[ Telgar Hold ] Let's Celebrate - A Gather (All)

[Weyrwoman Onie]

let's celebrate - a clutching gather

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_________OOC Notes

[ x ] This is at Telgar Hold, not the Weyr. Everyone from all over Pern are invited.
[ x ] The candidates were brought over from the Weyr, with dragonrider accompaniment (it's too early for the eggs to hatch, no worries).
[ x ] Have fun! This is a meet and greet, OOC and IC. =)

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A couple of days had passed when the announcement went out that there would be a gather at Telgar Hold to celebrate the clutching that Svrieth had done. It was going to be a grand occasion, full of good food, music and dancing, and of course merchants. Weavercraft Hall was busy from the day of the announcement to the day of the actual gather, filling orders from people all over Pern. Other crafters were busy too, preparing their goods to be shown off in the booths in the market square. But no one else had it as hard as the people of Telgar Hold itself, which was cleaned and polished from floor to ceiling until it gleamed like new.

On the actual day of, anyone arriving could see the vastness of the arrangements. Hundreds of booths filled the market square, where crafters sold their wares, and each was marked with the colors of their Hall, Hold, or Weyr. Banners flew from the tall, colorful tents that were set farther back from the booths; here was entertainment, tournament, and games. Nearest to the food and drink – and there was plenty of it – was the dancing square, a wooden upraised floor that provided enough room for hundreds of dancing couples and the musicians. Tables, with chairs, rung the outside of the square, so those without a desire to dance could watch anyway.

Dragons crowded the surrounding fields and available rock ledges of the Hold. Some were there for the festivities, some where there because their rider wanted to come, and some were there to Search. Gold, bronze, brown, blue, and green alike banded together on the outskirts. Only, one golden shape was clearly missing – that of the celebrated guest! Svrieth would never leave her eggs alone, though Aloaseth had chosen to attend the festivities and scope out lovely green ladies in attendance.

O’kor tugged on the scarf that he had wound tightly around his neck; perhaps too tightly. He was there to represent the Weyr, and his Weyrwoman, who wasn’t feeling up to coming to the gather. To his left, the Lord Holder was avidly arguing with his Lady about something trifle. To his right, the Weyrleader of Benden was leering at the bosoms of one of the serving wenches. And here he was, uncomfortably warm in his many layers of clothes and obligated to continue to listen to the bile coming out of the mouth of Lord Banfild. “As I was saying, O’kor, you might want to invest..”

Sigh. “Excuse me, Lord Banfild, but I think I see N’ki and I’ve been meaning to tell him something about the wings.” With no other recourse but to bluster and stare, Banfild turned on the poor Weyrwoman of Benden, who looked miserable as she squirmed in her seat. It was a lie, of course. He knew exactly where his wingsecond was and he had already shared that news earlier on in the day. So without much purpose, he wandered through the crowd, finally settling on watching a potter as his hands worked wet clay.

 

[Weyrwoman Onie]

Pottery was an interesting subject! That’s why the Weyrleader was so engrossed in the hands fashioning the clay into a.. cup, vase, bowl? Ok, maybe he wasn’t that invested, but he was unfocused enough not to notice the crowded aisle or the bronzerider trying to reach him through the masses. His thoughts centered more on a fragile little lady back at the Weyr, lying in her bed with a wet cloth over her eyes as he had left her. Hope she’s ok..

Ancient branches creaked in protest, the suffocating smell of wet, dead leaves infiltrating O’kor’s mind. They are fine. Why do you worry so? I always worry, you know that. And what’s your problem? Svrieth is sitting on the sands watching your eggs. Yes, but, these ladies are quite.. Shut it. O’kor looked up in time to avoid bumping shoulders with V’ris, and blew out a loud breath of air. “Say, you don’t happen to have another one of those hidden under your coat, do you?” as he was looking meaningfully at the steaming mug of cider. “We’ll survive though.”

Clapping his glove-less hands together, he pushed away from the booth by hefting his weight in the other direction. “You’ve got a good sense of fashion, V’ris. Follow me. I want to get something for the Weyrwoman. She’s already annoyed with me for the other night’s.. ah..” He glanced at the other bronzerider, lifting his brows; no words were needed, they had both acted shamelessly in the aftermath of a particularly intense green flight. “I was thinking about getting her a new shirt or a dress. You know what women like better than me,” he said with a flippant wave of his hand.

A mirror caught his attention just then and he stopped to preen, smoothing his velvet collar with a hand. At fifty-six, he still presented a handsome image. His silver-blonde hair was cropped close to his head and his skin shone with a tan luster from the sun. His face was more craggy than wrinkly, from which his warm chocolate brown eyes twinkled mischieveously. Yep, still got it. Bypassing the mirror, he moved onto the next booth and spotted a particularly beautiful gold tunic.

“Say, girl, how much is that one for?” was his question, to Katherina, which rung with authority. And he hadn’t even needed that youngster’s help. What success.  

[Weyrwoman Onie]

Explanation went through one ear and out the other. O’kor had seen something he liked, and like a simpleton, he wanted it regardless of all the fancy words that the younger bronzerider was spouting. “Bah, who needs to do all that rubbish. Don’t listen to him, I’m the Weyrleader here.” He puffed out his chest, brushing aside his leather jacket so he could find his coin purse, located conveniently on his belt. The wooden pieces resting inside the velvet pouch clanked together as he tossed it between his hands, while a smile played around the corners of his wide mouth. “I can’t see the harm in getting it whether she likes it or not. It can always be re-gifted at another time.” One could only guess at the meaning of those words.

His smile widened at mention of the Weyrwoman’s beauty and grandeur. “Yeaaah, I’m a lucky man at that, don’t you agree? Could’ve been anyone that caught Svrieth these ten turns past, but it was my Oweth that did the trick. And I’ve been fortunate to have the company of that fine piece of womanhood, Delina.” Without a care for the ludicrous image he presented, O’kor put his hands on his waist and struck a gallant pose, beaming up at the sky. Only the unfamiliar voice of a small candidate could bring him out of his delusions, and so he turned to stare at Epeelyn, his smile completely gone. “What?!”

Oh no. Wrong words. “Listen up here, missy. Our Weyrwoman looks just as fine in gold as she does in blue, and don’t you forget it,” he said, waggling a crooked finger at the girl. V’ris had been totally forgotten. “AND, it’s sir to you. Don’t they teach you young’uns any manners these days? Where’s Myrelli!” Wildly swinging about, he regarded the closest faces, looking for the one of the greenrider-turned-candidate-master for Telgar. “I’ve got to have a word with her.” Upon not finding her directly, his eyes narrowed, “Later.”

Back to his purchases. Brushing off the comments of Epeelyn, he took out three marks and set them on the counter. “I’ll take the gold, the skirt, AND the blue.” There, he wanted to see who would refute that logic! Be prepared, was his motto! And he never knew who he might bump into; another pretty face, perhaps? Always safe to have a backup.