The Bonfire

[lithle]

Near the center of the area set aside for the beach party, a bonfire had been built. Great stacks of wood had been collected from the jungle and much of it was even (relatively) dry. L'vey and those he'd recruited had built it into a great pile and it was now smoldering joyfully.

Yes, smoldering. No amount of convincing seemed to make the bonfire want to actually burn in proper bonfire style. It put off a lot of smoke, a little heat, and generally failed to be the merry centerpiece intended. Luckily, it was a clear, pleasant night. But who could blame L'vey if the fire wasn't quite right? It wasn't like building bonfires was a normal task for him. He was doing the best he could!

The man himself stood near the fire, feeding it sticks and bits of leaves, gamely trying to coax it into further life. Much of the food and drink were near the fire as well, laid out on a table dragged to the beach for that purpose. No alcohol, of course, but plenty of sweet cool fruit juice. Sweets, meatrolls, soups, fresh fruit, all awaited the hungry passerby.

There was also a noticeable guard presence. But the guards were everywhere, patrolling this little 'party'. At least some of those on duty had taken advantage of the situation to grab a snack.

[nozomi]

Warden had a rock, and one he'd found himself quite pleased with. Oh, he knew, somewhere in his head, that the next morning he would eye the thing with distaste and pawn it off on Semith or another creature that enjoyed odd things. In the meantime, he enjoyed the rock and the weight of it in his pocket, and then there Messenger was, chirping on the top of his head. Tiny claws clung to Warden's loose hair, and his whip of a tail wrapped around the mans throat like a bright copper collar.

He ignored the guards, swinging around to those tables of food because, shards, suddenly Warden was famished. It came on with the thought of the eggs, the sudden hunger brought on by being drugged for more than an hour. Sweets! Warden grabbed a sweetroll and took a hearty bite of it. He offered Messenger a bite, the flit chomping up the food eagerly, even if it wasn't meat. He hummed idly, eyes scanning the (failing) fire, and promptly sat down, crosslegged, on the sand.

Hello, L'vey. You and your prisoners.

Warden just stared at him though, expression free from it's usual stern glower he often 'gifted' L'vey with. Messenger chirruped a greeting to the Weyrlingmaster, his head resting on top of Wardens to stare along with his master.

"That is a very small fire, Weyrlingmaster."

[S'yal]

Shard it why wasn't there any booze. Z already had a few drinks in him, but Zalmask had confiscated it before allowing him to join the 'party'. The gold was moving beside him already, still holding the stolen wineskin in her jaws. He stared at it with obvious longing, blue eyes taking on the saddest expression he could manage in order to manipulate her into giving it back. Zalmask merely scoffed. She waded into the water and promptly ditched the wineskin in the ocean, much to the angered screech of her handler. The gold purred as she returned to Z's side proding him along and gesturing to L'vey like a mother telling her stubborn son to say hi,

"Hi." Z grumbled, continuing the image. He glanced to Warden, glancing back to Zalmask as she shied away from even that small fire. "Zalmask is glad it's a small fire, Warden." Warden was acting... odd. Z readied himself to be yelled at or lectured or scowled at- those were all things Warden did. "She's quite happy she doesn't have to worry about her eyes bleeding."

Zalmask shifted, watching the heat signatures of those around her. There was a pale boy standing far away from the group, with a small dragon near him. Not a threat. There were prisoners mingling. Not threats. Guards might be threats- armed. Zalmask did not view the nonbonded guards as allies- no, they were all threats and she watched them with the same suspicion as the prisoners. The wher snorted, her jaws gaping so she could run her green tongue across her teeth.

"I brought Mama to make sure the little ducklings behave themselves. I think they're already thinking of ways to be perfectly behaved." A pleased grin flashed across Z's face as he watched his huge Wher move about. "... Now seriously. What's wrong with you?" That was directed at his coworker/boss. "You're acting more doped up then Alina that time I gave her some of my wine."

