" Dallan blurts out, aghast. Talk about dramatic. She cups hand over mouth, drawing her shoulders back, then stalks to the candidate farthest away from Qzaedhir. The rest of the speech is hence lost on Dallan. "I'm not drawing cute faces." Shudder.

Juhasi has arrived.
Juhasi walks toward Lower Caverns.

Niamh seems to be with Dallan on this and makes a distasteful grimace to show it. "Ugh," is her only comment, before she nods to the girl. "I think," she murmurs in a low voice, "that I'm just going to grab some food before they spoil it all, and leave them to their own devices." Her own enthusiasm for this plan has apparently flown out the window.

"..drawing? Cute faces? On /what?/" Hopefully not the bowl. Lauren twitches -- just a bit -- and flops in a seat. "I'd best not get held responsible for this. If I get in trouble.." She'll simply cease with the joyous mood she's in now. Eh.. eh, heh.

Ember wakes up from his nap.
Ember dozes off...

Qzaedhir blinks at the sharp decline in enthusiasm around her, hands freezing on the lip of the bag of flour. "Well, if you guys don't want to draw faces, we /could/ just dye things, I guess.... I mean, faces aren't that important." Aww, watch Aedh deflate. She'd been so looking forward to it, too. "But we can still dye'm, right?"

Dallaney nods to Niamh, struggling for gravity, but ending up with a frown of disgust. She waves hands briefly, fending away the imaginary faces. Answering Lauren is timely distraction, then. "I took care of the cook," she mentions, "but the drudges, we can't be sure." And there's a look to Aedh, narrowed eyes and all.

Some drudges arrive to cart Lexi off to bed.

Niamh grabs a plate and begins to pile on anything that isn't sweet. She's been cooking all day, she's starving, and she just wants to eat. "I don't care. Do whatever you want, Qzaedhir. I think it might turn out kind of neat to look at." But mashing berries and flour together don't sound very tasty. "You know, we used to have normal, boring turnover celebrations. Stuff like sit in front of the fire, stuff yourself, and tell stories."

Aida has a small satchel slung across her chest, from right shoulder to left hip, where it bounces with her walk. "Hey, you guys seen G'lyn?" she tosses to the candidates as she pauses by where they are to consider the bustling room.

Juhasi ambles into Main Living Cavern.

Niamh, mouth full of food as she works her way through her second or third helping, shakes her head wordlessly at Aida, shrugging. A quick glance around as she finishes chewing, a swallow, and then she repeats it aloud. "No idea where he is."

Lauren continues to glower at everyone, still unsure of what was going on. Aida gets a polite nod of the head, and a vague salute, and then Lau shrugs her narrow shoulders in response to the woman's question. "I haven't a clue, ma'am."

Dallaney is currently squirting a line of berry juice onto her already stained tunic, so turns around with somewhat of a guilty look. Her 'no' is short, brusque at best, as she brushes excess blue from the corners of her lips.

Wow, Aida rates a 'ma'am'. -- But these candidates are turning out to be no help at all. "Great, his stupid gift will rot before I can find him," she grumbles, her left hand rifling through the satchel she's carrying. "I need some cider before I can go on with this gift-giving stuff. But I guess you guys didn't have to bother, huh?" she wonders of the candidates. They're new in town and probably too overworked to do anything for Turnover.

Tarlin moves like the kidlet she wishes she were into Main Living Cavern.

Kirsha walks into Main Living Cavern.

Juhasi stumbles into the caverns, Juhasi-style, lifting up to her tiptoes and squinting this way and that at all the knots of people she doesn't know. "Hiya, candifolk," she offers to the white-knot'd, firstly, "hiya, riderfolk. ..Hi, otherfolk." Salutations taken care of, she pauses to nod to herself and goes to loom over the juice containers -- nevermind that she can barely see over them.

Tarlin trots out into the living caverns, a bundle in her arms. She pauses to peer about the caverns, her lower lip tugged between her teeth. When she doesn't see the expected person(s), she lets out a little sigh of disappointment and tucks the packages away in a corner of the room where--she hopes-- they won't be disturbed.

Kirsha is an otherfolk, it seems, as she drags a weary-looking self from deeper down. No gifts in her arms, no party clothes on; someone, it seems, is surfacing unplanned.

Auric walks into Main Living Cavern.

Niamh shrugs absently, pushing food around on her plate as she wonders what to stuff into her mouth next. This is just about all she's doing for Turnover, it seems -- eating. "Oh, I've got a little something for Zevay," she says slyly, "but other than, I'm not doing much, since it doesn't look like we're going to be allowed out of the Weyr much anymore. I hear the eggs are getting pretty hard."