[nozomi]

Oh. Zalman. There he was, following Warden around same as always. And was he saying mean things? No. Of course he wasn't. But Zalmask was there! She was what Warden concentrated on first, the huge bulk of shiny gold Wher. Warden liked Zalmask, more than the rock or the sweetroll in his mouth and hand. He chewed hard at the roll in question, dark eyes shifting from Zalmask to Zalman.

Warden grinned. It was not bright and toothy, but crooked, lopsided in its own awkward way, but he grinned anyway. The last time Z saw that particular expression had been when Zalsk died, and it had been tight, strained with Warden unused to such an expression. Not this time! Z got an actual grin. "Zalman," said Warden patiently, his mouth full of sweetroll. "Drugs are bad. So are most things you do, though, so I'm not sure if I'm surprised at your assumptions."

He shook the sweetroll at Z, and popped the last piece of it into his mouth, humming happily as he finished it. Messenger mourned the lack and clambered down from Warden's shoulders, scrambling down the length of his arm to pounce onto his masters knee. The bronze clung like a child, heady on the drugs in his own Warden's mind.

"Aren't you drunk, Zalman? You blather when you're drunk. Or when intent on pissing me off to the point of violence." Warden glanced at him with narrowed eyes. A flare of suspicion entered his expression, though it faded as quickly as it went and, not for the last time, Warden snorted in amusement, even grinned a little. "Which is always. One of these days, I will beat the dimglow out of you, Zalman. Sit down. Stop making words. Eat. You're annoying."

Even still, Warden scooted away from Z, and gestured to the empty spot in the sand where his butt sat seconds before. He'd cleared it just for Z! Messenger crooned in agreement.

[tuathade]

A beach party. A beach party. Oh, sure, it was technically a "beach reintegration exercise" but it was a party. At Warden's.

Ralvyn was not usually a party-goer. Back at the Healer Hall, he'd been that awful stick-in-the-mud who studied hard and stuck to the peace and quiet of his room while everyone else was knocking back the wineskins on rest-days. But the idea of a party at a prison weyr was so bizarrely fascinating that he couldn't help himself. He had to show up, if only to see how in the world this was going to work. Besides, there was no alcohol allowed, so no risk of awful drunken shenanigans. (Oh, poor Ral. Poor naive Ral who didn't know what pregaming meant.)

And there was "integration" right in the title of it. It seemed like a good opportunity to actually meet some people (who weren't the Masterhealer) and socialize a little. After he'd successfully had a conversation with Spins without dying, he was feeling a little more confident in his overall worldview.

With one flit coiled on either shoulder and a sweetroll in one hand, Ralvyn approached the bonfire, watching L'vey's progress thoughtfully. He had no more idea of how to build a successful bonfire than the Weyrlingmaster did, but what he lacked in experience he more than made up for in general enthusiasm for the idea. "Can I help?" he offered cautiously. Even if all he was doing was fetching more sticks, he'd at least be putting himself out there, right?

It was only after he'd approached that he realized what group he'd wandered into. L'vey wasn't immediately recognized, though Ral thought he looked vaguely familiar... but there was no mistaking the Warden or the gold wher. Maybe if he held very very still and stayed over on this side of the fire, neither of them would notice a mild-mannered apprentice just trying to be helpful...?

[S'yal]

Z nearly fell over when he was grinned at. Wait, what? That wasn't right. Warden didn't grin at him unless something bad happened to him. Nothing bad had happened, as far as Z was concerned. Well, except... he shut down all of his thoughts and decided not to think. Thinking brought up her. Sit back and enjoy the rare occasion of Warden not being grumpy. The man told himself sternly.

"I'm not that bad." Z replied amiably, smiling. He was still a little creeped out, but he'd obviously decided just to accept it. Accepting things made everything easier. Hence why he hadn't thrown a fit over Lucisk or the freak dragons! He was pretty sure Warden had been drugged. Either that or replaced with a clone created by aliens. Z was at the moment willing to believe either. "Zalmask says hi, by the way."