Aida doesn't have party clothes, just her usual flying leathers and half-grimace on her face. "Hey, Kirsha," she calls to the smith as she struggled to extricate something from her satchel. The short, freckled girl reaching for juice is given a second glance. "Is she a candidate too?" she asks of those she knows are certified white-knots, seeing as Helicyth insisted on searching some of them himself.

Sen wakes up from her nap.

"I got a gift," Lauren states, unperturbed -- at least, not any more perturbed than she usually is. "I haven't seen who I'm supposed to give it to, though." A shrug is directed at Aida's second inquiry, and an unconcerned 'Don't know' is emitted, as well. Lau's so smart, she doesn't even know who the Candidates are. /Yeah/. There's an achievement.

Kirsha spies Aida. And moves her mouth far enough to be assumed a smile. "Aida. Happy Turnover." She brushes a scraggly curl off her forehead, and shrugs at the question, whereever it may have been directed. "Dunno. She looks like one." They all look like candidates to her by now, though. Too many nightmares...

Dallaney glances at Juhasi and the juices, and pops that last berry she took into her mouth, to finish up. "Didn't have marks for anything fancy," she adds after the others, unconcerned. Ah, and there're already people streaming in -- she goes to check on the food with no less than a satisfied smirk.

Tarlin stands on tiptoe to eye the selection of food and drinks, still too short despite her age. She reaches towards the back where freshly baked cookies still bite unwary fingers with their heat and flips one into her hands with the aid of sleeves over her hands. She bites into it, searching for a drink to go with it.

Merrique has arrived.
Merrique arrives.

Aida appears to be surrounded by short folk tonight. She takes herself out of that situation, away from the candidates, even though she didn't get a clear reply on Juhasi's status, and towards the kegs of cider. "Happy Turnover, Kirsha. Did you go back to Crom to see your family?" Which is traditional in some parts of Pern at this time of turn.

Merrique goes home.

"Me? A candifolk? Dunno." Juhasi's too busy carrying an overfilled kiddy-cup of juice to a table to figure out what her title is. She proudly 'ahhs' as she sets down the juice without spilling a drop, then turns her head to peer Kirsha for a moment. Hmm. Always nice to know you look like a Candidate.

Sen dozes off...

"Happy Turnover," is Tarlin's quiet reply to someone's merry greeting. The girl flashes a crumb-filled grin at the person and escapes with a glass of something hot and steamy in her hand and a few more purloined pastries.

Auric manages to barely peer over the table, getting a good look at the foods set up. Oi. /Now/ he's hungry. But that nannies wouldn't ever get him food now. Alas, sigh, how neglected Auric is, no? Pity him, will you? Various people in the cavern is eyed, most particularly recognized is Aida. Oi.

Kelyan has arrived.
Kelyan arrives.

Aida sees Auric but pretends not to. It's Turnover and she doesn't want to start by turning the kid upside down and hanging him on a peg so he can't hurl cookie crumbs at her again. Filling two mugs with cider, she crosses over to Kirsha's corner and offers her one. "Didn't get you a gift, sorry," she mutters. "Didn't know you were staying here till a couple of days ago, and I didn't have time then. My gifts are pretty crappy anyway."

Niamh nods towards Dallan, then the food. "You ought to try the cheese-covered tubers," she advises. Naturally, with a big group of candidates, there's a lot of tuber dishes tonight, and the fact that Neev can eat this one despite the fact that she's seen fifty too many tubers this past sevenday speaks volumes for how good it is. "That rivergrain thing isn't bad, either."

Kirsha isn't /that/ short. Quite tall, in fact. To Aida, a puckering frown. "My family doesn't live in Crom. I used to. But my family's farther north. I visited them, though?" She offers that as a limp finale, and accepts the cider. "Oh. Thanks. I can't believe how good the food is, here. So much better than back at the Hall...no gift? S'okay. I don't give out many gifts, anyway, so it's not like fair exhange is possible." She pauses chat to drink. And breath.

Lauren has a gift, one gift, one person, and she feels incredibly overjoyed by it all. As the question about Juhasi is answered -- or, at least, forgotten -- Candidate slips into a peaceful corner of the caverns, content to sit back and wait for the conversation to come to her -- she's too lazy to mingle.

Kelyan skulks in. That's right, skulks. Forced by the same brown that dragged him here on a stupid bet with -- her. Violet gaze glowers over at Aida, intensity contrasted by the rather hungry expression upon seeing food and drink in a corner. Scowl. Scowl. Peacock? Forced to feed himself? It wouldn't be the first.

Tubers? Grains? "I prefer sweetsticks," Dallan confides to Niamh with a shrug. "But cheese isn't so bad. What did you say you got? For Zevay, right?" Unwilling question, but it's something, juxtaposed with a bite on the pastry she's recently grabbed off the near platter.