Z's smile widened into a cheeky grin as he arched an eyebrow. "Not drunk enough, Warden." He answered, sounding pleased. "Not intending to piss you off, either." The threat made him tilt his head to one side. "I look forward to it, Warden. It'll be marvelous to finally join the ranks of the intelligent." But... Warden was inviting him to sit? Z shrugged and sat, turning to glance at Warden.

"I'll pass on the eating, but i'll gladly stop making words." He informed the prison warden, at the moment content to enjoy the fire and a Warden that wasn't scolding him for something.

Zalmask, meanwhile, had spotted a person! The gold wher lumbered over to Ral, and having no thought about scaring him... pressed her head against his chest and inhaled to try and memorize his scent. Hello, human. Zalmask thinks you smell good! Snuffling at his hair, Zalmask pauesd for a moment.

Then she licked his head and covered him in wherspit.

Ral has the official seal of Zalmask approval! (tm)

[lithle]

Possibly because he was so concerned about the fire, L'vey completely missed the Warden's comment, not to mention his odd behavior. This was supposed to be a bonfire, and being L'vey, he was going to patiently but unyieldingly try to overcome it's resistance to bonfireness. If he just refused to give up, it was bound to start burning properly eventually.

In truth, fire tending hadn't been in his plans for the evening. He'd meant to circulate, to get a sense for the mood of the Weyr. While there were still months before Semith might run again, L'vey wanted to be prepared this time. He was hoping for a crop of candidates who'd adjust easily to life as dragonriders, who wouldn't simmer with quiet resentment and distrust. They'd be happier for it and, well, so would L'vey. Working with the young weyrlings as they were was often exhausting.

Don't know a good thing when it's given to them. Faeth interjected, tsking in his mind. And those younglings who've chosen them could afford to do a better job of bringing them round. Shameful.

They're young, Love. L'vey replied, mildly. Like him, Faeth had a certain amount of fixation on being good. But Faeth could get a bit forceful on the subject.

It was then that he heard an unfamiliar voice, though he had no chance to respond before Zalmask approached the speaker. And, licked him poor young man. Poor boy.

"Zalmask." He greeted the wher, his tone respectful. Then he turned his attention to her 'friend'.

Digging into his belt pouch, he pulled out a clean handkerchief. "Here, young man. Clean yourself up. And then, yes, I would appreciate your help if you are generous enough to give it."

[nozomi]

"Actually, Zalman, you are quite horrible at everything you do. The flirting, the drinking, the - I don't know, the walking. You're bad at it all." Warden waved his hand in the air carelessly, his small dark eyes rolling skyward. The very fact Z hesitated to even start speaking to him at first amused the warden; wasn't Z the one always chatting first? The one wandering about and saying and doing this and that? Maybe not being the first one to do something threw the Wherhandler off guard - and that, Warden enjoyed! Let Z be confused. For that, he clapped ihs hand on Z's shoulder, squeezed tight with that thin, twisting smile once more plastered on his face.

"You," said the Warden, and then leaned into Z, shifted to try and bump him in the shoulder. "You are always drunk enough, Zalman. I know you drink before your wherling classes, no matter what I've said. No one's told me. I'm probably wrong. But if I'm not wrong, then I know about it." The older man frowned at Z suddenly, and waved his hand. Messenger zipped off with a chirp, small body fluttering to the food table. When he returned, it was with a meatroll clutched in his small claws. Warden snagged it from him, offering it to Z instead.

His eyes wandered off, to the fire, to L'vey and the young man Zalmask slobbered on. Ah, yes. The healer apprentice, the one Lanakirene feared would get assaulted or... something. They never spoke very bluntly about it. Right. He could see why she'd fret, not that he had any interest in the child (or any one, for that matter).

"It feels as if we should be discussing something, Goldhandler. I don't know what. But here we sit, and we are not talking. Granted, the moment you open your mouth, it's something odd, or insulting, or - inappropriate. Highly. Where is your Bronzehandler?"

[jase]

Traum didn't much like the idea of a Weyr-wide party. Or even a Weyr-wide reintegration exercise. With enough rich food and freedom, and these vastly open waters reminding him that his cage was not all Pern had to offer him - well, a man tended to forget who he belonged to. Too many men belonged to Traum. He'd have to supervise. Nothing blatant. Let some loose-tongued guard boy see the glint of his glasses in the distance. Cast his aging shadow across the water. Just long enough to remind his dealers and his fences and his addicts that he was watching, and that they needed him and wanted to please him.

Besides, politics aside, Traum enjoyed parties. For some time after his wife's death he had tried to convince himself that enjoying things made him a bad person, but frankly the guilt didn't linger.

So he slipped off his shoes and whistled softly as he picked his way down towards the water, aiming for the fire glowing with a kind of dim, miserable determination at the heart of the gathering. The food table had attracted a huddle of colorful characters, Warden among them. And the distinctly less colorful character he recognized as La's boy. None of them were his. He'd considered asking Ral to deliver 'dust for him a few times under the pretext of running herb and vitamin supplements to what Traum called his chronics, but it was really too implausible. And the tractability and naivete that made Ral so appealing as a consort was also the reason Traum would never trust him not to run to La, to fumble an alibi, to retain some misguided abstract of morality.

Anyway.

Warden and the Wherleader (whom as a rule Traum avoided) struck him as occupied. So, his eyes obscured by the lurid glow of the fire reflected in his spectacles, he smiled meekly at Weyrlingmaster L'vey and Ral. By way of greeting, he placed a hand on Ral's shoulder briefly - as though a gold wher lick hadn't been enough unwanted touching for one party - gave it a paternal squeeze and said, "Ralvyn shows rare promise as a Healer. If he can keep a bonfire going as well, he's a great deal more useful to the Weyr than I'll ever be."

Laying on the patriarchal charm a bit heavy, he thought, but Ral seemed like the type of boy who valued genuine praise. And there was no such thing as being too kind to the apprentice of the only woman at the Weyr with the Craft experience to question his methods.

[tuathade]

…Oh.

Oh dear.

Ralvyn had never really met a wher up close before. He knew some basic human healing, and then after that he’d apprenticed under a dragonhealer. And while dragons and whers were related, the two were very different. To the point that he didn’t really know how to respond when suddenly the gold wher lumbered right on up to him. His first thought was simply to hold perfectly still and let her take in his scent – the whers at Warden’s were guards, after all. Most likely all the queen wher wanted was to assure herself that he wasn’t a prisoner or otherwise causing trouble.

(His firelizards thought otherwise. The instant that Zalmask approached him, the both of them vanished. Fardling cowards.)

It’d be a lie to say he wasn’t a little bit intimidated when she shoved her massive head into his chest… But whers were intelligent creatures too, just like dragons. A bit more dangerous perhaps, but he wasn’t any threat to her – oh, eugh. Wher spit. There were worse things to be covered in, but this definitely ranked up there. And it smelled… Eugh. Thank you for your seal of approval, but no thank you on the slobber.

So her name was… Zalmask, was it? “Thank you,” he told L’vey, accepting the handkerchief gratefully and scrubbing off the worst of the spit. Then he aimed a shy smile at the wher. “Hello, Zalmask. It’s nice to meet you.”

When an unfamiliar hand descended on his shoulder, Ral stifled a squeak of surprise, looking up into the face of – “Masterhealer!” And not his teacher Lanakirene either… Traum. Warden’s resident expert on all things human-healing, if La tended to focus on the dragon end of things. And Traum was talking to him. Praising him. It was very lucky indeed that Ral didn’t mind talking to adults, because it seemed like every authority figure in the Weyr was going to show up at this bonfire. The shy smile widened at the older man’s words. Goodness, though, he was really on the spot now, wasn’t he?

“I don’t know anything about bonfires,” he admitted frankly. “But there’s a first time for everything, right? I can help with whatever you need me to do.”