Aida indicates the satchel slung across her chest. "I got gifts," she admits to Kirsha, "but they're pretty crappy. I've been telling everyone that. My grandmother got a bunch of dried flowers 'cause they'd been hanging upside-down on my wall for the past couple of months." Why they were doing that is another story altogether. As other folks pass by, she raises her mug in greeting to several wingmates, but that only brings her gaze to notice Kelyan. Hello, puffed-up peacock boy.

Tarlin didn't visit her family at all. Telgar's her family. Unfortunately, those she considers closest to her have yet to arrive. She lets out yet another sigh of disappointment and then gazes up at the leather-bedecked being beside her who can be nothing but a rider. She cringes. It's Aida.

Noa has arrived.

"Flowers are nice..." concedes Kirsha with half a chuckle. "I gave my...a friend a ring once that a customer had returned at me because I accidentally scratched one of the stones. That was when I was an apprentice, though..." Faranth forbid the thought that Kirsha make mistakes /now/. Kelyan gets a glance from her, too, in speculation.

"Sweetsticks are all right, I suppose," Niamh allows, her face stating the distaste she has for sugar that can also be heard in her tone, "but this is food that fills you up. Gives you energy. You'll want it -- I hear there's going to be another hard day tomorrow." At the mention of Zevay's gift, the sly smile returns. "Oh, that. It's... a surprise." She looks around hopefully. "Where is he, anyways? That boy is practically antisocial in the way he avoids any groups that are more than a few people, it seems like... I wanted to give it to him."

Kelyan is still glowering at Aida, a dark scowl offset by the flash of silvern spikes. Ah, well. Clash and contrast. Nose wrinkles in a very readable expression, not far from a sneer, before he stalks darkly to the cider. Cider. Warmth. "Blasted Hole."

Euran has disconnected.

Aida keeps her eye on Kelyan, but doesn't call him over nor attempt to lipread his comment from this far away. Turning to Kirsha, and noticing Tarlin's proximity, she asks abruptly, "So what do you guys think of purple guy over there? I've got a bet going on with him at the moment. Don't know if he's talked to the weavers yet, though, to settle things." What things, she doesn't say, though she looks amused that he's still wearing his purple-and-platinum number.

Noa ducks under a glowbasket, step bouncing and merry. Yes, merry. There's something in the air that's giving her that glow of cheerfullness tonight. Maybe it's just the fact that she's not at Igen. Cupped in her hands is an extremeley small pot, with a single, spiky leaf poking from it. A trio of red n' shiny berries cling to the leaf. Noa adds some voltage to her grin, flashes it about the room, and places the pot on the table.

Auric continues to peek over tables and look for any visible chunks of leftover food that might be in his reach, since everything else isn't, obviously. Let's see- a bit of cake here, a quarter of cookie there, a lick of icing, he's doing pretty good, ne?

Kirsha makes an exaggerated rolling of eyes Kelyan's way. "I think he's an idiot," she proclaims rather boldly for her. Then again, she has Aida to protect her. Hopefully. "What's the bet?"

Tarlin blinks, looking up at Aida and then over at the indicated young man. Her nose wrinkles before disappearing behind the rim of her mug. She swallows. "He dresses like a girl," she answers in a tone of disgust. In other words, he dresses the way Tarlin wouldn't be seen dead in.

Dallaney nods childishly up at Niamh, short to tall, sturdy to slender. "I eat those too," she states her case, finger slowly rubbing at one nostril. "Maybe he forgot about Turnover. Or... or up to that gift I think he's making." She jerks her head, in doubt. "Are any of your friends coming to visit this turn?" A swallow for that bit of sweet, and she half-swivels to look for more.

Some drudges arrive to cart Euran off to bed.

Kelyan's hackles go up, visibly. He's psychic. Or, at least, he has a good nose for gossip. Heel grates, slowly, as he turns in an excess of drama and glowers a them. Voice lifts, taunting with jus the right amount of sneer in it. "Who, me?" Sneer.

Kirsha has connected.

"Well, he called Telgar a hole," Aida informs Tarlin and Kirsha, "among other nasty things. I didn't even encourage him. So I said, come back here, talk to our weavers, see what they think of your silly outfit," she's waiting for it to sprout bells and whistles, "and we'll see just who's living in a hole. -- Yes, you, Kelyan. Does anyone else in here look as ridiculous?" Even if it is Turnover and there's a certain excess of gifts and gaudy dress circulating in the caverns.

Lauren's gaze flicker warily towards Kelyan -- glowering? Lau's the glowerer here. Or something. In any case, she glowers at him for a moment, then shuffles towards Auric, gazing down at the kidlet warily. "I've met you." Hence is her intelligent introduction for the day.