[maggie]

Kaydian had been overjoyed to be allowed to attend the beach party. The shackles were annoying especially since he wouldn't voluntarily leave Warden Weyr, but still, being out was a great honour. He had made a mental note to try and speak to some of the riders or guards, if they were friendly to try and prove that he was not a bad person and that maybe, just maybe they could let him stay after he was released.

This socialising plan had been brought to a grinding halt, however. Jessan would probably be very disappointed with him, he thought with a pang of remorse. The seashells had been so disorganised, so... random... He had started absently picking them up without really thinking about what he was doing. Now, he was halfway through a seashell on sand image of a dragon in flight. It wasn't excellent. His critical eye kept going over details and he would scurry away from it to find more, better seashells, putting every one of them in their place and then moving them around until it was perfect. Now that he had started, he couldn't stop. he had always loved making unusual things into pretty mosaics, but he hadn't had the opportunity to for a long while. He loved the order of it and the way everything, no matter how small, had its place in the larger picture.

He stood up, analysing his work for a moment to determine its flaws. It was difficult, by the dim glow of the bonfire. He had almost forgotten that he wasn't alone, as his work sucked him in.

[Lesa]

It wasn't trepidation that held her there. Not exactly. Wasn't fear or anything like that (for what had she to fear?) it was simply the fact that she wasn't sure she wanted to go out and be social. Two minds shoving at her convinced her otherwise. She would be social, because her whers wanted her to be social. Busk sprawled on the sand, twitching his tail from one side to the other like a great cat - Bask was using it much like a little cat would a toy, attempting to jump at it, practicing his stalking, though the bronze assured himself that his brown brother wouldn't actually get his teeth into the appendage. Still did the work of making Bask practice his stalking (one of the things the clumsy, chubby wher needed work on) without Busk needing to move too much.

Bujare was doing her own stalking, egged on by the relaxing wher-pair. Well more accurately egged on by hunger, but she wouldn't be attempting to assuage her hunger here if Busk and Bask hadn't decided she should be social outside of their fellow Weyrlings. Probably brought up in part because she'd likely been looking from her knife to Bellatrix or Bellatrisk or Bellask too much. The three were downright monsters. Then again, she huffed to herself, the little she had seen of the new goldhandler meant he was cut of the same cloth. Just lick her Z and Mama weren't like that.

The Traderwoman tugged the sleeve of her top firmer down to her hand, to better hide the dagger up her sleeve. No point in tempting the prisoners, despite how utterly squashed they'd be, even if they got a hand on her dagger, between herself and Busk and the still-training Bask, they wouldn't get even six inches from her. She contemplated telling L'vey that he'd built his bonfire all wrong, and that she knew in part how to fix it, then decided that it was much better that it remained flameless, what with the prisoners and the potential for pushing one another into the flames. Craving a good stiff drink, she went instead for the masses of sweets, needing her fix of sugar, considering what certain sevenday it was for her.

"...Where is your Bronzehandler?" The words carried on the breeze as it whipped at her purple skirt, indecently short length blown even shorter by the gust - not that anything was seen, thanks to her shorts. She was just happy for her training, between that and the same herbal mixture she'd given Bask before Z had introduced the teething-salve, she wasn't in much pain. Enough pain to make her snappish, certainly, but not so much as to not make her slow her walk towards Z and the Warden, in hope to hear how Z would reply before she was seen. Sneaky? Why, yes.

[tiamat]

Corvis was not entirely sure as to what he should do for this beach party (they could call it anything they wanted but it was still a sharding beach party), mostly because the only place he had much interest in approaching had a Warden there. A suspiciously giddy Warden, admittedly, but still… it was Warden. And he would much rather not deal with Warden since Corvis was fairly certain Warden didn’t like him--

There was a person making something on the ground! And whatever it was, it looked pretty and he was going to talk to the prisoner making it even if Pest kept nipping him and growling. And even if the other prisoner wasn’t really paying attention to anything around him.

“What’re you making, is that going to be a dragon? It’s pretty, I like it. Oh yeah, I’m Corvis, can I ask your name because you look familiar but I can’t quite place you and it’s kind of bugging me.”

Social skills? What’re those?

[maggie]

Kaydian jumped as if stung. He had almost forgotten that there were other people about. He blushed scarlet, then nodded. "Yeah, it's a dragon. The shells were so messy, I wanted to sort them, and then they started wanting to become a dragon." He smiled a bit. "Do you really like it? It's not done yet. It'll be better."

He smiled a bit. "We've both been here together a little while. And I think I may have seen you before. My mother took Dust. I think I may have bought from you once or twice, turnss ago." He didn't mind admitting it, now, since he was already serving time for the crime. "My name's Kaydian."

He paused, his eyes going wide when he spotted the little growling blue. "You have a flitt?" he asked in wonder. "What's his name? He's so beautiful! " He didn't reach out, knowing that people didn't always like it when he reached to touch things near them. "Can I scratch him?"

[S'yal]

"I think i'm fairly good at walking and flirting." Z commented, scowling at the use of his name. "Can you not call me that in public?" He hated his name- it was too similar to his mothers name. His mother was a bitch, and he wanted to be as distant from her as possible. Z stared at the and on his shoulder for a minute, frowning. "You sure you're okay?"

Yep, this was not typical Warden behavior. This was extremely abnormal Warden behavior and much as Z usually enjoyed affection, it was sort of weirding him out. He wasn’t used to Warden acting like this- and spending turns bonded to an animal had left Z wary of such shifts in behavior. But still, he would enjoy it while it lasted. “Not drunk enough right now.” Z muttered, scowling. “I don’t drink before wherling classes.” He protested weakly, even though it was a lie. A better thing to say is he didn’t drink in excess before lessons. Just enough to get him through seeing Bellask without trying to kill the young green. Z took the offered meatroll and stared at it, briefly debating if the alien-clone-Warden was trying to poison him.

Z snorted at Warden as the (stoned) man continued, a look of confusion passing over his face at the last question. “Bujare? Around. I haven’t gotten much chance to spend time with her since she impressed.” He was obviously sulking at that, and maybe he pouted a bit. But Z is too manly to pout, and don’t you forget it. “Not that Bask isn’t cute, but I like Bujare. Where’s Yusuth? Zalmask wanted to see him.”

Zalmask nodded respectively to L’vey, before the gold turned to peer at the fire critically. She could see some of the flaws in it with her heat vision, but looking at the fire directly hurt. {Zalmask not want fire.} Zalmask informed Faeth, the big gold huffing. {Faeth’s not want Zalmask around?} The gold inquired of the green, her tone hurt. If she wasn’t so offended, she would have asked L’vey herself. Silly Zalmask, always thinking everything’s about her.

But then there was someone talking to the boy she’d licked. Zalmask turned to stare deeply at Traum, a look of great offense on her ugly features. He’d stolen attention from her! The jealous wher would have done something about it, but Z calmed her before she could get all huffy and puffy. Either way, the boy she’d been licking was now talking to her, and she had to attend to him. That was only polite. {Nice meet boy. He taste good.} She informed the young healer proudly, happy to have a bit of attention- but oh, it went right back to the older man. Shard it all. What did a gold have to do to get a bit of attention around here?

The gold decided to momentarily abandon her quest for attention as she spotted a recognizable pair, pausing to butt her head against L’vey. {Good luck with fire.} She told the man, before prancing off to her fellow Whers. Zalmask sniffed all over Busk, before flopping over and trying to place her upper body over his. Then, extending her huge paws, she tried to snag her son Bask so she could sniff him all over and make sure he was doing alright. Zalmask debated warning Z that Bujare was about, but the wher decided not to. {Busk. Give Zalmask attention.} Zalmask demanded briskly, staring at the bronze with whirling orange eyes.