Kirsha contemplates this. "Telgar's not a hole. It's rather high, actually." She frowns on Kelyan's logic. And answers his question softly, bluntly: "Yes, /you/. Idiot."

< Here, the client killed my log. >

Some drudges arrive to cart Juhasi off to bed.

And there they go, and Dallan can easily head off in the other direction where the music's coming from. But she lingers, drawn to where the youngest kids are huddling by the serving tables, and attracted to the music at the same time. A laugh begins at the edges of her humour. "Hey Niamh, look at that one dance!"

Kirsha goes home.

The music escalates, the hoedown nearing a flashy climax. Fiddler's fingers fly, pinning down notes for a mere half-second before seeking the next. Noa's linked at the elbow to a tall, dark, and smith-ish fellow, swirling about as they do-si-do.

Imricoeur dozes off...

Niamh goes home.

Dancing. Now that's something Tarlin does /not/ do. She eyes the dancer with wary indifference and heads towards the much safer food and drinks. Those she knows. Those she'll stick with.

Qzaedhir slips to the side, refilling her mug and blinking solemnly at Noa. "You dance really well," the girl murmurs poutingly -- yes, she's going to practice dancing when she gets home. "It's so pretty, isn't it?" Aedh sniffs simperingly at Dallan, sipping at her klah. "I wish I could dance like that, don't you?"

Pata dozes off...

"I don't," Dallan informs Aedh, quite abruptly. A meatroll's taken from a passing drudge's platter, and she turns back to her fellow candidate, softening her comment: "Dancing looks nice and all that, I suppose. But it's so graceful and girly and stuff, you know. Maybe next time," says she to Aedh, evasively. "You go learn how to dance well -- it suits you."

Noa stumbles to a halt as one song finishes, and the next picks up on its tail. She's laughing, finding her balance, determined to have a good time. This is her day off, and they don't come often. " S'fun, and it dosen't matter if you're good enough. I just stomp around..." She's informing the candidate crowd- Yes, those shy, mumbling weyrfolk with white knots.

Qzaedhir blinks at Dallan, eyebrows raising in brief confusion. "But... oh, oh, okay..... I think dancing's pretty and nice and stuff. Is it fun?" The last is added on towards Noa halfheartedly, the girl yawning and slurping at her klah. "It looks like it might be fun. Yeah. Faranth, I'm tired." Cooking all day does that to you, you know.

Tarlin seems to have actually gotten used to a full day in the kitchens, though she is still rather uneasy on her feet at the end of a long shift. Her eyes are thrown to the entrance, the altercation of earlier already forgotten as she starts to wonder if her friends are ever going to show.

Dallaney contemplates that. "Stomping sounds good, and /not/ like that," she points to a particular twirl a rider's involved in. "Let me see," she steps to the edge of the dancing crowd, beginning a zany stamp-stamping that pauses every few steps, stepping onto a stray foot now and then. Grinning, the candidate waves the watching children into the fray, creating their own dance circle.

Tarlin watches as her fellow youths swim in around Dallaney to join in the romping good time. She scowls, lingering away from the dance floor. They can enjoy stomping all they want. She eyes the kitchens. they've become her sanctuary lately.

Tyron has disconnected.

Noa bounces and trounces, her breath caught and her energy refilled. People are finally joining her, now that the fight's over. Fiddler sucks in a breath, tempo never halting. Bum-ch-ca-bum-ch-ca-bum-stomp-stomp!

Dallaney was grabbing the younger kids: they're easier prey, you see. The romping youngsters have spread out somewhat, and one golden-tressed, plump-cheeked boy even runs up to the glum Tarlin, begging for a dance. On the other end of the floor, riders have begun a mad jig, boots a-clink in the drunk beat lent by too much wine.

Tarlin blinks, her cheeks flushing in what appears to be a mixture of fury and embarrassment. The girl shakes her head vehemently and retreats from the boy, seeking out a safer sanctuary.

The boy, still angelic of countenance, accepts the refusal with the gracelessness of youth, sinking back into the fray after a pouted cheek turned to the older girl.

Some drudges arrive to cart Tyron off to bed.

Tarlin lets out a sigh of relief, regarding the boy with a somewhat hostile glare. They all ought to know her discomfort.. /all/ of 'em. She swallows down her drink with a vengeance, practically choking on the heated liquid.

Noa goes home.

Call it the folly of innocence -- the young one has since vanished as quickly as he appeared, and is now engaged in a mock toss dance with his new partner -- for the music has turned to those temperamental strains, and groups of riders have risen to the occasion. Laughter rings in the living caverns at dawn.

Tarlin continues to linger on the outskirts of the party, her gaze occassionally thrown to the busy entrance of the caverns. Still, the one she waits for doesn't arrive. She settles herself onto a bench, empty mug set before her, and rests her chin upon her arms, watching the festivities.

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